The Monitor-register., 1896-02-07
A MYSTERIOUS SOCIETY.

pAAodSh bu0 HDI00LS anQ
alleys rising and falling by fitfui turns.
Within cosy room an old man gazed
Vacantly at the CHEEKY CRATE fire. His
head rested on his hands and his whole
attitude was one of deep thoughtfulness.
A long time he remained in the same
position, occasionally giving vent to a
sigh.
lie was suddenly aroused By a timid
rap on the door. He rose and admitted q
small, meanly Glad boy, shivering with
the wet and oold The pair gazed at
each other a moment in silence, and then
the boy spoke tremulously and With some
hesitation.
''My father is very sick," he began,
'and we have no money to buy food or
medicine, and-aHd don't know what
we are going to do," with sob.
The old mans face hardened and dark.
ened, and when he answered his voice
was cold and stern.
"Well," he said, "what is that to me?"
"My father is your son." the child
replied gaining little courage as he pro-
ceeded, land you surely"
"No, he amt my son." the old man
interrupted. 81 told him years ago that
he was DO longer anything to me, and
that would never again have anything
to do with him.
"But, grandfather, he is sick now, "
urged the boy.
"Am l responsible for his sickness Is
it my business that he is in wantp Why
do you come to me for he}ps Why don't
You go to other people ?"
Because other people are nothing to
US and you are."
"I'm not, tell you. said I'd never
have anything more to do with Rafe An
drews, and keep my word. He's not
my son, he's nothing to me, and l don't
wont him to send you here again.
''He didp't send me.
"Who did then?'
"My mother -
"Oh, your mother, eh ?''
Eyes. SIR but she sent me on nv
fathers account; she wouldn't have sent
me on her own for the world. Father
tried to prevent her sending, and told heI
it would be of no use, but she said she
felt sure you would aid him if you knew
he was sick, because she could not believe
that Won Unra upfoalipD
"She said that, did che ?"
eyes, sir, and persuaded father to let
| me come, and told him wasn't afraid
of you because you were my grand
| father"
"But amt; tell you amt anything
to any of you.''
The old mans voice was still cold and
harsh, but there was trace of softened
light upon bis face, though he tried tc
frown and glover.
1--WE may not be anything to you," the
boy said, "but you are something to us
In spite of all you can say and do you
are my fathers father and my grand
father, and we can like you even if YOU
don't want us to. But we won't take
help from you now. because father
wouldn't have it after you have said
what you have. Good-by."
George Andrewe turned aud walked
| out of the house with the dignity of a
man. His grandfather, surprised at his
| abrupt departure, stared after him as he
trudged down the street through the
rain. Two or three times the old mar
was on the point of calling him back,
but. shutting his lips tight, remained
| silent.
When the boy had disappeared round q
| corner, the od man returned to his sea,
by the fire. A long while he sat there
musing, his mind drfted from one event
to another until he reached the time
when bis son had been boy 80 much
like the lad who had just left him.
Poor RafeP' he murmured. "Sick
and in want and they thought would
helpl She thought W would not be unfeel.
Ing, she has no reason to think me any.
| thing else. Poor woman! | wish | could
| aid her. But can't do it without break
ing my word. must be firm and dc
| what | said would do Yet | almost
recall my words. That is fine, manly
boy apd.he said that he liked me. Yes.
l wish | could aid them, but l must be
firm. They would laugh at me if I were
not.''
The old man relapsed into silence but
| somehow the warm room had lost its air
of comfort, and the fire no longer cheered
him. An hour or more passed, and he
paced the floor restlessly, however, he
| came to sudden halt; mis- face lighted
| up, and something like smile came ia
his lips.
81 have it, he said to himself. ut is
the very thing; and Pll do it,"
The light on his face broadened and
deepened, and he not only smiled, but
softly chuosled to himself as be hurriedly
donned his topeoat aud hat and prepared
| to go out.
"Iil do it" he repeated, aud they'll
| never suspect the truth
He went cut of the house quietly, and
| turning down the street walked briskiy
toward the business part Of the town. He
| took no notice of the rain and the wind.
and seemed perfectly UNCONSCIOUS of the
fact that it was cold and disagreeable.
He met.two or three aceuaintances on the
street and he wondered ~hy they stared
at him in surprise, not aware himself
that marked change had come over him
within the last hour, aud that his features
had lost all their sternness.
| They II never suspect the TRUTH he
murmured again, with a soft laugh, as
he turned out of the street and up a
flight of steps leading into DOCTORS
| Office.
Is n
| The world without, with its rain, and
Its raw east wind was not more desola te
than the home of Rafe Andrews that
day. George had returned and reported
the result of his interview with bis
grandfather, and it seemed to his mother
Efhat their last hope was gone. There
was. no money to buy any food or fuel or
10 pay physician, and it was no wonder
that Mrs. Andrews wept bitter tears as
she sat by the wretehed fire shivering with
cold.
Y allow oan any father be so heartless l''
she moaned. How can he be so unmind.
full of the sufferings of his children's