The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1891-01-08

went down 10 nef laUner he was dlOno
in the sitting little parlor pretending to
be busy with his accounts, but she knew
that he was waiting for her. He looked
: up uneasily as he heard the firm step ap-
preaching. Hester was a healthy, sweet
tempered resolute girl, the only one of
his daughters whom he respected.
"Well, my dear, my dear" he said,
> Jumping up, this is wonderful piece
of good fortune, ell? For you-for all of
usi"
He put his arm about her, and looked
anxiOusly into her face. His wife had
warned him that he would have trouble.
Father, have made up my mind. L
never will marry Major Yates. Butch,
wait and hear MEL will not be a bur-
den upon you any longer l."
81 have heard what you propose. You
will disgrace me by going out to earn
your bread-as if could not support my
children-when such position is offered
to you'll"
IL am not going out There is moth
ing | can do in the world. | have
thought it all over. l have discharged
Ann. am going to take her place"
Discharged the cook! Live in the
kitchen when you could marry Yates
You are mad!'
mo, father; am very sane. can do
nothing else. will not feel then that l
am burden on you"
at ends your chances for life. Who
will look for wife in kitchenP'
stormed Mr.. Goold who, in his way, loved
his children.
She threw her arms about his neck. II
don't love him, father. Don't drive me
away from you'll
He never could bear his children's
tears. "There, there, child! l don't
want to sell you. Yates is pompous
old fool! If l wasn't so wretchedly
poor!'
The next day Hetty was atwork in the
kitchen. 1t seemed an unheroic, poor
sacrifice to our readers perhaps. Some
women among them, however, may I'M
derstand what it was to cook for dozen
people, to scrub, to wash greasy dishes
and pans day after day, year after year:
while rest, luxury and the chief
position in her little world waited for
her; for the major remained faithful,
pressing his suit from time to time.
Other sacrifices followed which, too,
only women can understand. The pretty
complexion turned yellow, the white
hands grew big and unsightly, anxious
| burrows came into her forehead. At
night she was too tired to read, and crept
| to bed when her sisters began to enjoy
the evening.
Three years passed. The major mar
ried Belle. Four of the Other girls mar
ried. Her mother died. Hetty nursed
her tenderly, held her in her arms at the
last, laid her i'll the grave, and went back
to her kitchen. But as the years crept
by and she was left alone with her father,
the strength and broad, tender human
ity of her nature developed She became
his adviser, his contidant
"Goold," Deacon Wall observed, ''had
shed his fOolishness, and come out quite
reasonable, simple fellow"
Hetty allowed no debts under her
management. The house gradually be-
came the home of order and comfort.
When Mr.. Goold died, five years ago, his
two unmarried daughters were left with
a small income.
Enough" the deacon said ito keep
them comfortable. Fanny, of course,
will live with the Yateses; she likes the
finery and fashion, and don't mind the
majors tempers. He worries them wo-
men like deg, sir! Hetty will keep the
old home, s likely, though there's more
than one man in the cOuntry'd be glad to
bring her into his. I'd 90 out of my way
any day to hear her laugh"
He was talking to an old friend of Het-
TVS who had been long absent-a mis-
sionary returned invalided from India,
where he had buried his wife and two
children; but one little girl was left to
him.
"As for Hood himself" said the dea-
con to his neighbors, II give him three
months. It's a case of quick cOnsump-
ton. What is to become of the child
don't know. The Hoods are all gone,
and the church here can hardly be held |
responsible for its keep
1t was Christmas Eve, just quarter of |
a century since the night when Hetty |
Goold had chosen her mental lot in life. |
Never was uglier, more unprOmising seed |
planted in more sterile soil. Yet out of |
it had grown peace and higher life for |
her father, and for herself noble |
strength and patience.
She had made ready all her little gifts |
for her poor friends and the many chill |
dren whom she loved, and had eaten her |
solitary supper How solitary it was |
The fire burned brightly, the hearth was |
clean, but she walked restlessly up and
down. She wondered would anybody |
send her a gift. Would the children
think Of coming to wish her happy |
Christmas to morrow? "Old Maid Goold"
was one of the most reasonable of wO-
men, vet the hot tears stood in her eyes.
The world was full of homes, of happy |
mothers and children, and she was out
side of them all-alone. And yet she
had tried to do right.
There was knock at the door, blast
of snow-and what was this that had
happened to her?
John Hood was sitting beside her fire;
his little girl was on her knee. 1t could
not but be well that they should meet
once before death parted them. For one
hour she could build up the fire to warm
him, shelter him with shawls from any
chance draught, listen to his stories of
his great work. Surely Lucy, who was
gone, would not begrudge her that one
hOurl
How like the child was TO John! Poor,
thin little thing! She brought her out
little frosted cake, taught her how to
hang an apple by a string to roast before
the fire, and Rugged herto her breast as
the child laughed with delight while it
spun and Kissed.
The pale man opposite watched her
anxiously as she played with the child.
He talked little of India or himself, but
of her and her past life he asked thou
sand questions with a morbid curiosity
81 thought" he said, "thatperhaps you,
too. would be missionary"
Hetty grew pale. "God," she said in
low voice, "does not think all of us
worthy of that great work"
John Hood stood up. He was greatly
agitated, but his tones were cold and for
NAL.
"There was a time-after my wife's I
death-when thought of asking you to
take up that work. But | heard your
story-all that you were doing for your
father. | knew God had His servants |
and martyrs in houses and kitchens as
well as in the mission field"
He looked at her. She did not speak,
but, as their eyes met, all that was un-
told in the past was made plain. John
Hood was a dying man. He knew 1t, |
and had come home TO give his child to |
the one woman in the world to whom he |
could trust her.
They talked for long time, and when |
he rose to 90 she said: Leave her with |
me now. John. have waited a long |
time. Let my happiness come to me to-
night"
When he was gone she kneeled down |
and thanked God who had given her at !
last this mans love, and had laid a child |
i'm her arms to be her very own. OF all