Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1891-12-25

| Our own dread self the mlnotaur
| That far within resides.
And softly each dim passageway
| With silent feet we tread,
| Advancing steadily but slow,
| Lest we should snap the thread.
For lost the silker clew of love,
| The way could Ut be trod
Which leads from narrowness and dark
Out to the scope of God.
| Elizabeth NJ. Chaplin in Springfield Repub-
| lican.
BOUNDFORGREEN FIELDS
1t was a lovely May morning, a morning
| on which even the life of an omnibus con-
ductor seemed endurable. Besides, the
particular company for which Archy
Johnston worked had become infected by
| socialistc principles, to the extent of only
employing their hands from Z a. M to 10
| p. m, and giving them, as a rule, the al
| ternate Sundays. So that, as things went,
| he might be considered well off.
| Better off, at all events, than the pale
| young man who, as Archy completed his
arrangements before starting, watched
\ him, with a rather melancholy air, from
\ the curbstone. For this pale young man,
i whose name was Warner, by special per-
| mission of the company, to whom benevo-
4 lent clergyman had appealed on Warmers
4 behalf, came every morning at o'clock to
see if there was conductor off work, and
4 if there was to take his place on the omni-
bus. For the last month he had presented
4 himself regularly, and the men had come
| to know and have a kindly feeling toward
him; but in that month he had only been
\ on duty seven days. This fact inevitably
raised the question as to what Warner did
! with himself when no vacancies occurred.
He did not look as if he did anything very
remunerative. Nothing more remunera-
| tive, probably Archy guessed correctly, as
he glanced across, than tramping the
| streets in search of permanent employ
| ment.
| Archy's omnibus started last, and he had
two or three minutes to spare; so, being
sociable young fellow, he crossed over to
speak to Warner, who, for his part, re-
sponded with an anxious good will in
which, if Archy had known, there was a
certain undercurrent of penitence. The fact
was Warner had just been thinking as he
saw the omnibuses roll away and realized
/ with sigh that all the men were on duty,
/ 'tWhat if one of them were to die and he
were taken on as permanent hand" The
/ iniquity of this thought to his kindly and
gentle nature seemed terrible, and the con-
seriousness of guilt made his tone to Archy
4 one of deprecating cordially.
/ He did not in any way appeal for pity,
and yet the few facts Archy drew from him
were an appeal to any one conversant with
the city. He lived mile away, "a Dix
street, an address that fingered curiOusly
in Archy's memory. He had been a car
penter and comfortably off, but now he
was hopelessly out of work, and with his
wife and their young child had been living
how he could.
''We feel it most, you see," he said in his
patient way, "for the child" Then he
checked himself, as if he had said too much,
and added quite hopefully, "But it's a
long lane that has no turning, isn't it?'
eyes," said Archy, reserving to himself
reflection that life contained some very
long lanes, indeed, as not of cheering
character.
No more passed between them just then.
| for the conductors time was up. But the
! next morning, as his eyes encountered the
depressed looking figure again. a sudden
impulse seized him.
"Can you take my place today" he said,
accosting Warner. Ppm awfully anxious
to have the day, but / can't risk getting
sacked
Warmers face beamed.
II told Janet this morning." he said, as
he followed Archy, "I'd feeling should
be in luck today"
cts just here" said Archy staring
straight before him. "I'm thinking of
going down into the country for Il day-or
two-or may be more-I can't exactly tell,
not being on the spot, how long l may re-
quire to stay. And it would be a load off
! my mind to know my place wouldn't be
snapped up"
'I'll keep it for you" said Warner ener-
| getically. land give it up to you VIII an you
come back; for it's queer thing. as
| know, to be thrown out of work. And I'm
sure hope you'll have pleasant journey.
Beautiful down in the country this time Of
year, amt it?"
"Ahp said Archy. eyes, the country's
fine place, especially, as you say, about
this time of the year, when you can lie
down in a field and smoke a pipe without
catching cold, otherwise than from the
general treachery of the climate. Natural
objects, as meadows, spring flowers, cows,
windmills, ripping streams, a blue sky
when it don't happen to be rainy, fresh air,
plenty of wholesome victuals, that's my
|
style"
| Archy had spoken jerkily and rapidly,
but with entire composure; and yet there
was something in his tone, suggestion OF
possible want of sincerity, that made
Warmers brain whirl.
| 81 expect that would be all our styles
he said timidly, "if we could afford it.
You've friends in the country. 1 suppose. !"
"Ahp' replied Archy benignantly, look
| ing at Warner for the first time. slots of
| 'em. Fellows who would share their last
| crust with me. But it amt come to that;
| they live on the fat of the land, call it,"
YOU'RE a lucky fellow" said Warner
admiringly.
"WeH," said Archy, with still deeper
gravity, "sometimes think am in luck's
| way, now you mention it. Especially this
| morning. And now think as there's a
particular train I have it in my mind to
catch, and as your times just up, I'll bid
you good day."
He grasped Warmers hand and turned
| away. After all, be had said and done
| nothing remarkable; and yet, such was
| the serene benignity Of his tone and man
uer, that for moment Warner stood stock
still on the pavement, staring after him.
Archy went back to his lodgings, but he
| could not rest there, and soon he went out
again. He found himself wondering what
| Warmers wife and child were like, and it
struck him that, as he had nothing else to
do. he would go around by Dix street.
| 1t was a small street OF tiny, jerry built
houses, with their numbers inscribed very
! legibly ON the doors, so that Archy had no
difficulty in recognizing a. There was
brown blind over the low half of the win
dow; but Archy's tall head rose above it,
and as he passed he glanced furtiyely in, as
if it were crime. 1t was a small, bare
room with no furniture but deal table,
box or two and an old rocking chair drawn
mp to the hearth, whose fire had gone out.
On that rocking chair girl was sitting,
with baby in her arms, rocking slowly to
and fro. and singing YEARLY, over and over
again:
There is not in the wide world a valley SO
| sweet.
A mere girl she looked. but very wasted
and her cheeks had not tinRe of color.
and yet it was one of the sweetest faces,
Archy thought. that he had ever seen. Il
this was Warmers wife. perhaps he was q
lucky fellow after all.
| He wondered if there was anything to
T. IL i ,oA LII