Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1895-10-06

and her ever-ready tears trlckled
down on his strong, white hand.
All" she cried, forgetting that she
had no nephew, never did have neph-
ew, and never could have nephew.
you are welcome, indeed. l am more
than glad to see YOU
At dinner. when Tom Coleman sat
opposite his new-found aunt, he had an
opportunity to study her infinitely.
do you know, Aunt Abbie," he said,
ruefully. 1t makes me feel like an
overgrown schoolboy to address you
so. l had you all pictured out In my
mind. You were to be at least fifteen
years my senior, and am forty. Yet
here 1 find you still In the thirties and
as pretty and fresh looking as a girl
in her teens. I can't account for IT..
Had l not already known that you were
much younger than my father, and only
a half-sister, would think | had made
q mistake and got switched off on side
track somewhere"
Miss Abbie's face flushed and she
was on the point Of making confession
of her poverty-stricken condition, SO
far as blood relations were concerned,
but the delusion of fancying herself
communing with some one Dound 10
her bv ties of nature was sweet and she
Rugged it to her heart and let the mis-
take drift on for future reparation.
"Tbere are many things l want to
know about my fathers family, ne
said 10 her that evening, land you, Oh
course are the one look to to straight
en- out the tangle Of circumstances thaC
has been vexing me for several months
When are you ready that each VI 10
should turn biographer? 49,, .rs
'Not yet" she said, hastly. II
there are any unpleasant ana uhah-
swerable questions troubling you put
them aside and let things take lher
own course for a tine. We Will consld-
er them by and by. ,,..
Il bow to your superior judgment
my dear aunt" he said with mock hu-
mility. when in your opinion the
proper timo has arrived, let me know
Ii was two weeks before he preached
the subject again.
"I ought to go away tomorrow or the
next day." he commenced abruptly one
evening. when they sat on the steps
watching John at work among the rose
bushes. "and before l leave l think 1t
only lust that you enlighteD me on the
family history In general. But perhaps
l ask that you will consider 1t point OF
honor that I take the initiative and tell
YOU what know of my father after his
family lost sight Of him. 1 should have
done this in the beginning, but you Will
remember that my attempts 10 lead up
to any such a conversation were dis
Outraged by you.
He paused.
eyes" she murmured, q remember.
Go on"
Il have but little to tell, and I shall
say that without any attempts at rhe-
Orical establishment / was born III
the far West. When I was less than
year old my father died. My mother
lived but a short time after that and l
was brought up-if bringing up you
call it-by her people, who had moved
TO a neighbOring town the year before.
From somebody, I presume 1t was my
father, 1 had inherited considerable in
dependence and ambition, and as soon
as 1 was old enough l commenced to Try
TO make for myself way in the world.
How far I have succeeded you can
perhaps be the best and most impartial
Judge. 1t was only within the last few
years that l have entertained any act
i've interest IN my fathers family. One
day I asked an old woman who had
been by mothers nearest ne!ghbor and
closest friend II she had ever heard
either OF my parents say anything
about his life before he came West, and
she told me that just previous TO his
death he had spoken to my mother OF d
Judge IN St. Louis to whom she could
write if she ever found 1t necessary or
expedient to make any inquiries about
his past There was but little hope that
the Judge was living, or If so If he could
be found but relying on that slight bit
of information, I set at work. Strange
to say, he was still we'll known in ST.
Louis, although he had retired from ac-
tive life. All that he could tell me was
that my father had lived in the southern
part of this State; that he had been
wild and had run away from homo
when only a boy. His father married
again after several years and they had
issue-a daughter named Abbie. l fol-
lowed up branch after branch of the
Coleman family, but nowhere could 1
find a woman with such a praenomen.
At last I heard of you and stra:ghtway
started to see you. Guided by some
strange and perhaps objectionable I'm
pulse I autographed you the news of my
expected arrival without taking time to
notify you in a more formal manner Of
my existence and discovery of your
whereabouts. So here l am your way
ward nephew, ready to atone, so far as
it is possible, for my own transgTes-
sions and those of my fathers"
John had finished his work, and for
several minutes after Tom ceased talk
ing they looked out in silence over the
garden Of rose bushes and the fruit or
chards beyond.
Il thank you for your confidence"
she said at length, catching her breath
between words, as if choking with some
sudden emotion. You have made a
mistake. knew It from the first, but
for my own sake l did not like to unde-
ceive you. My father and mother both
died when quite young, as did my two
little brothers. I never had relation
who could possibly have been connected
in any way with your people. I knew
it when your telegram came, but told
John we would find out who you really
were. Then after you came it seemed
very hard to set the matter straight
You see, I have been so lonely some
times" she explained IN a tone of self
justification, "and you cannot know
what a comfort it was to me even to
claim relationship with some one who
only fancied I was his aunt. I am very