The Press., 1889-12-26
A LIFE's LESSON.
"Be reasonable, father." NRaaa0nahIa f,s

Old John Prime was in no reasonable mood. Recent financial disasters had wrecked his fortune. Had his temper even been less proud and irritable than 1t vas. it might nott thaye borne undisturbed, under the gcircnmstances, the proposal of his eldest. and favorite daughter to ex, change the sumptuous suite of apartments, Ee had hitherto occupied for one small room atsthe house.
 grayia, had once been his own: but. on the marriage of hisldaughter to the man of his. choice, he had given 1t Ito her, with 6 handsome portion besides He had never copprehenGed before inst the home he had lived in so long was no longer his.
 i've are expecting visitors to stay with ns, yon know, l" his daughter replied.
 Ah, yes ythe Fiss Flashea4s Of course am of less conseQuence than. .thsy. 'ssss
 sBo reaeOnabie. fathef."
 I am reasonable. I begin to see that this house is no longer cmine. III you choose tosturn me out of it have no right to complain. It would be- most unreason- able to do so."
 "We have no wish to discommode you. |" answered the daughter ''but Augustus and have talked the matter over. and if you could be content, for the present, to go to some respectable" ''Cheap lodging house." broke in the old gentleman.
 "To some respectable place." continued his daughter, ''where you could be suita- bly, accommodated, Eat reasonable expense "Well?"
 1t would be more agreeable for all con- cerned."
 "There is one difficulty, however" said Mr. Prime. with enforced calmness. "What is that?'
 "How tomeet the reasonable expense. '" Augustus has generously consented to take that upon himself"
 Provided it be. kept within moderate bounds, no doubt, :" retorted the old man, bitterly.
 "Of course," answered his daughter. Augustus could not be expected to incur any unnecessary outlay these hard times. I'm sure think his offer exceedingly gen. erous." ..sea Exceedingly, indeedi Let me make sure that I fully appreciate it. It is to turn me out of the house Twas foolish enough to give away, and to pay my week. ly bills (provided they be not too extrava- gant) out of money which. but for my own folly,, would still be mine. Hark you, Jane Mordauntl have given you and your husband over half my fortune. Ca- lamity has stripped me of the rest, but, if l am to live on, charity, it shall not be on yours or his"
 His lips quivered andlhis eye glistened beneath the cold glance of the daughter on whom he:lhad uusparingly lavished wealth and affection. With bowed head and fsltering steps, he crossed the threst- old. determined. whatever might -betide, meyer to return.
 Penniless, homeless, Eand childless - worse than chidless is he whose child's heart ia closed against him-John Prime wandered forth; whithered he cared not. His younger daughter, Mary, had mar ried against hisIwill. He.had long banish- cd her, OF thought he had. from his heart. But theasorrowful, loving face she had turned upon him when he had forbade her his presence for cleaving to the man for wiom she had felt it her duty. to forsake father and mother, now rose up in singular vividness before him. Gould that face ever have worn the cold, unfeeline look of that of his eldest. born when she suffered him to go forth destitute and desolate without bidding him tarry? He walked on without needing. His at- tention was at length drawn to a little girl running toward him. Please, sir" said the child, who had run away frightened from a crowd whose notice she had attracted-"please, sir, I'm lost.' The little face looking mp so trustingly into his own diverted the current of his thoughts.
 "What issyour name ?" he asked, pat ting the child's head.
 'Lucy," she answered.
 "Have you any other ?" No; she was just Lucy. Equally fruitless were all inquiries touching her residence. MT. Prime was perplexed. He was un. willing to leave the child in the street and equally unwilling to trust her to the crowd of people of whom she seemed so much afraid. He was on the point of setting out with the little stray for the nearest po- lice station. when, suddenly dropping his hand, she darted away, calling '' Mamma r In the lady that caught tho child in her Mary. whom he. had never seen since her marriage. {.
 "Dat gentl'n found me, mamma" :" said Lucy, pointing. dsMr. Prime. When Mary Weston encountered her fathers look, her face, though pale and agitated, wore the old, fond expression. "Is that yonr child, Mary 2" he asked. "Yes, father.",
 Come, kiss your grandpa," said the old gentleman, taking Lucy in his arms land when he put her down again tear had moistened his cheek.
 'I am going home with you, Mary" he added.
 ''It would make me very happy if you
 would, she answered; "audI I am sure Clarence will be very glad to see you"
 That evening MT. Prime sat an honored guest at Clarence Weston's fire-siGle. The abode was humble, but neat, and the best apartment in it was placed at the service
 of the unexpected guest. l When Mary and her husband had learn. ed all, they insisted on MT. Primes mak-
 ing his home with them and when little
 Lucy put her chubby arms.about his neck
 and said, "Gan'pa mustn't go aways" that
 settled it.
 One day Mary roticed- that her. father,
 who had bean reading etha m0rning pSpaf,,
 went out hastily, looking strangely excned.
 He came home late, and was pnnsually si:
 lent and thoughtful thsf whole evening.
 For several weeks he1weDt eutdeily, and
 when at home had iitfIe fo gay. Mary
 thought he was bt6bding over hfs business
 troubles, and piled evsry dapghteflf art te divert his attention from them. q h4 l, -5E Gs