The Laurens advertiser. (Laurens, S.C.) 1885-1973, 1893-10-10
eur family Stnrn.
THE RECONCILIATION.

death-like stiffness reigned. There
were no sounds of voices from within,
no creaking footsteps on the unexpected
floors; while without, even the songs
OF the birds were hushed. The dingy,
acknowledging house, with its un-
painted, weather stained exterior, its
low doors and its small windows, was
eve desolate and forsaken in
appearance than was it's wont, and at
first glance one would have thought IL
completely deserted. But a closer OBJ
~Bervation proved that such was not the
case.
Isaac Burton, old and gray, and bent
under the cares and burdens of years
OF trial and toll, sat on the doorstep OF
his house with his face buried in his
hands, now and then casting q furtive
glance through the open door in the
direction OF IA bed in the corner of the
room. While he sat there the sun
crawled dOwn the western sky, casting
its shadow obliquely through the open
door, yet he seemed unmindful of the
fact that time was passing. Rising
from the steps finally, he stood an in
instant listening to the slow, regular
breathing that came from the bed,
then walked out acros the neglected
yard, muttering, half audibly;
"She sleeps we'll, but I don't like the
pedrdnCS OI neFJdCe."
Reaching the crooked rail-fence that
separated the yard from the public
highway, old Isaac stopped, and for q
little while stood looking down the
hard, white road hat ran through the
long, straight lane to the east. The
road was deserted, not a living object
being visible on all the two miles of it
that lay within his view.
"She ort to have the DOCTOR" he
muttered, "yit 1 don't like to leave her
to go an fetch him. She looks monty
quare bout the face an eyes, an I'm
afeerd she's bad tuck" Then after a
short %silence: eff only somebody was
passin' this way, SOS l could send word
to the mill an git the DOCTOR"
= Then Isaac cast u look in the direc-
ton of the ridge, q fourth of n mile to
the west, where q small Lighthouse. sim
liar to his own, stood, and something
like a sigh escaped him. Shaking his
head sadly, he turned away.
"Neighbors ID be powerful helpin'
and comfortin' just now" he mused,
an I'd give a heap If we had some.
l never felt lonesome when Indy was
up an about, but now she's down I feel
like half the world is gone, an it pears
like l hone for somebody to keep me
company. Them people," nodding to-
ward the house on the opposite ridge,
"ain't no neighbors, an no matter
what comes | can't go to them for moth
in'."
For some time old Isaac walked to
and fro in the little path leading from
the gate to the door, then again he
went and leaned over the fence to look
down the road. Instantly his face
frightened and q glad light came into
his eyes; for, away down the lane, he
saw u man approaching. Nearly a
quarter Of an hour passed before the
latter came up, but Isaac waited for
him, and accosted him at once:
Sam, 1 never was so glad to see
anybody a l am to see you. Are YOU
goin' over to the mill 2"
Yes" Sam replied, after eying old
Isaac inquiringly for almost q minute.
What has happened, Ike ?"
"Lindy is bad sick, Sam" Ike said
in u low tone, IAN all night an all
day I've been stayin' with her alone.
knowed, too, that she ought TO have
the doctor, but | was afeared to leave
her, an there want nobody to send.
You can tell him to come when you git
to the mill"
Yes, III tell him, Ike, an IL there's
anything else l kin do fer you ri do it
an be glad o."
"No; that's all. Tell him to come
as quick as he kin, Sam"
Yes, will. But you ought to have
somebody to stay with you, Ike. Some
body to help bout nussin' and 'tendin'
on Mis- Burton"
81 know that" Isaac replied with a
sigh and a slow shaking of his head.
I'D give n heap to have somebody
here, but L can't git nobody now"
For Il moment Sam was silent, cast
inn a alnroa E,,t n Vn.-. A. Il ~
house on the ridge to the west. Isaac
saw the action and understood.
mo, SAM" he said, half sadly, half
vindictively. "Ill never go there for
q favor, v |"
I'm a case like this things ought to
be different" Sam suggested. HPeo-
pie ought to forget and forgive, Ike"
"Mebby so, Sam, mebby so; but
they wouldn't feel that way. All that's
been said an done in thirty years can't
be forgot in a day"
1t was a little while before Sam
spoke again. He wished to proceed
just right In his kindly purpose-that
OF reconciling two long estranged fam
ilies-and for a time he was at a loss
how best to do it. Finally he said.
like, If Mis- Martin felt inclined
youW
Isaac shook his head.
"She won't feel SO inclined, Sam. 1t
amt natural That she should"
81 don't know" Sam replied. "NIis'
Martin has a kind heart, an she is
sympathizing with the sick an the
needy. She's a good woman, Ike"
"She may be, but l amt ready to say
so. It's been thirty years since my
family an the Martins have neighbor-
ed, an in all that time not q word has
passed between us. It's hard to forget
an forgive after SO long, Sam, an |
low Mis- Martin can't do it. She NAV
be a good woman, but she amt good
enough to do that"
Sam said no more, but went on up
the road toward the mill, while Isaac
returned to his seat on the doorstep.
Indy still slept, and as her husband
sat listening to her breathing, his
thoughts ran over the conversation he
had just had with Sam Gross.
"pd be glad to have Mis- Martin
here" he thought, "but / amt no
right to expect her to come, even if
he was Christian enough to forgive
Martin lay sick, l went about
him, an even when he died I kept
away from the house, not so much as
seein' him buried. / amt no right to
expect her to be more forgivin' than
myself.">
When Sam Gross arrived at Mrs.
Martins house he went in and asked
for a drink OF water. She gave 1t to
him, then asked him to stop q while
to rest.
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