Nevada County picayune., 1886-10-20

what suffered in the days that fol- lowed that morning. Words could not express 1t save to one who had passed through the same furnace of affliction. But I lived, for sor- row and death very rarely walks in each others footsteps, and nursed my baby apd did the work my hands had to do.
 l did not go back to my father, 1 remained at Toms home and kept his things all about me. even his cap hanging on the wall, For get him? Does love ever forget?
 Hastings did not die, he recov. cred and made public statement that he was more in fault than Tom was, and then he put notice in all the papers telling Tom to come back. But he did not come.
 The winter passed away with long, long, nights of bitter remorse and tender recollections of the dear husband whose strong arms had once been my stay and support.
 The spring came--the sumner another winter-three years went by. My child, Toms little baby, grew to be fairy little thing with blue eyes and golden hair and 8 tongue that never wearied of it's childish prattlings. All day long she sat on the door step, where the evening sunbeams slanted in, lisping 10 her doll and listening while I told her of the father who would come back to us some day; for surely he would come, most surely Gods mercy would vouch- safe some compensation, some par don for such repentance as my soul had poured forth.
 The third spring was peculiar somehow. The far-off sky seemed to drop down in nearer, bluer folds; the sun wore a softer radi. ance; the trees, the grass and flowers, a diviner, tenderer, beau ty.
 I rose every morning and looked out of my little window at the kindling beauties of the morning with feeling of strange, tremu. lous expectation. 1 seemed to feel the shadow of some great event that winged it's light above me one prayer of my heart seemed about to be answered.
 One evening-Oh! that evening: a May sky soft and blue hung oy CT a green blOsSoming earth. The turtle dove cooed in the distant wood, and the robin twittered to her young brood amid the milky bloom of the orchard Gods love shown in the golden brightness of the westward going sun. My child, little Fife, sat on the doOrsteps, talking to her doll and watching the birds.
 All at once she clapped her dim- pied hands and bounced to her feet. "Mamma," she .criod, glee- fully, "papa comiu', papa comin', Fife go meet"
 The words stirred my heart to it's utmost depths, and dropping my work, | followed her out of the door. A man was coming up the garden path, his garments tattered, his step slow and uncertain, a beg ear, no doubt. called Ellie to come back, but she ran on needless of my command, Toms little spaniel that had petted and taken care of for his sake, darted from his kennel with peculiar cry, such as 1 had never heard from it be- fore. What dld it all mean. My heart throbbed and my knees trembled. Little Fife ran on hold ing out both dimpled hands, her golden curls blown about her rosy face.
 "How- de-do-pappy, Pse your Ethe," she lisped as she reached the mans feet. He stopped and raised her in his arms and then glanced at me, and such glance such face, pale, haggard, worn by sorrow and suffering to mere shadow. Toms ghost como back from the grave? Not that eiiher, for my arms grasped some tangi- bic form. "Oh, Tom" l cried, "is it you! Speak, speak, and tell me.'
 Yes, Lucy, it is me. l could baor 4 m lapUpr Itp Uyln0