Waterbury evening Democrat., 1893-04-25

this has beenl Are you not ready for your game of chess, father2"
 "No. Let me hear what is going on on the place."
 She drew book from her pocket and spread it open before him. Her face wore its most sullen expression.
 "Why do you not mount your horse and ride over the place yourself, father, if you care to know anything about it2" He made an impatient gesture. Shall have to repeat for your instruction my solemnly-registered VOW, registered over your mothers coffin, girl?"
 Spare me! I know it by heart. Inn becility!' She muttered the last word between her teeth. Moreover, the time has gone by for me to cope with the changed conditi~-- of labor. There is nothing but defeat and humiliation left for the gentlemen of the old regime. Let the freed slaves work out their own salvation, on the | rental system. It is not necessary for me to come in personal contact with | them. I should never draw comfort | able breath if I was compelled to be a | daily eyewitness of the ruin that has overtalSen Glenburnie. With you it is | different. You have no recollection of its ante-bellum glories."
 "Yes, with me it is different" said | Ida, bitterly; then she forced his wan ! dering attention in the direction of the foreman's weekly report, as set forth in the book she had placed in his hand.
 "Yes, yes. Doubtless it is all perfect ly correct. What a splendid business man Is thrown away in you, my daugh- | ter! Have we not had enough? The account is somewhat prolix." He concealed a yawn behind his large white silk pocket handkerchief, which ! eXhaled a perfume more delicate than that of.any of Ida's marketable flowers
 She was relentless He should hear | her out.
 "l have not given you yet the num- Der of sacks of seeds stored for the next planting. And Ralston says the | gin ought to be insured. I think he is right"
 By all means insure it, then" He was leaning back in his large chair, ca ressing his handsome side whiskers with the hand that was ornamented with his | largest solitaire.
 ''By the way, Ida, what is the condi- tion of our cellar?"
 ''There is some sherry, claret and Ca | tawba downstairs"
 She did not tell him that the flowers from her gard0n had been transmitted into wine for his cellar.
 "Send claret up with my dinner, will you?"
 It was a note of dismissal. He hand ! ed her back the book in which she had | compelled him to keep tally while she | the reading of it, it dawned upon him that Ida had rather a rough time of it for a handsome young woman" He gra- ciously bestowed upon her an indulgent smile: Not very lucid, but as clear, suppose, as one could expect from a woman and an uncducated foreman. | Pray, my daughter, give more Explicit directions about my mutton. It was simply n mess yesterday" Ida took the book away from him and | put it back into her own pocl1et. He was smiling up into her face like child who was vaguely conscious of having mcritcd punishment of some sort, but | stood in no fear of its immediate inflic-
 tion.
 What manner of man was this that sine was called upon to honor and to obey?" It was not the first time that she had asked that question in intense bitterness of s1ul. The answer seemed farther off than ever to-day.
 She had purposcly tried to goa.l him into a sense of shame for his indolcnt attitude and his unmanly shifting of l the responsibilities that were his upon l rwcnll shoulders She had dcliber- Itely and purposcly been insolent to him. To what purpose? They had gone all around the drcarily familiar circle and drifted back to his mutton and his wine! There was no holding him to any serious purpose. The only evidence of teuacity that Amcs Fair
 banks had ever given to the world was \ in his observance of VOW which Ida
 well called that old war time i.nbr:il- ity," and in his hatred of the L0rimcrs.
 Ida knew the origin of what he grandilo- Iquently called his sacred vow" He
 had come home on furlough during the
 civil war, summoned to his wifcs death
 bed, and had found his home occupied
 by the enemy, who had confined his
 family to the upper story. Running
 unwittingly into this trap. he was him.
 self relegatcd to the floor which he had
 since converted into a hermitage. and
 was IHcEe Lhdlc u pitIolet prlSOner There, in his wrath, he registered a
 VOW; he would never descend the steps
 that led to the polluted first floor of his
 home, until carried out of it in his
 coffin.
 Cynical people said that Ames Fair.
 banks, pleasure-loving, sybaritish, sel
 fish and indolent, found it easier tc
 keep this VOW than to wrestle with the
 new order of things. Hence his rigid
 observance ot 1t.
 The close of the war found him with diminished family-Sibley, his oldest son, then a boy of eighteen; Ida, his youngest girl, thep girl of ten. SibleJ had struggled freely with the wretchet and disorganized estate. He was too ' much like his father to succeed in any
 thing that required stable resolve ant
 drudging insistance. Both men were fitted exclusively to adorn the luxuriou
 circles of society. Both men were su > Hperb physically, but defective morally 5 They clashed perpetually. There was nc one but a girl child to adjust matters be ' krry 4 n: