The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1885-09-03
A Letter and a Telegram.

81 don't never waste words" said
old Mr.. Brown, in a hard, driving
voice, "and l hain't good at letter
writin', but 1 reckon thisn will cut!'
ats a pity you writ it so hard,
father" said his young daughter,
trembling; "it'll hurt her to the heart;
she didn't never mean to borry that
$500, and then cheat you out O it."
"She didn't, Ell? Then why hain't
the money back in my pocket, safe
and soundl It's year last Chris tmas
since she pestered me bout it, and l
hain't seen hide nor hair ont yet; if
that hain't clear case O cheatin',
Fanny. I'll like to know what ye call
It'll"
The girl stopped churning a mo-
ment, and wiped surreptitious tear
from her eyelid before she answered:
Call it nothing, father, but bad
luck; when Sister Mary borryed that
money to lift the mortgage, she ex-
pected to pay it back; but you know
as how Brother John he was took
with the rheumatics, and the overflow
came, and the crop was ruint and then
she couldn't pay; that's all, and God
knows it's enough"
'Twasn't my fault" snapped her
father, tiercely, as he pounded on the
kitchen table to give vent to his an
ger. 81 never put it in the agree
ment to low for overflows, and rheu-
matics, and sich like, and l never
would ha' lent her the $500 if it hadn't
been for your snif1lin' and pesterin'.
And now ye hear gal. not anuther
dime O my earnins shall they ever
smell, and I'll never forgive"
The girl sprang up from the churn,
crying, mo, father, don't say it
don't, don't say it. father; you'll be sor-
ry some day when it's too late; be-
sides you're a church member, you
know"
"You're right bout that" said Mr..
Brown, perversely; T'm a church
member, and don't owe nary a person
red cent, and the Bible says, IAN eye
for an eye, and tooth for TOOTH
and I'm going to have it!"
He pounded the table again with
his fists, after a fashion he had of
wanting to pound something or some
body when he felt particularly aggres-
sive But the sound of his voice had
scarcely died away, when there came
knock at the door, and one of those
ominous, yellow envelopes, marked
with the impress of the Western I'm
ion Telegram Company, was handed
in. Mr.. Brown took il, and looked it
over in a helpless kind of fashion be-
fore breaking the seal. "ITow much
to pay" he asked the boy, and passed
over to him the change with tremb-
ling hand; though it was characters
tic of the man that even then, with
the knowledge that the telegram must
contain terrible news, he was careful
to count the dimes as they drop
ped back into his pocket. Oh. these
cruel telegrams! Do the company ev-
er remOrsefully count the breaking
hearts that are left in the wake of
their messengers? Mr.. Brown was
hard man, and loved his money-bags
over we'll. but somewhere beneath the
rough outward crusts there was an
abiding affection for his children that
needed something like the stirring of
the soil around the violet beds, to loos-
en- the selfish bonds, and give his
love human voice. And when he
lead these words, "Mary died this
evening; come at once" great, sud-
den anguish filled his breast, and ST.
lently handing the dispatch to Fanny,
he walked from the kitchen and shut
himself up in his own room, where
years before death had made sundry