, 1886-07-24

-D 49, 80
seemed to kind o. like it here. In the
b%eginnin' he hired one of my boats by
the week, an when he'd had 1t that way
about four weeks he too it for the sea-
son. Well, l was glad to let him have it,
for it was often as he'd take Maggie out,
an / felt easy when 1 knew Maggie was
with him, for, ms 1 told you, he was
strong and handy in a boat, an / felt as
no harm could com to her when she was
with him. One bright mornin' in Sep
TENDER, Just afore they sailed away, she
came n runnin into me an says as they
was a-goin' for a long sail and wouldn't
be back till late. Well, 1t wasn't unusual
for lem to stay out till after shutdown,
especially o. moonlight nights, when they
could come in on the tide an the night
wind; an this time | didn't begin worry
in about 'em until it got to be very late
an they hadn't come back. Some
folks as wa at the house walked
the beach between the inlets with me
till late in the night; but we saw
nothin' of them. But bless me, l didn't
give 'em up. 1t had been a fine day, an it
was n clear, bright night, an l kin o.
trusted the young teller, for he seemed
kind o. fond o. Maggie, an l thought he
wouldn't let no harm come to her. An,
sure rs yer live, next day, early in the
mornin', we spied the boat sailin' up the
inlet, an / began wavin' IN shoutin' to
lem for JOY. But some one as had a spy
glass said they wasn't aboard-an', mister,
they wasn't. The Teller rs was in her
came from the Jersey coast, an he said as
n man and n girl had landed there the
day before, an the MANA young, good
lookin' chap, he said-had paid him to
bring the boat over. I'd kept up pretty
well till then, but when / know'd she
xvocpft cona hack mn, fa1t NIL of n dda
as she might never come back, l hid my
face in my hands an cried like q baby.
Folks tell mt as 1 wasn't n good one to be
gcttin' along with for the next few days,
an / guess they were about right. She
was all the world to me, was Maggie. l
took her to me rs q child an brought her
up, an set my heart on her, and for her
to leave me in my old days was mighty
hard. When / got quoted down they be-
gan to comfort me a-sayin' as she might
come back. All, mister, If she only had.
I'd have welcomed her, for she was still
my little Maggie, an I'd ha' loved her as
an spring an summer an on toward fall,
an l heard nothin' Of her.
at wasn't much more than a year
after she'd left when one mornin' a Teller
came sailin' over from the shore with
what he said was a telegram for me. 1t
came from the city, an it read that if /
was to go to one o. the hospitals there I'd
find n girl as would like to see me; an it
told me to come quick, too, for she was
very low, perhaps a-dyin'. Yer may
know who the girl was; IN it's likely yer
know, too, ms 1 wasn't long a-gettin' to
her. But l wasn't any too soon. She
was lynn on q cot, an when she saw me,
it was just all she could do to stretch her
a.t.. A-s 20 ..- no -IA 4@..11 ~rN 14-.
around me an press her poor, pale face
against mine.
"'Father,' she whispered, Il went back
on yer-and yer who'd been so good an
XIII to me; an, father, I want yer to say
before L die as you've forgiven me-
81 couldn't say nothin', mister, l just
held her closer, but 1 guess as when she
felt my tears a-rollin' down on her face
she know'd she'd got what she wanted. l
held her till they told me she couldn't
speak no more, an then l laid her back.
1t was only n few minutes after that she
lived, but afore she died she opened her
eyes once more an moved her lips. /
bent down to her an she could just
whisper:
"'Father, I'm sure yer haven't gone
back on me. I'm sure yer forgive me.
But-father-I want you to forgive him,
too. For-father-rve forgiven"
The old man buried his face in his
hands and sobbed, while the dog moved uI
close to his master and howled piteously.
The piano was still jangling in the other
room and the singing was at its loudest.
But he didn't seem to heal it. After
awhile, though, they got through, and,
missing him, began to call for him. But
before he went out he passed his hand
gently over the dogs back and said, turn
ing to me: II forgive her, mister, an
I've tried to forgive him, but it's more
than n poor old man like me can do. III
try again, mister; I'll try hard for the lit
tie girls sake. know as his sins a-goin
to drive him back here some time-drive
him back that he may go on his knees to
mt nm tell me how he wronged her an
me-
l had always been fond OF incl Jake,
but after what he had told me L liked him
better thar ever. 1 knew that his 'little
girl'sn death weighed heavily on him, and
after that | got up as many parties as |
could to visit the tavern to cheer him up.
One day toward autumn, two years after
ward, he called me aside and said: mis-
ter, it's gettin' kind o. lonesome for the
dog an me down here winters, an j
guess / won't stay here no longer after the
fall. Ive got n house as / took over in
Ai1 AAAet6 b'ihOA piAt itaA ~ NitAt
the little girls buried. The dog nm
wants to be near Maggie, an if yern
come down off an on Wen be glad to see
yer, for it amt much company Wen be
havin'.n
Well, Uncle Jake took the house, and I
did go down there as often as | could. He
made things right comfortable in the
little house. On the cold winter nights
he had n big log fire blazing on the open
hearth, and n kettle of hot water for the
punch singing cheerily over the flames.
In front WAS a big woody rug, on which
the dog stretched himself, rising only oc-
c%asionally to come over to his master and
lick his hands. The old dog had learned
the way to the 'little girl's' grave very
soon, and on days when it was too stormy
for the old man to go to 1t himself,
Samson would trot off and see that all was
at rights.
The blazing logs and the singing kettle
seemed particularly CHEEKY one January
night. A fierce wind was bowling around
the house. 1t had been showing all day,
but as it grew colder the had
stopped, and now the gusts sent icy par
ticles rafting against the windows. The
dog seemed sleeping p~eacefully-at least
he hadn't stirred-when Uncle Jake went
to the hearth to lift Off the kettle. The old
man had brewed q punch, and was just
raising the glass to his lips, when sud-
denly Samson sprang toward one of the
windows with n furious bark. AS | turned
in the direction in which he sprang, what
] saw might have been an illusion, 1t
vanished so quickly-a mans face, pale,
haggard and driven, pressed against the
pane. A moment later the dog was leap
ing against the poor. l sprang toward 1t
and threw 1t open. The fierce gust that
swept in nearly threw me back, but
held on and saw the black figure Of the
dog speeding toward the gate, where he
stopped, still barking f~uriously as he