The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970, 1888-08-03

| Dorm ana Dfeu. IL mas remained as ne leIC IL
with such patching up as has been positively
necessary, ever since he died"
"But not empty, as it Is nowi Somebody
has lived In it since then, surelyr my wife
said timidly.
''The old couple who take care Of 1t, no.
body else," he replied, az we walked away
from it. Everybody has q craze Of some
sort, they say, Mrs. Thurnell, and that Il
mine. You have heard of certain rooms in q
house being kept sacred to the memory OF
certain peoplea Why should not go little
further and keep the whole house so, when ]
am about ity'
The sharp tone and the laugh that accom-.
panied it grated on the ears Of us both, and
my wife's hand pressed my arm little ner.
vously as she answered.:
Certainly, you have right to do what
you like with your own. II you did not care
| to live in it YOURSELF
He turned round upon her before she had
time to finish the sentence, striking the
ground with his stick as though he would
have driven it into it to emphasize his words,
and repeating them after her in shrill fall
setto voice, which bore evidence to his ex-
element.
olive in it myself-I-after all that had
happened in it! would rather have begged
my bread on the roads - rather - Good
heavens! what would not rathera But
there, beg your pardon" he added, cooling
down. II can't expect you to understand,
how should you? If you had spent there the
most miserable boyhood, barring one thing,
that ever man had to look back to, you
would hate it as do"
"And yet you don't get rid Of it alto
gethers" interposed at this juncture "Why
not pull it down and sell the land for build
ing upon? You would make a good thing
of it.r
"Why nots Because I am fool, sup
pose," he returned CURLY. because, if there
are many memories for which hate it, there
are few for which love it. What was it I
saw in your little maids, do you suppose, but
likeness to another little maid, dead and
buried long ago-the only bit of sunshine
that ever strayed within those four walls, the
only creature that loved me- or that had to
love- She was my cousin, and she was an
orphan How she came to be left to my
fathers care never clearly understood, but
she came to us before could remember, and
she was more to him than ever I was There
was too good reason that he should not care
much for me. He had not been fortunate in
his marriage, and it had soured him, but he
must have been hard and cruel to begin with,
or he could never have done by his own flesh
and blood as he did by me. was not good
at my books, what cleverness had lay in an
other direction, and, unhappily for me, I
went to day school, so that my fathers eye
was never off me, and he took it upon him
self to see thas did the task that was set me.
resort to. was logged, starved, imprisoned
by turns 1t was as though he thought
he was wreaking his vengeance upon
my mother through me. The only
way in which Alice got into trouble was by
espousing my quarrels-the only way heaven
help her sweet oul!--from first to lastl'
He paused for moment, his voice husky
with emotion, and Mary laid her hand gently
on his arm.
another time, Mr.. Van Deckermann, tell
us another time" she said in her soft voice.
81 should like you to know" he replied I'M
steadily land should never bring myself to
speak of it again. By the time was 16 had
come to the end of my patience. My father
was fast becoming as misery as he was cruel,
and could see plainly if were to wait for
him to give me start in life I might wait
lOI ever. kIltW JIldU OuT udIll6 was we'll
known at the Cape, and trusted to it's be-
ing a passport there of which, in conjunction
with the business faculty was conscious of
in myself, | might make use to my advant-
age l resolved to work my way out, and as
soon as had made enough to keep wife, to
come back for my cousin. 1t was at the gate
at which you found me standing just now
said good-by to her.
II had been away nine years before I saw
my way to making home for her. For the
greater part of the time it had been such
hard work that but for the few pounds she
managed somehow often feared by going
in rags or something approaching to it her
self-to send me now and then must have
starved outright. But at the end of the nine
years l was able to write to her and say
would come for her. She wrote me in reply
that my father was very feeble, that she had
owed him home all her life, and that we
should wait until could come home for
good. It was great blow to a man who
had already served for her so long, and was
thirsting for the sight of her, but it was as if
had no will of my own where she was con-
cerned. stayed on where was and set my
shoulder to the wheel harder than ever for
another three years. The Cape owed me
nothing; then at last turned my back on
her. had gone out a beggar, 1 came home
with handsome independence. And what
was it, think you, l came home to7 had
toiled and shaved and denied myself all these
years for whats Merciful heavens! for
what?"
He stopped suddenly in the road, and
wrung his hands, with an expression upon
his face which haunts me to this day when l
am troubled and out of spirits. The same
thought occurred at the same moment to my
wife and myself. For some reason-possibly
with little, if any, blame attaching to her.
self-his old love had been false to him. So
completely, as we found when we came to
compare notes afterward, had this idea taken
possession Of both our minds, that his next
words took us quite by surprise.
"You don't ask me how found herr" he
said in harsh voice. "You don't ask me
whether she was waiting to meet me where
had left her-where you found me just now.
You don't picture her as l had pictured her
to myself hundreds and hundreds of times,
with the sea rolling between us; with her
arms round my neck, and her lips pressed to |
mine, and the welcome had been waiting
for so long looking out Of every feature of
her sweet face. But you can fancy what it |
was to me to look for her like that, and think |
Of her like that, and then to find her, as