Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1885-09-02
visits, He did not cry out or fall, or

and great remorse made him sick
and faint. He had never put it in
the agreement about sickness, over
flows, and bad crops, as he had just
said; neither had he "put it" that
Mary, in her young blooming matron-
hood days, should die--his first born?
How could he bear it? and IL was all
the harder because of the cruel words
he had uttered while she lay dead
at home. Did he say he would
never forgive her-did he really
really say that? Fanny had tried to
stop him, and brought it to his mind
that he was a "church member" and a
Christian. AS If father ought to be
merely a Christian to his own child.
Why hadn't he given her the money?
Might have done so five times over
and never missed it. And the old
man groaned remorsefully, as with
these thoughts in his heart, his gaze
wandered over the great fields where
the cotton would soon be a simmer
ing, heecy sea, bringing new treasures
to his boarded gains, and making no
hearts happy save his own,
Those few, poor, stunted acres of
Johns and Mary's! Swamped by the
overflow last spring stock drowned,
and John, wading waist deep, fighting
with the waters, laid up with the
rheumatics.
Suppose he had given EN- thou
sands dollars
Oh, the sting of remembering evil
when it is too late to turn evil into
good. And then there was that I'M
kind letter. Did his child read those
cruel words with the dying light in her
eyes, or would it be left for the strick-
en- husband to be treated to the short,
stern homily!
He went back to the kitchen, where
Fanny sat crying over the telegram.
Lock up the house, he said in hur-
ried way, for fear of his voice would
falter; "we'll go at once. I'll hitch up
while ye get ready And when they
had started on their long journey lie
quite broke down in talking over the
past and telling Fanny little things
here and there that no one would have
supposed he had remembered.
MARY was allus a dutiful da'arter,'
he said, putting into broken sentences
the grief and remorse that overwhelm-
ed him; "after her ma died, and she
wasn't knee-high to duck, she was
like a second pairent to the little uns;
nussed 'em through the measles, and
when they was well, took it herself,
and laid as quiet on the bed for fear O
giving trouble as if she warD't a
child"
lie didn't tell her Of how, when the
second Mrs Brown was installed as
mistress, Mary became the drudge and
maid of all work, and was nurse to a
halI-do2en more little Browns, who,
like their mother, ruled her with a rod
of iron. Nor of IdaryS marriage with
Il sturdy, young fellow, who, for the
lack ola little timely help, and the
pressure of "A large family, was kept
with his nose to the perpetual grind
stone. lie did not tell how Mary
pinched and worked, and sat up till
late hours, and struggled to help her
family, until in consequence of doc
tors bills and babies, and poor crops,
John was forced to give mortgage
on his house. when her (the father)
might have lifted them out of their
poverty He might even have given
them better house; the oldest inhab-
liant could not remember when the
ugly, ramshackle affair had been built
Some ancient ancestors had put up a
couple of rooms, then added on a few
more, until, what with patching and
propping up, Johns inheritance was
an offence to the eye. Mr.. Brown
thought bitterly of all this through
the long journey Too late, too late
seemed written in words of lire on
every tree and shrub. At last the
house was in sight; a poor, miserable
place enough, but now, in the month
of June, sweet with climbing roses
and honeysuckle that the mistress's S
hand had trained to the porch.
"Who-o-o Dandy" The children
were in the yard; with shout they
ran to the gate, and as the old horse
stopped, somebody rushed down the
steps, and with a cry, "Why father,
why Fanny" Mary in her famous
clean calico and apron, and cheeks
likes roses, with the pleasure and ex-
citement of the visit, was in her faith
er's arms-her father, who held her as
he had never done before, and kissed
her with the tears running down his
face.
"My child" he said presently, "you
were dead, and are alive again.
Thank Cod"
"Why, father?" questioned Mary
again, what on earth is the matter? ?"
And she looked with frightend gaze at
her sister, vaguely wondering if her
father were stricken with some sud
den insanity. For answer. Fanny
drew out the telegram from her pock-
ct, and gave it to Mary.
"It's all a wonderful mistake" ex-
claimed the elder woman, glancng it
over, and hugging father and sister
excitedly again. ave have neigh
bor, Mrs. Mary Harris, who died last