News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1891-09-03

sight. Hehad been clerk IN large
wholesale house and had night work
at all seasons upon the books. The
perpetual rows of figures, the close
calculation had injured the nerves O.
his ewes, and when he was yet a
young man he became hOpelessly
blind.
Before the horror of poverty was
added to this affiiction | had another
grief to bear in the news of Stephen
Hetherington's death by railway
accident in England. By his will |
became heiress to large wealth, and
this house was one of my possessions
this lovely country-house and large
grounds, where my children have been
entirely happy and where my hus-
band could have the peaceful require
ment that he craved.
"He was very sensitive about his
infirmity, fretting overt awkward
ness in moving about and never con-
tented unless [ was close beside him,
reading to him or guiding his hands
to some simple Employment. As
Mamie. our Oldest girl became prof.
cient in music, she took my place for
a portion of the day and the boys
would come with difficulties in study
to ask help and rouse his interest :;
but it would have been very hard for
all of US if [ had been compelled to
earn our bread, as l must have done
had not this money come to me.
GAS it was, my husband slowly
grew recOnciled to his hard lot; learn
ed to grope his way to shady or sun
ny spots in the garden, as the wealth
er was hot or cold; under Mamie's
tuition became able to accompany
his fine voice upon the piano and
found companionshipi lin music; brush
ed up, with my help, all his school
book lore, and was ready for the boys
when they required help, and was
dearer to us all III his affliction than
he had been when he was away all
day, absorbed in business.
And now, dear, the story ceases
to be my own narrative and comes
from the diary over which | have
shed many bitter tears.
'For Stephen Hetherington did
not die, as was supposed, in that rail
way collision, but found himself, sew
eral weeks later in London hospi-
tai, recovering from brain fever and
crippled for life He had been enter
ed there as Henry Graham, having
grasped the satchel of the man who
was his companion in the railway
carriage, and left his own by which
his supposed corpse had been identi-
fed. Insensible and dreadfully in
jured, he had still kept his hold upon
this bag. and in the confusion the in
vestigation was not very close.
"There was sufficient money about
him to pay his expenses for a long
time, as he had drawn a large sum
for a summer sojourn in Norway and
carried it in his pocket-book. But
his papers and such little possessions
as would have proved his identity
were with his baggage and had been
already forwarded to me.
when he was sufficiently recover
ed to return to Ameriee IL so, in-1
tending to see his law I!-ot'
ably take possession of..his so long
vacated home But he had been but
a short time in New York unrecOgnlz-
ed when the story of my husbands S
misfortune was told to him, and add
ed to the recital was the account OF
my good fortune in having home
and income so unexpectedly provided
for me.
"Then-oh, the tender, generous
heart-then he gave up all intention
of. claiming his own property, of
touching my home or adding to my
sorrow. Years of travel, of loneliness
had aged him, and the accident in
England had disfigured his face, so
that his old friend passed him by
without recognition.
'Secure then, against my knowing
him, he came here to Silverton and
hired a little cottage very near
this house, where he earned a small
sum by basket-making. My boys be-
came his fast friends, and constant
ly 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 9th
ers, would come to me for trifles to
take the old basket-maker, and |.
sure from their own account that his
influence was good, gladly gave of my
plenty for his poverty.
''Think of it! Think of his living
for six years at my gate in poverty
and toll, and taking from mein char
ity tiny portion that was all his
own. | seldom saw him, or | might
reproach myself for not recognizing
him and making him take back the
fortune | so wrongfully enjoyed; but
| was kept so constantly with my
husband and had so many household
and maternal cares, that | rarely
went outside my own premises, TAX
ing exercise in the large grounds,
where my husband could be with me.
But one day-ah! never can for
get that dayl-Stephen, my first
born, came running home from the
old basket-maker's cottage to tell me
he was very ILL. The boy was terri
fed at the sudden, severe sickness of
his old friend, and / hastily gathered
up some simple medicines, wine and
a little sick fixings and hurried to the
cottage.
/ cannot tell you more of that day,
dear; the tears would choke me. 1t
is not so long past that | can speak
or even think of it with cOmposure.
But | knew all at last | knew how
innocently and yet how cruelty | had
thrown back true mans love upon
his own heart, and how generously
he had revenged himself Then,
knowing the end was near, Stephen
Hetherington told me to read the
diary | would find in one of the
trunks sent to me from England, and
the added record in his cottage home
$50, dear, he died, his hand in
mine, his head upon my breast, the
truest lover woman ever had, the
dearest friend of my life. Two
months later my dear husband dice
suddenly of pneumonia, but | hav,
my children to comfort me, and my
dear little niece to listen patiently tC
a story that must not sadden her
but give her new faith in human ma
ture and prove to her that generosi
ty and chivalry are not such old-tim,
virtues as modern cynics want us tC
believe. Never knight of olden poem
or story was truer than Stephel
Hetherington was to his love in mod
,, ern days" - Anna Shields in Ney
York Ledger.