The Penn's Grove record., 1886-02-13

come what may. they should meet again.
Then without a word to the mill
owner, looking to the last on the treas
ure he left, John March, the manager
was gone.
Gone to seek out fresh work, alone,
missing the charge he had liked tcthink
of at her school; dreaming now and
then of something to be done for her,
and rousing up to the remembrance
that there was no longer any n de-
pendant upon him, no longer any. n
to work for.
When one fixed idea takes possession
of a man it is strange how it grows and
hardens, and becomes the moving prin-
ciple Of his life. All the changes that
have taken place, since John March
the manager left him, have but thick
ened the mist that hangs between the
mill-owner and his kind. "All these
weary months. years" thinks the little
one who watches him, sometimes scr.
rowfully, shave but made him harder
as well as older"
His white head is whittier; there is a
stOop in his shoulder, there Is a queru'
lous inirmity about his speech, and his
walk is unsteady and weak. But if
ever he was the potent head of the firm
the great man, bearing a wide-known
name, he is now more so.
In her seat at the tireside, silent and
meditatiYe, Emmy has no thought now
of loving him or making him love her;
once she tried, but all his heart was
wrapped in his great name. He brought
before her a husband, whom he willed
her to accept, to whom he offered her
pompously as one who had a right to
do 1t; but Emmy laid her head upon
her hands, and said quietly that she
would die first.
He takes out his watch and winds IT.;
he glances at the fire, and murmuTs
that it is chilly; he says it is bedtime,
and Emmy goes up to him, and puts
her lips to bis cheek, mechanically, with
the customary good night.
lie SITS there awhile musing. All
is still and secure about him; but who
knows how thick the clouds are getting
over is head, or how SOC they shall
burst down upon him and Overwhelm
him? All the while he sits there they
are darkening; all the while he lays I'M
conscious in his bed they are covering
the sky as they do in June before a
thunderstorm. A little bit of blue re-
mains, faint and l%essening; when that
Is gone let him beware.
Another day, with its fresh load Of
work for the workman, another dawn
over the earth. A great blow has
stricken the millowner; shortly, those
who look down the list of b~ankrupts
will see the well-known name he was
so proud of, give him a word of sur
prise and compassion, and pass on about
their own affairs. And if you go into
the great mans bedroom, you will see
that there is no more blue sky for him.
Stretched on his bed he lies, helpless
and speeches., and one-half OF him Is
dead.
A sad time in that house, a sad time
for a little one who watches at his bed
side. She thinks BOW that she could
she is so sorry for him. When his
senses come back partially, and he tries
to speak, with strange contortions, her
arm pillows his head, her hands minis
ter to his wants, and when he looks at
her with his hard eyes so earnestly,
with such a painful meaning, she strives
10 comfort him, and bids him rest and
get better, and all will yet be well.
''She is his own child, she will never
leave him."
But it is not that, oh, not that which
troubles him as he sinks back with a
groan of pain and anger. His lips will
not frame the question which he longs
and breads to ask. His name, his great
name. and his riches-was it all a dream
or did some one tell him that the new
manager lad ruined him, ruined him
utterlyp
Draw aside the curtain, he is speak
ing; he whispers something, But what
a look there Is in his face, as the doc
tor bends over him.
"D0ctorl that villainl-vengeancel"
How fast the watch ticks; how the
DOCTORS eye keeps on the patient; and
how that look changes, and shadows
come upon the face. How the hand
clasps and unclasps, stretching ont af-
ter something which it cannot reach.
Another whisper, but, OIL the look
n the Enclosed eyes nov.
doctor, doctor, what is it, what is
coming2 / feel it upon me-heavy. like
the clamping of a strong box, Bring
her to me. Oh, Emmy 1 forgive him;
save me-"
Once Emmy is suffered to bend down
and kiss him. On her knees she clings
to his hand, and her tears fall upon 1t
thick and fast, and she kisses it. Look
ing at him there; seeing tle shadow on
his face; seeing that which none can
mistake-so powerful Is it, so wither-
ing, 50 solemn-she falteTs out trembl-
ing, ''Our Father"
In whispers he follows her, catching
for utteIance, fixing his eyes upon her,
as though safety lay in that. And
then the doctor puts her away gent
ly and closes the door.
The Great House is dead, and the
world says a few words over its ashes
and forgets it. But, who was to com
fort little Emmy, left alone there with
the dreary weight upon her in the dark
ened house?-little Emmy, so grieved
for the old man who was asleep quietly
in the churchyard2
In the room where the cloud had
been so heavy where the desk still stood
in its wonted position; where the foot
stool on the hearth spoke of her usual
seat, the little one rose up to meet and
welcome him whom she called brother.
But he asked for a dearer title.
Gentlemen, my happiness, and graft
tude for it, are yet too fresh to speak
Of. As a prosperous merchant you
know me. Some amongst you, young
men, still struggling perhaps and find
ing uphill work, | have heard speak
despairIngly of success, hopelesly of
their own efforts, harshly and bitterly
against their fellow men, as though
they bore a universal grudge which
cannot be shaken.
have told this story, if haply it may
carry encouragement to any heart that
is FAINT IN its work. This Is not a bad
world; there are in it good men and
true, kind and friendly spirits, ready "a
help a failing brother. | like to think
SO, | have found it 50.
Gentlemen. my wife, Emmy, has not
long left the table; allow me to present
to you John March, the pauper, the