Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1886-12-09

uuG Jue young ueu RoHOiaiil ShottVu
under a secret sense Of defeat, while
the coincidence between the universal
success of the winner and his fondness
for the witch's daughter was exactly
the sort of argument that appealed
most strongly to the superstitious fish
erfolk.
The crowd once more broke into
speech, which was rather babbls than
clamor, and which became more
angry as it swelled, The words 81
Priest Eaton were lost in the noise.
Jacob Thatcher placed himself be.
tween the bier and bis townsfolk, but
even his stout ehons dos aeenaed a
slight enough barrier against sacnlege
to the dead.
1t was one Of those chaotic and
critical moments in the progress of a
mob when it is broken into innumer-
able separate groups in angry dispute,
and when it ID idle to attempt to reach
ii as a whole until come striking in.
cldent unites once more its divided
attention. 1t is usually true, more
over, that upon the first general i'm
preston that shall be exerted on a
mob at such crisis depends its action.
1t is at its most impressionabe stage,
and will readily take the stamp of
whatever idea is strongly presented to
it.
BY this time, the crowd collected
at the churchyard gate included al
most every human being in the viii
lage, and it had assumed the character
of genuine mob. The circumstances
Of Priest Eaton, the entreaties of
Elkniah Slower, the appeal Of Mercy,
and the interference Of Jacob Thatcher
had all proved Of no avail, and there
seemed small hope but Ezra Johnston
would carry his point, and that the
body of the dead Quakeress would be
cast in dishonor upon hojagged rocks
of the Devil Den.
Help at this desperate crisis came
from an unthought ofsource. BY one Of
those strange thrills that seem to
reach the mind through some sense
beyond the five, and to appeal to some
faculty more subtle, the excited viii
layers became aware that something
new had happened. A sudden hush
spread over the wild company. Ex-
cited fsh-wives paused with open
mouths in the midst of their harangu.
ing, and stretched their necks toward
the bier; the angry men broke off
their noisy wrangling to turn their
eyes in the same direction even
Marcy, who had chung convulsively to
her father in the terror Of seeing "a
miliar faces transformed into strange
mesa before her eyes by superstition
and rage, turned to look toward the
coffin.
1t was only old Goody Cole, who
had at this critical moment made her
tottering way up to the bier and flung
herself down upon it. Lame and de
crepit, weak and wandering in her
wits, the poor old creature, whose
stream of life had been 80 thin that
for almost century it had trickled on
without draining even the ordinary
measure Of human existence, had only
just been able to complete the journey
from Harpswell Neck. All the long
woodland track she had come, half
tottering, half crawling to lay her
blessing upon Goodwife Stover's grave.
In wall that had in it the pathos
of the sound Of wind in the forest, the
wretched crone cried over and over,
with heart.broken reiterance
"Oh, but she was my life Oh, but
she was my life Oh, but she was my
life
The cry was 80 intense that it
thrilled even the stolid fishermen Of
Harpswell Neck, perhaps for the time
being rendered more sensitive than
usual by unwonted excitement. The
tension of their nerves became every
moment greater, as they stood in
unstudied groups, picturesque and
strange. The brief November after
noon was darke ming to it's close, long
lines of fiery light breaking the cold
gray Of the western sky. A few scant
snow fakes were silently stealing
through the air, falling upon the
angry villagers, upon the tall form Of
Priest Eaton, with white locks and
black gown, upon the strong, young
figure Of jacob Thatcher, standing
sentinel between his townslolk and
the dead, upon the pathetic group Of
father and daughter, and amid them
all, that withered, century.old figure
of Goody Cole, repeating in shrill mo-