The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-25

pOu0Us Sa.u ne" l0IEuutI, III the
voice that had brought about all this
TODD. Then here you are!' AMI a
young gentleman dressed in the very
| height OF the fashion vet looking I'M
born thereto, threw down upon the
table bundle OF bank notes big enough
/ to dazzle the eyes even OF revenge.
=. There; pick 'em up, Marr.sh. The re
Bank of England, every one. I've seen
and heard enough to guess how things
! lie. Patience haven you got one eye
for me? Father-i'ns come home. too;
/ NAV, now; | couldn't as a Black
thorn. when it looked as If it was for
the fatted calf-cogld ], You know?
Father. don't you know Dick? To
think I'd find him like this he cried.
" Patience, what has come 10 him:
Don't he know me? Father, look here.
Is it because YOU can't understand Dick
turning up like a gentleman, with his
pockets lined with these?'
Tom BlackthOrn only locke at him
vacantly. IN smoke a pipe" said he,
I've been a soldier said Dick.
desperately. ''ln Spain. Spain, do you
see? And when discharged mrself
was that hard up didn't know which
way to turn; and there was nothing
| FIRE h to turn tod tried EN- all
Then l thought of grandfather in
Thames street, father; | thought he
might make me a clerk; and if not,
give me a guinea to be rid of me-
''Ah-Thames street, sir. | know;
a skinilint; the most Internal old"
Hush! Poor old boy-he's been in
the grave these two years: and without
a will. Patience, you and | have got
to divide eighty thousand pounds. The
lawyers had been looking for next OF
| kin high and low"
My wife's father died-two years
ago." asked old Tom, slowly. ''Mar-
IRISH saw him in les; time than that
time, sir. You're very kind. l dare say.
But it can't bet can't be"
Dick groaned. For he. also, had had
his visions of coming home with a glori-
Gus surprise.
But the mind of old Tom, though al
| its latest gasp, was !aboring. The
/ shame of having begged of his father
! in-law, and begged in vain, was the dis
| grace of his life; and even if all other
memory went, that would remain. He
| looked at Marrish with such gentle up
| braiding, as of man who, even when
he had ceased TO be himself, can not
comprehend n cheat, that the other was
forced to hang his head, as of one who
is at last brought IA e TO face with con-
,,-science-nOt that conscience had much
to do with Enoch. vino. all because he
had dropped a little gold ring, was los.
ing the woman he loved, and forty
thousand pounds besides.
1t was cruelty hard. There was the
cost of that first Journey to London,
when he found that Patience had be,
come an heireSS worth not only loving,
| but marrying; and whom he might buy,
| for want of better winning, if he could
ONLY keep tie KNOWLEDGE of her inner
itance to himself and all that had gone
so easily AMI 50 well. There was the
marvellous stroke of good fortune that
! had removed his rival out of his way.
But there is no ned to repeat this story
through and through. For over and
above it all, over even the half of eighty
thousand pounds, he was baked even
of revenge. And over and above even
| that. if such could be, the rival whom
he thought dead had come back to
| battle him, he was beaten, who had
never been beaten before. And vet
batfled revenge and mortally wounded
/ vanity were scarce so great as the dash
/ inc away from his poor parched lips of
the cup of love juSt when it was touch
ing them. He had never been happy
I in all his life: and he might have
/ learned, after fashion, how.
Some day or other, perhaps, some
! pen able enOugh will, instead of de-
handing sympathy for the sorrows of
true lovers, do tardy justice to the trag-
! edv of the evil, the base and the mean.
! Only it would call for such infinite pity
/ that the sight of the picture could scarce
be borne Be good that You may be
/ happy. indeed, The maxim has. in it
self mean ;nI selfish ring. BE happy
that YOU may be gcoI IS nearer the
mark and therein the tragedy of the
unhappy lies. And therein lay the
| tragedy of EnOch MarriSh, the unhappy
man. And now his last chance was
gone. And, since a fable without a
moral is not worth Il fig. and history
/ with 5, me mcNpresSed thought OF
/ Christmas-tide in it, yet without les
/ son worth learning, is unfaithful to lis
! season.
Hyou would be good. be happy; if
YOU would make others good, make
them happy.
/ That is worth thinking over, be the
rest of the story what it may.
Father" whispered Patience in old
Tom Blackthorn's ear
Her voice had new life in it. soft and
low as it fell upon that struggling
brain.
NO, l say. There's no Dick. !
killed him-at the glorious battle OF
Talayera, fighting like the British lion
for Old England and good King George.
Dick, Richard; do you tell me that you
have been on VOur Knees to that old
All dead so is his daughter; so shall
We all be. No. You're no son OF
mine. He's dead: and if he's alive.
he's dead to me- You have disobeyed
me; / will never forgive you. never, il
YOU 90 down on your knees. You know
what l mean. Once offend a Black
thorn, aud there's an end. Be off with
you, sir. l know you now. You are
an undutiful son; n ne'er-do well,
who'll come to the gallows before
you've done. You're starved out, l sup
pose, and sO-Patience, never let me
hear that wretched scapegrace's name
again. l could have forgiven him, if
he'd only had the spirit ID de for his
country, like a man. l was proud OF
him then. But now, never let me hear
his name. Oh, D;ck-my boy-my
boy"
Father
And his father ran, and fell on his
neck, and kissed him. And, in rain OF