The Washington times., 1894-08-05

"since he died, half an honr ago he says,
in cold. steady tones, perhaps should say
that he is WE'LL
Mr. Darradale chokes: he has no words
of comfort ready-bcing over-powered bv his
own grief for the child who has laughed his
way into every heart The man suddenly
turns aside. bowiny his head upon his arm.
''Oh my Cod my dear little boy he
groans. passionate human feeling breaking
down all his seif-restraint and long-studied
control. II is. however, only for moment,
then he stands erect his teeth set hard on
his lip. and In reply to the rector's question
if he can do anything, says, No. there is
nothing to be done"-not gratefully. hut
with treading down Of his own emotions,
which may be babitual, ind Which conveys
the impression that to him life means only
endurance.
The rector goes home. using his hnndker-
chic! q good deal, and tells them there what
has happened; the children listen in awe,
though unable quite to realize the meaning
OF ieath-but Phllippa breaks down alto
gether for sake OF her little sweetheart.
And can't we do anything for Mr.. De Ia
Poer?" asks Mrs. Darradale. 1T is so sac
that he snogii be left alone"
u fancy he prefers il, saJs the rector; and
lie is right
After the quiet funeral the rector detains
the only mourner, who has stood silent and
seil-pGssesse,i during the mournful service-a
vein standing out in lis forehead alone be-
traying by what an effort he preserves his
composure-aud lays kind hand on his
shoulder.
Il do not like TO think Of you alone, and
unconsciously encouraging sorrow by soli-
tude." ne says. - should be glad if you
would walk over to my house before long;
you will meet only myself and my wife,
promise
n l., D., l.,,,lA
l have much to thank you for; but l nm un-
able 70 do SO yet. A great deal-perhaps. in
deed. al-tne happiness of Bertie's life here
was due to the kindness of you and yours.
But believe me that at present ! am best
alone"
Still, the rector feels that the sat present
is a concession and implies that at some fu-
,ure time De la Poer may yield.
Philippa choSes when, for the first time,
she sees the tiny grave The sad, still
autumn air is heavy with scent OF fading
flowers. There is everywhere that hush only
one step removed from perfect silence, when
the faded leaf falls without a sound. anu the
long grass stirs with scarcely rustic. The
church is open, and she hears the organ
throbbing: her eyes fill. When to her the
death OF this little one has been so much,
what is it to the man left desolate? low can
she grasp the fullness of his pain comprehend
the depth OF his sorIow, the vain hearkening
for the 4isping little voice, the pattering feet,
the useless longing Tor the innocent compan-
ionship and love?
When she raises her head she sees De la
Poer standing before her; he looks more
cadaverous than ever. more attenuated, but
she sees him only for moment before tears
blind her-she has thought that il they met
she would speak TO him consolingly, and,
after all. she can only cry.
Il am so sorry for you" a. length she seys.
and can say no more. but the words express
that pure compassion which. surely is true
womanhood.
'Thanb you." he says, with dry lips; "you
were always good to him, and he loved you.
l find some comfort in the knowledge that he
had won so much affection; 1t means that his
little life was happy"
He stops and looks silently at the flowers
she has laid on the grave, and, much moved,
thanks her by gesture.
As she goes home pony phaeton is driven
past by handsome, happy Lord Willard, who
is instructing his son and heir in the mys-
teres OF the reins; and the girl feels an odd re-
sentiment of his good fortune, of his fine
physique, of the very flag lazily folding and
unfolding itself on Willard tower In honor of
his arrival. Further on she meets Mr.. De la
Peers landlady who is brimming over with
details of the boys death and the mans grief.
and her emotions undergo a change; hasten-
ing home she bursts into the room where the
rector sits composing his sermon, her throat
and heart burning.
s"Uncle, that man is starving!'
'My dear girl" he cries, startled, "what
man? Which? Where?"
"Mr. De la Poer," she says, gasping, all
ner pretty roses withered. ''Mrs. Becker has
just been telling me; he has always been poor.
Oh, uncle, can't you see that is the reason of
his reserve and seclusion. He has denied
himself everything for Bertie's sake, but he
is poorer than ever now; he lives on tea and
dry bread. Oh, uncle, we must, we surely
can do something?'
The rector hears these incoherent SEN
tences with a puzzled frown. Here is q mys-
terry, How is this abject poverty to be ac-
counted for, unless by the presence In the
background of some one with a claim that
may not be denied. Otherwise he surely
would have had sufficient to meet the extra
expenses entailed by sickness and death, hav-
ing no personal extravagances, being indeed
styled "stingy" and miser.
1.-THE woman may have exaggerated" says
Mr.. Darradale, mildly. However, might
ask Lord Willard to use his influence on be-
half Of De Ia Poer."