Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1886-10-28
PETER FAME.

The road from Keeue village to
Bethnal Cornersr ran zigzaggering down
the side of a hill and then, having
traversed a stretch of level ground
crossed Stony Brook by a covered
wooden bridge whose time. stained
walls were yet adorned with frag-
ments of gaudy colored circus post
ers. The road was in none too good
repair, especially upon the hillside
where the rains had washed bare
stones aud left ruts and hollows, and
the bridge was dilapidated and shook
ominously under each passing vehicle
or pedestrian. But there were few
travellers over either road or bridge
and the town was poor, so the select
men left it both for time and the ele-
ments to prey upon unchecked.
At the side of this road, just before
it came TO the bridge stood the grist
mill and cottage of Peter Fame, Joined
one to the other by an inclosed shed
and unpainted and unadorned except
by clambering vines and the weather
stains of past years.
1t Was the evening of the day be-
fore Thanksgiving. in the year Is.
p"tn- Fo-a tnA mlTIsr- srnnn w tue
doorway OF the cottage smoking his
big-bowled pipe and looking out over
the dusty road as it wound down the
hill. He was an old man Of some 20
years, but he looked fresh and hearty,
as il likely to weather many another
summer sun. His long white hair
and white beard harmonized with the
flour busted jean overalls which he
wore, and his black eyes scanned the
scene about him with a wistful, eager
expression, as if hoping to see some
anxiously expected traveller. But
there was no moving thing nor sign
of life within Peter Fane's sight. save
only a belated crow swiftly winging
his way to his home among the leaf
less trees upon the hill.
The sun was setting behind bank
of cloud which the wind was swiftly
driving up from the northwest, and as
its beams were withdrawn the air
grew gray and became colder. Itwas
very still; the only sounds were the
murmur of the brook near BY, flowing
over the stones and pebbles Of its bed,
or the "caw, cav, of the distant
crows. So still was it, indeed. that
the silence seemed to force itself upon
Peter Fane's unwilling attention. and
the expression OF expectation on his
face faded and was replaced by look
of grave disappointment.
Seventy years had Peter Fane-as
boy and man-lived by that old mill.
He was but 20 when his father dying
left him to run the old mill: and for fifty
years he had remained at his his post,
stationary amid all the changes and
events about him. And how many
changes there had been; how many
friends had come or gone, died OF
moved away, during the lapse of those
many years Business had been brisk
and he had worked hard, and laid
aside for rainy day; business had
been dali. and he had smoked his pipe
and waited for better times
There was no lack of life about the
old mill in those early years, for the
road was then highway over which
stages and numerous teams passed
each day. There was then almost in
variably a group around the mil
door, while within the air was almos
misty with flying flour dust, and til,
machinery kept up an almost contiu
uous clatter. Now months sometime
passed before the mill was set in mo
tion, and the grass around the doc
was seldom pressed by other feet thar
Peter FaRes, aud the passers by wer,
few and far between.
The contrast between the old time
and the new forced itself upon Pete
Fane's mind as he stood at his cottag,