Springfield globe-republic. (Springfield, Ohio) 1884-1887, 1885-03-15

in many other ways not according to
the accepted model of his class nearly
eighty years ago. There was nothing
bluff or hearty about him. or any symp-
tom of generous fare. On the contrary,
he was lank and bony. and his cheeks
curiously. though not unhealthily, pale.
His face was not one likely to be readily
forgotten; though what physiognomists
would read in it can not venture to
say. think, however, they would find
passion in the full, large, almost color
less lips and dull. gloomy eyes, and
power in the projecting brows and the
square chin. And therefore they would
be the more puzzled to reconcile with
signs of such generous qualities as pas
sion and power the pinched look of the
temples and the thin, vulture-like curve
of the nose. 1t was picturesque face
in its way, as wholly free from British
bluntness as from British coloring; at
once calculating and passionate, bold
and mean; in some ways feeble; in
other ways strong. He might have
been fanatic or financier, as well as farm
er; but something beyond mere farmer
he must be, unless faces always lie.
The young man laughed. ''Oh," said
he. "we don't work at NIillport every
day and all day long. We take holi-
day now and again"
"AyeP Well, don't know much
about such things myself-time enough
for play when one can't workout
wish you a pleasant one. How does a
man get through holiday, if one may
be so bold?"
The other laughed again, and colored
a little besides.
ssOh, somehow said he. ''Of
course, there's fifty ways-from the
very mischief downwards. But, as you
say, it is hard to know what to do with
few days. So thought I'd look up
Farmer Blackthorn- was kind to me
when | was ladIjust for want of any
thing better to do"
..Oh! Just for want of anything bet
ter to dor" echoed Patience to herself.
".Just for want of anything better to
do! A pretty reason, indeed, for a
young coxcomb to call on them that
were kindest to him, just when they re-
down! I'm glad the beers run out and
the milk skinned three times"
"H'mr' grunted Farmer Marrish.
1--WE come over to see Tom Black
thorn, too. But as mines business and
yours pleasure, you won't mind giving
me first turn, l burst say?"
mot bit You go in, and I'll have
stroll round. Don't look much like
high farming this, from the look of the
yard"
Tom Blackthorn always was the
man for muck-specially in the wrong
place" said the man of business, with
something like a sneer. 'Muck's $
money in the right place; but that's not
at mans door Well, take your
stroll, Harlow. May be Wen meet
again before l GO
Marrish pushed open the broken gate
and crossed the yard to the house door.
The young man leaned on the topmost
rail, and looked about him, little puz-
zled by what he saw. And, since he is
the principal person of this story, l will
say at once that he was Stephen Har-
low, who had been left alone in the
world, at the age of nine, by his father,
as drunken blacksmith as ever lamed
horse or poisoned COW. 1t was
Farmer Blackthorn, of Leys Croft, who
had saved the lad from the parish. and
had sent him out into the world to such
good purpose that, at tthree-and-twenty,
he was already high in the service of
a firm of land-surveyors at Millport, a
big town full two hundred miles from
his native village of Merriam. 1t did,
therefore, sound not little ungrateful
that he should come back to see his ben
efactor. and his old playfellow young
Dick Blackthorn, not to speak of Pa
tience, Just because he could find moth
ing better to do. No wonder Patience,
as she heard him, clinched her little ach-
ing fist with indignation, and tossed
back her brown curls with scorn.
But what puzzled him was the general
look of the place, once SO much the
model of all that was flourishing; now
SO neglected and bare. The low, stone
house had naked. comfortless sort of
look, instead of the hospitable warmth
with which it was identified in his memo
~. The yard, all foul and Uttered,
was silent, and empty of man, beast
and fowl. Was it that his memory
played him false, and exaggerated its
own impression of Legs Croft, to be
disillusioned by becoming familiar with
Millport and all its glories? 1t might
be so; memory does play such pranks
with US all. and twenty-three has few
illusions left-though it is true they
come back again by thirty-two. But
still, Leys Croft to strike him like this
Tom Blaekthorn's place, the jolliest
place of the jolliest good fellow that
ever was born, and the best farmer to
boot; it was uncomfortably queer. And
then he began to think
But just then he caught sight of a
bright little face set in the window of
the shed like q picture in its frame;
and
''Ohr' exclaimed he.
Meanwhile Enoch Marrish had en-
tered the house, of which the outer door
stood ajar - neither self-respectingly
shut, nor cordially and frankly open
and, with nobody to announce him, had
walked straight into sort of-what is
the name for such a room?-a sort OF
sanctum where Farmer Blackthorn used
to pay his men. to study his accounts,
to take his Sunday nap after dinner, to
write his letters, to clean his gun and
punch his wadding, to take his night
cap, and to retire when he wanted to
growl, as even the jolliest of farmers
will now and then. Farmer Blackthorn
was there now.
But-alas for Stephens memories
he was iOlly Tom Rlackthorn no mona
When Marrish entered he found q pre-
maturely aged man. with his still burly
frame fallen away beyond the recogni-
ton of his own shabby clothes, and
with certain crushed look; the look
of one who has not the courage left to
look the world in the face; the look
which (when seen in an honest man)
tells of fha tranSmut tion of axnasSira