Waterbury evening Democrat., 1892-11-08
ALL FORGIVEN.
A Ministers Pathetic Story Of .
 Dying Miner.

Iner of 's9. He was slowly dying of consumption, in a remote camp out in the Mubas foothills, and a hardy fel- low miner had brought me to his cot, imploring me to remain with him until the end.
 Bart has something on his mind," he explained, hesitatingly. 'We all think he has confession to make, and if you stay, it is bound to come, sooner or later. I think he'll die happier, with the load taken off his conscience. Bart an me both have a bit of gold saved up, and we can pay you we'll for the trouble of staying. It won't be long now, anyway. You'll get camp rations thrown in, an it's as healthy here in the foothills as you'd find it anywhere; better stay with Bart, sir, till the endr' grasped Rube Sawyer's honest, roughened hand. "I will remain on one condition-that you will not even think of future payment. am out hero on a needed vacation, the climate agrees with me and I can hunt and fish, while at the same time I can help you nurse your dying comrade."
 The miners eyes glistened. You've got heart, sir, an I am glad of it. Now, take look at Bart. He's as fine a lad as you'd wish to see; or, at least, was before this wasting away began"
 Together we entered the place, which was part tent, part dugout. On a low cot by the door lay a man still young in years. his face and form bearing the traces of great physical beauty. re- member thinking what he must have been in health and strength, and then T l,, me. They were large, gray and pierc- ing, such eyes as are never forgotten. And he extended thin, shapely hand in welcome.
 You are the minister from the east that Bart heard of below and prom ised to bring me if he could. We'll, it was mighty good of you to come. be- long in the east, too, you see. Now York's my state, and"
 ''It is also mine," I interrupted, pressing his long, white fingers.
 But you'll get back to it again, an I won'tI' he cried, with frown. i've got to die here in the Mubas foothills, an Rube has promised to bury me just outside of camp. I've lain here six months an over, an it's long, long death. Better die at once, an done with it!"
 "You are quite ready to die?' I asked, looking him full in the face. His boyish gray eyes fell beneath my glance.
 No, I ain't, sir, an that's why wanted you to comet I've got a good deal to say and something to do before the last chapter ends I'll read you the book of my life if you've a mind to listen, some day. But how long can you stay?"
 ''As long as you think you need me, |" I answered. And honest Rube Sawyer seized my right hand in grateful acknowledgement, while Barton Je- rome fcebly grasped my left.
 "You resemble my father" the latter said, after pause. 'He is Fulton county Jerome. Must be living there yet, anyway hope so! Ever been in | Albany?"
 nodded in the affirmative.
 'I was born and raised there," the young man continued. "I think"
 But violent spell of coughing came on, and I hastily withdrew, fearing he might be tempted to begin talking again.
 "Bart's is bad casc," said Rube Sawyer, with a sigh. ''The valley doc tor says he can't live a week. So you won't have long to stay, after all"
 Has your friend heard from home latcly?" I asked.
 "Bart never gets letters from mo- body" sighed Rube again. An he's got mother, for he told me so. l reckon she loves him sight, too. II isn't every mother that has such a sor for looks. You should have seen him when he first camo to the hills Straight as an arrow, and six foot tall if an inch. An then such bright eyes aud curly hair! liked him at first sight, an like Bart yet. But he's go l some secret that was eating his life away from the start. Faint the eli mate! The rests all sound and healthy Bart's just frctting his heart out ove1 some past wrong-doing. But he's beer the finest fellow in camp, an the boy all like him. Was always doing a l<inC turn when well An now he's dying ! My, my! hate to think that! There'l be folks in the east as will be awful sorry to hear! He may tell you al '' about himself, an then, again. he ma! e not. But Rube Sawyer doesn't care t e know. I've nursed Bart like a brother though I've none myself. I'd do = again just for the smile and kind wor he can give"
 There were tears in the miners eyes and, while he brushed them away, Al turned in to the cot, pretending not | sec. Barton Jerome was lying in a
 uneasy slumLer, his clear-cut fac
 turned towards mo. l had time then
 study it carefully, and l tried to req
 the story of his wasted young life
 What had he been? What had he done
 Why was he dylng there alone, conter n to make no sign? These question
 came again and again. There wer
 weak lines on his clcan-shaven face S' 'nuinr that he had been easily il
 ~ nri fnr good and evil He mus
 ' br, r,H'~ht up carefully an
 -c,t1Uv. Eyl hv had early Cor sv tray! knew that. even then. Il nt, follow checks and sunkcn eyes wer