Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-09-24
CHAPTER w.
THE BLATCHFORDS.


the world that he had disowned and dis
inherited his son he felt he had put the
finishing stroke to his duty. When he
Numbered forth the awful edict he ended
his connection with this story, so we
gently drop him out of its pages feel
ing that his absence can well be spared.
Blatchford, however, cannot so read
lily be disposed of, since he figures in
the narrative to the end, therefore it is
necessary to go back and give little
further account of him.
At the time John and Mary married,
Hiram Blatchford had been a widower
for two years, and he remained, so until
after his daughter removed to Kansas.
Soon after that event, though, he met
Miss Sarah Spicl1ler, an elderly spinster,
and asked her to share his home. Miss
Spickler having been on the matri-
monial market for a good many years
with no bidders for her hand, was des-
perate enough to accept any sort of
offer, and accordingly she snapped
Blatchford up in short order.
Miss Spickler was anything but
pretty, and her temper was soured and
her intellect none of the strongest, yet
she had not been in the Blatchford
home week, as Mrs. Blatchford, be-
fore she had her husband under her
thumb, and held complete sway over
everything and everybody about the
place.
Blatchford was her slave from the
first, and with him her word was law.
Whatever she wished she had, and
whatever she commanded to be done
was done without delay. She married
Blatchford for his money, and she was
determined from the first to have it.
A month or so after his marriage
Blatchford began to study about his
daughter, and the more he thought Of
her the more he became convinced that
he had i'll treated her. In short, after
so long time he came to the conclu-
sion that he was as much to blame as
Mary, and knowing that she must be
suffering privations, he decided to ex-
tend to her the hand of friendship and
offer to her and John some pecuniary
assistance. Having come to this con-
clusion, he fastened to mention the
matter to his wife for her sanction.
Sarah listened until he had unfolded
his plans, then with uplifted hands and
| staring eyes exclaimed:
''Well, did ever hear of such a thing
| lost all your senses?''
why, Sarah" Hiram replied, taken
back, ''what's the mattcr?"
''Matter?'' Sarah repeated. "Well, I'd
a never a believed it, never"
"Never believed what?" Hiram asked.
''Why, that you. could ever have been
taken with such fool notions, Hiram.
Whoever heard of the like of it?''
| eta
stopped.
"Why, you," Sarah put in, ''want
to be a fool, Hiram Blatchford, a regu-
lar out and out fool, you do. That's all
there is of it. The idea of yoU making
the first step towards q reconciliation
between you and your daughter, when
she threw you away for the sake Of
John Green. Yes, if I was you would
I'd go and get down on my knees to; her
and own that was in the wrong. Yes
I'd do all that and beg her with tears
in my eyes to comeback to my arms.
''Sarah, /"
Eyes, know what you thought
Hiram. 1 know that your soft, silly
heart prompts you to make a fool o.
yourself. But before you do it, ask
yourself if it would be right. WASH
| y
and didn't you do everything for hel
that father could do?''
eyes, that's true" Hiram replied
with no little inward satisfaction, ant
with growing feeling that he was ;
much abused parent.
''Then you have done your duty, Hi
ram, more than your duty, and if any
body is to bend the knee let it be thu
one who has done wrong. 1 don't be
lieve in father being made a slave t.
the whim and wishes of an ungratefu
child. If had ever had such fathe
as you, and had ever crossed him in on
wish even, I never would have forgiven
!, myself. I couldn't ever looked tn
world in the face after being so heart
less and ungrateful. Oh! Hiram, wha
a noble, loving, forgiving nature you
) have, and how unfeeling must hav
} | been the child who could so ruthlessl,
trample upon it"
: At this point the good Sarah, who a.
, along had shown strong symptoms @
, weeping, was so overcome that sh
} could restrain her tears no longer, an
broke down and poured forth in pei
: feet flood on her husbands shoulder
Hiram was deeply touched, and he wa
. forced to exert himself to keep back tn
tears of self pity that welled up in hi
e own eyes. He had never before rea
j lied how deeply he had been wronget
and never before had he understood
: how much he had been martyred. H
heart went out to himself, and he pitie
. himself from the bottom of his soul.
: 'There, there, Sarah" he said, "don
q let the tenderness of your heart caus
4 you to grieve too sorely for what hay
q been made to suffer. I promise yo
that shall not forget my wrongs agai
q soon, since the weakness that possesse
a me for short time is gone. No, L
q never make any advances to a chi
3 who so far forgot her duty to me ar
|. treated me with such cruelty, and a
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