The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1889-02-07

thC ulOutN VII III vi uSC, SNCu IL lcll
like giving it all to him"
off you only won't mind it, dear, I'll
do everything can to make you happy
"You're awfully kind, Bertha. and
you do all you can now, but don't you
suppose l see how uncomfortable he
makes you all feel on my account2 Come,
you're shivering with the cold. Take
my candle and go to bed; I've got
another, and we'll talk it all over some
other time"
Reluctantly Bertha obeyed, waiting
only to kiss her brother goodnight.
When she reached her room she blew out
the candle, folded a wrapper about her,
and sat down in the little splint rocker,
to think.
She felt as keenly as Robert did, her
fathers injustice, but what could she
do2 She had no mother to go to, and
her grandmother was too loyal to her son
to blame him in words. She could not
talk to her father; he would have turned
upon her as he had before, with the Bit
ter taunt that she encouraged her
brother in his idleness, and excused all
his shortcomings.
The clock struck eleven and found
her still sitting up, trying to solve this
problem, how to keep her brother from
any rash act that he would regret in after
life. Straining her ears to listen, she
thought she heard the creaking of &
door.
1t Iained hard now. She could see the
tops of the trees moving in the wind,
dark as it was.
A sudden terror seized her. That Ger.
tainly was not the rain nor the wind, but
the familiar clank of the heavy chain
against the front door. She ran to her
brothers room, her heart beating heavily,
called him, but no answer came. Cropping
her way to the bed, she felt over it.
Robert was not there-the bed had not
been touched.
She could have screamed for terror, but
she had learned, long before this, to
master her impulses, and she crert
downstairs, to find the front door UNI
fastened. Unheeding rain and wind,
she ran out in the darkness to the gate,
which was also unfastened. Watch, the
dog, was gone-he must have followed
his young master.
AS loudly as she dared, she called her
brothers name, and then, sure that he
was by this time out of hearing, she ran
back to the house, found shawl in the
hall-closet, and left the house, shutting
the door behind her, softly.
The next train was due at half past
eleven o'clock.
Robert must be waiting at the little
station in the woods, half mile away.
The rain beat heavily, the wind blew SC
fiercely that she caught her breath with
difficulty. The path was hard to keep.
Occasionally she staggered in among the
thick bushes on either side the narrow
foot way, and once something bounded
across the road. but before she could
give way to fright she felt the cold nose
of Watch against her hand.
80 Watch, where is Robert? Garry
me to HIM" she cried, somewhat re-
assured now that she had protector.
Presently she stumbled against the plat
form of the little station, that rose like
huge, black shadow before her.
"Robert! Robert! 1t is I. Bertha
are you here? 0 Robert, don't leave
me!'
care you crazy, Bertha7 and such q
thing as this. You will get your death
how dared you come through these
woods"
Il came after you. Robert, you must
60 back--you must! It's awfully selfish
in you to run off, and father will be
broken-hearted if you do. Can't you
bear as much as ! CAM and only a
girl! See, | am wet through and through,
and cold and frightened. but | won't
mind it if you'll only come home. If
you go, Pll stay out in the storm all
night. How can go back and tell them
you stole ont of the house like thiei
at midnight If you must go, Robert,
go in the face of the day and of every
body 1t would kill me to hear people
say you had run away. ORobert, think,
it will be disgrace for all of us--shame,
misery and disgrace"
81 tell you can't bear it." he said,
and stamped on the loose boards of the
platform. 81 might as well go now as
any time"
"No. not now, for my sake--wait at
least till-till l talk to father. What
would mother say, Robert. If she sees
us now"-she broke down utterly, sob.
bling utterly as if her heart would break
Come on-Pll go back, /" said Robert,
sullenly. Here, Watch" the dog
came bounding to his side. "Stop cry.
ing, Bertha-poor little thing, how you
shiver, There! thereT' he said, soften
ing, as he put his arm about her, "we'l
go on the run, to keep you from getting
cold-but, mind, ! don't promise to stay
only won't 90 this time"
1t was week after Roberts attempt
to leave home, and Bertha was very sick.
The fright and exposure of that terrible
night had brought on a fever.
81 can't think how the child took sucf
cold," sad Aunt Mary, as she came
into the living-room one morning.
From the day she had that miserabl,
chill she has been growing steadily
worse. Pm worried about her, and so il
the doctor. The poor child in her de
lirium imagines Robert is going away
Grandma Macy let her knitting fall to
her lap, folded her hands and looked
sorrowfully into the fire.
"lt's two years this month since he
mother died." she said, softly. Where
Roberto"
"Upstairs, with her-you can hardl,
get him out of the room. The boy i
very fond of her. 1t is for her sake.
fancy, that he didn't leave home month
ago." Aunt Mary little knew how
nearly she had hit the truth.
Day after day dragged on and tn
fever did Its work. Robert hardly CAV,
himself time to eat, so anxious was he t.
be by his sisters bedside. He grew bag
gard, watching night and day-re
preaching himself constantly.
"You'll stay now, won't you, Robert?
she said, feebly, one day. "You won
leave the old home-you won't leav,
father alone2 Father will be differen
when lam gone"
"When you are gone-O Bertha !.
said the boy, brokenly. ''Do as did
when you begged me down there in tn
old depot, stay for my sake"
sIf / could, dear-but it isn't as
say-and-I want you to promise m
never TO leave poor father--and whe
the money comes help him all yol
can-will you"
! s1'll do everything you ask me,