The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1885-01-08
Tor young married people 10 live by
themselves and assume housekeeping

cares
The new home was gem Of neatness
under Susie's dainty fingers, and the
spirit of perfect love kept it ever bright.
Having boen brother and sister for SO
many years, Albert and Susie thor
oughly understood each Others DISPOSE
tons, and have never known domes-
tic happiness more perfect than theirs.
Susie's first child, named for her
father, John Harmon, was years old,
when one morning the mail brought me
a letter in an unknown hand from Gin
cinnati. ] opened it, and upon large
sheet Of paper found written, in q
scrawling hand, three lines:
"DEAR SIR: Will you come to me at Al
N street without letting Susie know,
John HARMON"
AT, first I believed { a hoax. John had
written bold, clerk like hand, clear as
print. This was b,rawl, struggling all
over the paper, uneven as the penman-
ship of a little child. ss.
But tho more ] ,pondered over the
matter, the moro Twas inclined to obey
the summons. So pleading business,
saying nothing Of the letter to any one,
left home by the night train for Gin
cinnati. lh y
No. AZ NJ street, I found to be a
boarding house for the poorest classes,
and in shabby room, half furnished,
found an aged, worn man, perfectly
blind, who rose to greet me sobbing. Il
Fred, ! knew you. would come" il
"Why, old friend" said, when sur.
prise and emotion would let me speak,
how Is thisl We thought you were
dead" 1,f a.M t.e,,. -, e4.-.,b
Docs Susie think so2''' hfs a,ai
Eyes. We all gave you up"
| do not uudeceive her, Fred. ! meant
to come home to her rich. able to crafty
every desire Of her girlish heart. Do
not let her know that only o blind, sick
wreck is left for her to call father. Tell
me Of her, Fred. Is she WELT ID she
happyr. IN.
"sho is both, John-a happy, wife and
mother"
Married! Ny little Susior' Xxx W
Married to Albert, my son, Of whom
You may judge when tell you, folks say
no is his father over again.
II would ask no moro for my child =
said John.
Then in answer to my anxious cues.
tions, he told mo the story OF the years
of silence. He was prepared to pay us
his promised visit when great fire
broke out in San Francisco, that ruined
his employers for the time, and swept
away row Of buildings, uninsured, in
which John had invested al his savings.
Worst Of all, in trying TO save the books
Of the firm, John was injured on the
head by falling beam and lay fol
months in o hospital. When he 80 IA,
recovered to be discharged, his mind
was still impaired, and he could moi
perform the duties Of clerk or superin
tendent while his health was too feeble
for manual labor.
II struggled for daily bread alone,
Fred" he told me, land when re-
ceived your loving letters, and Susie's
| would not write. hoping to send bet
ter tidings il / waited a turn Of fortunes
wheel. ltnever came, Fred I left Cal
ifornia three years ago, and came here
where ] was promised the place o.
foreman in great pork-packing house
| saved little money and was hopin!
for better times, when my health failel
again, and this time with it my eye
sight. ] hoped against hope, spending
my sayings to have the best advice, anc
not until / was pronounced incurabl,
would ] write to you. ! want you K
take me to an asylum, Fred; and, a.
must be . pauper patient, ! must 60 Il
my own town. You will taxa me
Fredr'
, 81 will take you to an asylum, John,
l promised.
"And Susie9 You will keep my secret
, You will not disturb Susie's happinessl
Il will not trouble Susie's happiness,
, I said.
Vat an hour later / was writing I
Susie, and delayed our departure frou
: Cincinnati till an answer came. It wa
the answer I expected from the tender
loving heart, but said nothing Of it t
: John. tf
Caring tenderly for his comfort, too
r him on his way homeward. 1t wa
8 evening when we reached the railYa
r depot of our own town, and, as we ha
s been long cramped in the car-seats,
b proposed to walk home. M
rs it not too far OFF, John asked. g
0 thought the asylum wa q long way fror
! here"
: "Oh, the whole place Is changed frol
n the little village you left" answered.
I'VE have great town here now, an
8 your asylum is notvery far from here.
!. He let me lead him then willingl
a enough, and we were not long in reach
i ing Susie's home. She was alone in tn
q cheerful sitting-roOm as We entered, bu
IS obeyed my motion for silence as place
l. John in a great armchair, after reno,
i ing his hat and coat. Helooked wretch
eddy old and worn, and his clothes wei
n shabby, yet Susie's soft eyes, misty wit
h tears, had only love in their expressio
n as she waited permission to speak.
"John," I said to him, IF l ha
% found you in a pleasant home, happ
IS and prosperous, and had known tbs
N Susie was poor, sick and blind, would
d have been kindly act for me to bic
N her misfortune from you, and passin
by your hjme, to have placed her in Il
10 care of charitable strangersr
I Erred, you would never have dor
" that" he said, much agitated.
1t Never / answered. "You 81
n right. But you, John, ask me to tai
" from Susie the happiness Of knowing
fathers love, the sweet duty of carir
ie for fathers affection.
N mo, no, Fred. only ask you to p,
no burden upon her young life, to thro
10 no cloud over her happiness. am o.