Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1885-03-26
JOHNS DAUGHTER.

will not let my little one suffer 7"
NV old friend and college chum, john
Harmon said lhis as he wrung my hand
hard. repeated my promise that In
my own homenest, where there was n
nursery full of little ones. Susie iar-
mon should hold daughters place.
We were standing upon the warf
waiting for the signal that it was time
for my friend to step aboard an out
going California steamer. We had lost
his wife within the year, and soon af-
ter was beggared by fire that totally
DESTROYED the cotton mills in which he
had held the position of superinten-
dent for ten years. With his home
desolate, his purse empty, he resolved,
as many man had done before him
to seek his fortune in the modern
Ell Dorado, and dig for gold in her
mines.
The only drawback to this scheme
was the difficulty of taking his three
year-old daughter, who had been in the
care of hired nurses since her mother
died. l, who shared every thought of
Johns mind, talked with my wife, and
found her eagerly willing to take care
of the little one.
81 am sure | loved Mary as we'll as
YOU loved john" she sald, rand there
is no one can have stronger claim up
on the child than we have"
So, sure of her cordial welcome in our
nursery, made John the offer OF a
home for his little one, and it was ac-
cepted as lovingly as it was offered.
This care removed, my friend fastened
his preparations for departure, land ac-
companied him to New York and saw
him off.
The next morning I returned home
to find Susie almost inconsolatle, cry
ing perpetually for ''papa to come to
Susie"
MY wife was distracted at the failure
to comfort tins childish sorrow, and
our own three children looked on Won
deringly at -
Naughty Susie, who cried and
cried, after mamma told her to be qui-
et,''
Fortunately, Susie was accustomed
to see me, to snuggle in my arms when
[ talked with John, TO associate me
with her father, and she allowed me to
comfort her. In time this violent grief
wore away, and the child became very
happy in our care. My business, that
of hardware merchant, being very
prosperous, we did not feel The addi-
tional expense of the child's support a
burden 4; and az the years wore by, she
was as dear to us as our own little
ones.
But she understood always that she
was not our child, but had dear faith
er who loved her fondly, and was away
from her only to make fortune for
her. AS soon as she was old enough
she had her fathers letters read to her,
and her first effort at penmanship
where letters to 'Papa."
John wrote often for ten years, re-
counting his varying success, some
times sending money to buy presents
for Susie. He was winning fortune
slowly, not at the mines. where his
health broke down, but in the employ
OF San Francisco merchant, aud some
speculations in real estate.
He was not rich man, he wrote,
after an absence of ten years, but pros
pering. when he purposed paying US a
visit. He wrote hopefully of seeing his
child, perhaps of taking her home with
him, setting no definite time. but lead
ing US to expect soon to see him. Then
his letters ceased, and he did not come.
I wrote again and again. Susie wrote
No answer came TO either one or the
other. We did not know the name OF
his employer, and after nearly two
years more passed we sadly thought he
must be dead.
1t might have seemed to many I'M.
natural for Susie to grieve so deeply as
she did for father almost unknown to
her in reality, but she was girl oi
most sensitive feelings, with tender
| loving heart, and we had always KEEP
her fathers name before her, striving
to win him place in her fondest at
fection. That we had succeeded only
too well was shown by her sorrow
when week after week passed. an(
there was no good news from Califor.
mia.
When we had really lost all hope, i
became Susie's great pleasure to sit be-
side me and ask me again and again 70
the stories 1 remembered of her faith
er's boyhood and youth, his college life
our many excursions, and, above all
of his marriage and the gentle wife an
mother so early called to heaven.
She dearly loved those talks, and n
memories were more precious than my
description of her fathers pain in part