The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1891-11-11

come to me. AS il was, my husband
slowly grew roconciled to his hard lot;
learned to grope his way to shady or
sunny spots in the garden, as the
weather was hot or cold; under Mamie's
tuition became able to accompany his
fine voice upon the piano and found
companionship in music; brushed up,
with my help, all his schoo!-book lore,
and was ready for the boys when they
required help, and was dearer to us ali
in his affection than he had betn when
he was away all day, absorbed in bust
ness. And now, dear, the story ceases
10 be my ow narrative and comes from
TIE diary over which have shed many
bitter tears. For Stephen Hethe,ing-
ton did not die, as was supposed, in
that railway collision, but found him
self, several weeks later, in London
hospital, recovering from brain fever
and crippled for life. He had been en-
tered there as a Henry Graham, having
grasped the satchel of the man who
was his companion in the railway car.
riage, and left his own, by which his
supposed corpse had been identified.
Insensible and dreadfully injured, he
had still kept his hold upon this bag,
and in the confusion the investigation
was not very close.
There was sufficient money about
him to pay his expenses for long time,
as he had drawn a large sum for sum-
mer sojourn in Norway, and carried it
in his pocketbook. But his papers and
such little possessions as would have
proved his identity were with bis bag.
gage, and had been already forwarded
to me. When he was sufficiently re.
covered to return to America he did so,
intending TO see his lawyers and prob.
ably take possession of his long vacated
home. But he had been but short
time in New York unrecognized, when
the story of my husbands misfortune
was told to him, and added to the reci
tai was the account of my good fortune
in having home and income so uneX-
pectedly provided for me. Then-oh,
the tender, generous heart!-then he
gave up all intention of claiming his
own property, of touching my home OF
adding to my sorrow. Years of travel,
of loneliness had aged him, and the &C
cident in England had disfgured his
face, so that his old friends passed him
by without recognition.
"Securp, then, against my knowing
him, he came here to Silverton and hired
a little cottage very near this house,
where he earned small sum by basket
making. My boys became his fast
friends, and l constantly heard of Henry
Graham and the stories he could tell OF
foreign lands. Every day my Stephen,
his own namesake, or some of the three
others, would come to me for trihes to
take to the old basket-maker, and l
sure from their own account that his
influence was good, gladly gave of my
plenty for his poverty. Think of it!
Think of bis living for six years at my
gate in poverty and toll, and taking
from me in charity tiny portion O
what was all his own. l seldom saw
him, or | might reproach my self for moi
recognizing him, and making him take
back the fortune | so wroDgfully en-.
joyed; but l was ke pit so constantly with
my husband, and had so many house
hold and maternal cares, that rarely
went outside my own premises, taking
exercise in the large grounds, where my
husband could be with me.
"But one day-ah! never can l for.
get that dayl-Stephen, my first born,
came running home from the old
basket makers cottage to tell me be
was very i'll. The boy was terrified at
the sudden, severe sickness of his old
friend, and I has lily gathered up some
simple medicines, wiue and little sick
fiXings and hurried to the cottage.
cannot tell you more of that day, dear;
the tears would choke me. 1t is not 50
long past that | can speak or even
think of it with composure. But
knew all at last. l knew how inno-
Gently and yet how cruelty | had
thrown back true mans love upon
his own heart, and how generously ht
had revenged himself. Then, knowing
the end was near, Stephen Hethering.
ton told me to read the diary | would
find in one of the trunks sent to mt
from England, and the added record in
his cottage home.
$50, dear, he died, his hand in
mine, his head upon my breast, thu
truest lover ever woman had, the dear
est friend of my life. Two months
later my dear husband died suddenl,
of pneumonia, but have children to
comfort me, and my dear little niece
listen patiently to story that must not
sadden her, but give her new faith i
human nature and prove TO her that
generosity and chivalry are not such
old-time virtues as modern cynics want
us to believe. Never knight of olden
poem or story was truer than Stephen
Hetf erington was to his love in modern
days. "-Anno Shields, IN the Netc
York Ledger,