The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1885-04-02

10 uS IKE the little man no used to be,
but he stole away ono night, it Was inst
after harvestin' time, and then, but he
never writ to us-never writ to mother !"
The old man touched his eyes with
his apron and drew herd on his pipe.
All this was years ago, but 1 have not
forgotten the deep impression it made
on me-his sad, worn face, which seem
ed so mnch more troubled than ever
before, and tho nervous twitohing of his
hands, all of which I scarcely realized
then, I can see it all know; We two Sit
ting there in the cid doorway, the sun
setting back of tho hills and the long
shadows streaking the road that fell
away from the shop into the little valley
below.
Don't tell me any more, I said, lit
makes you feel 80 bad. Listenl There
are the COWS over at the deacon's !;
they're coming in for the milking"
He paused and then went into the
shop. He raked the Goals and covered
them up for the night. I fancy that he
did so that I might not discover his agi-
tation.
He never writ to u.s." he presently
resumed, "but Joe Wheeler did, and
when that letter came which told us
how Harry-our little Harry-had been
put in Jail for q crime, it broke poor
mother down. But We never knew
what came of him. Thar was nothin'
We could do; we were far away"
"Oh. uncle, and you have never seen
him since that time" I asked feeling
q great lump in my throat.
"Seen him. Davy? Seen him? The
world is wide and the years have been
long, but Davy-"
He turned away from the forge and
came near to me.
''Davy, I seed face last night out
on the road thar that KEEP mo awake
till the light came in my w;nder this
mornin'. I seed face that's bin
CROWN and a CROWN on me; it t'want
ghost, Davy, but it was him, himl my
Harryl"
1t was dusk when I left Uncle STAN
ton that evening. I helped him close
up the blacksmith shop and walked
with him down the road to Joe Wheel
er's old house, where Uncle Stanton
boarded, and when started back again
to my own humble home I remember
that was so full of thought that moth
er who waited pe anxiously, said:
"Davy, I didn't hear your happy
whistle as you came along; what makes
you so late, child?"
How we'll I remember next day with
its drizzling rain and the wet leaves of
the big maple tree which were tossing
against my little window when awoke!
had slept very late, and while I made
my hasty dressing mother called me.
Deacon Greene's rusty top buggy was
standing at the door when I went down
and the good old man was telling q
piece OF news that had aroused the Gen.
ter to an excitement which is not for
COTTON to this very day.
Uncle Stanton was dead!
I'VE don't know how it all was,
Davy," he said, turning to me. "Most
like] " it was his heart that did it. You
see-well it couldn't have been an hour
before candle.light when Marthy
Wheeler heard noise in Uncle Stan
tons room, but afore she could get her
fixings on and get her old bones up the
stairs it was all over. Uncle Stanton
was on the floor gone beyond help. The
window was open and the little box he
used to keep his money in was gone"
And this was NIL that ever came of it.
Nothing was ever discovered; nothing
was learned of the thief. But some
how or other when I think of that sum-
mer evening. when Uncle Stanton told
me of q face he saw, there comes over
me q shudder-a suspicion-Well I
won't write here what I think. Could
it be? DEsHLER WEIGH.