Morris tribune., 1886-12-29
PETER FAME.
ny ARTHUR DUDLEY vINTON.


traversed o stretch OF level ground,
crossed Stony Brook by a covered
wooden bridge, whose time.stained
walls were yet adorned with fragments
of gaudy-colored circus posters. The
road was in none too good repair, es-
pecially on the hillside where rains
had washed bare many stones and
lett ruts and hollows, and the bridge
was dilapidated and shook omlnous-
ly under each passing vehicle orpedes-
trian. But there were few travellers
over either road or bridge afd the
town was poor, so the selectmen left
1t both for time and the elements 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 enclosed shed
and unpainted and tltadorned except
by clambering vines and the weather
stains of past years.
1t was the evening of the day before
Thanksgiving. In the year IS. Pc
ter Fame, the miller, stood in the
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 70
years, but he looked fresh and hearty;
as if likely to wealth many another
winter storm and to bask under many
another summer SUM-. His long white
hair and white beard harmonized with
the four-dusted jean overalls which
he wore, and his black eyes scanned
the scene about him with q wistful,
eager expression, as if hoping to see
some anxiously-expected traveller.
But there was no moving thing nor
sign of lite within Peter Fane's sight,
save only belated crow swiftly
swinging his way to bis home among
the leafess trees upon the hill.
The sun was setting behind bank
of cloud which the wind was swiftly
driving up from the northwest, and
as it's beams were withdrawn the air
grew gray and became colder. 1t was
very still; the only signs were the muir
mur of the brook near by flowing ov-
er 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 oi
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
| 80 years years he had remained at 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
or moved away during the lapse OF
those many years! Business had
been brisk and he had worked hard
and laid aside. for a rainy
fday;; business had 2Ibeen dull,
and he had smoked his pipe
and waited lor better times.
There was no lack of life about the
old mill in those early years, for the
road was then a highway over which
stages and numerous teams passed
each day. There was then almost in,
variably agroup around the mill door,
while within the air was always misty
with flying flour dust, and the ma,
chinery kept up an almost continu
Gus clatter. Now months sometimes
passed before the mill was set in mo-
tion, and the grass around the door
was seldom pressed by other feet thar
Peter Fane's, and the passers-by were
few and far between.
The contrast between the old times
and the new forced itself upon Peter
Fane's mind as he stood at his cot.
tage door in the cleaning of that
Thanksgiving eve, and, with a sigh ot
regret for those vanished years, he
knocked the ashes from his pipe, and
turning back into the cottage, busted
himself in preparing his evening mea
for Peter Fame lived all alone, unless
a faithful dog can be called compan
ion.
All the day Peter Fanehad been op
pressed with that peculiar intuition
which every one feels somtimes dur
ing his life, that some one, he knew
not whom, was about to arrive. This
feeling had haunted Peter Fame; it ha6
brought him more than once tC
the door, and now, as he sat by the
fireside, with his dog curled up at his
feet, it continued to haunt him. Yet
his reason told him that his expecta,
ton was only idle folly. for who was
there in the wide world who would
care to seek the old miller out, now
that wife, children and friends were
dead?
He sat by the fire, smoking and
thinking, until bedtime came, and ther
he carefully laid his pipe upon the
shelf, and going once more to thedool
opened it and looked out. The clouds
covered the whole OF the sky and the
snowhakes were falling thick and fast
and all the earth was hid beneath
t cir feecy crystals. Though the
moon and the stars were hidden, there
was yet dim light in the air that in
distinctly and vaguely disclosed the
dark outlines of the mill near by, and
the bridge farther off, and the bare
branches of the trees overhead; but O
human life there was no sign. Peter
Fame looked carefully about him, ther
shut and fastened the door, piled the
ashes over the glowing brands upor
the hearth that there might be live
Goals to light his fire the next morn
ing, and went to bed.
He slept, then suddenly awoke, fol
something had aroused him from
slumber. He raised himself up an6
listened, not sure whether the sound
he seemed to hear was real or only
some echo eff memory in his brain
| Perhaps it was the clock strikin!
IL, for uow as he sat up in bed ht
heard the vibration Of the gong ring
ing yet, faint and distinct, but still
perceptlble through the silence. Surely
it must have been the SRI ing of th'
clock that reused him, AMI yet it haC
seemed like sound more strange ant
unfamiliar. But while he listened tn,
sound was repeated-it was tappin!
on the door-and hastily rising from
bed, Peter Fame drew on his clothe:
and went to the door and opened it
There was no fear in his mind thai
the nocturnal visitor might be bent
on some evil errand, nor any thought
that the occurrence was unusual; il
seemed to him perfectly rationa
event, just as one dreaming passe:
through curious scenes without won
1 4 4 u