The Calhoun chronicle. [volume] (Grantsville, W. Va.) 1883-1984, 1896-01-07

se-Ss11&ft3ff 1884 t'S IL were, ana who
:@Ssass0 had little or moth
s-s- ing beside his farm
to convey the farm to some
one usually to son, with the pro-
viso that himself and wife should
have home as long as they lived.
That the custom has been almost done
away with is blessing, for it requires
but glance through the law reports
OF many States to fnl controversies
that In nearly every instance led to
the total breaking up of happy homes.
as the result of the settlements which
were occasioned by such an arrange
ment.
Fifty years ago there lived in one of
the inland towns of Massachusetts a
successful farmer, Samuel Barlow bv
name. lie not alone carried on his
farm but was the village blacksmith,
and In addition had small mill in
which he did some simple wood work.
His appearance was unique, and he
would never be taken for farmer or
blacksmith. He was small of stat
ure, especially particular about his
dress, In his bearing was exceedingly
formal and precise. He was one of the
best of friends and neighbors, was
highly esteemed throughout tho town.
but was reserved and almost cold in
his manner and rarely ever smiled.
1t was not all at once that Mr.. Bar
low lost what property he had outside
1 OF the farm, in bank stocks and in saw
lngs banks, but it was largely through
. probate bond which he had signed
as surety for neighbor years and
4 years before, and had almost forgot
ten. Mr.. Barlow paid the bond with
out word of complaint, and that left
him with absolutely nothing except
q the farm.
In the meantime hisgood wife died.
4 his health began to fail, and together
with the reverses of fortune, the losses
8 OF money preyed on his mind and he
barely escaped fit of sickness. Then
1T was that the old man had to admit
to himself, hard as it was to do so.
that he had no longer health, strength
or heart to take up the burdens of the
farm and mill which was always count
ed as part of the farm. Moreover,
the old house had become lonesome
place, with no one but old Aunty
Jane, his housekeeper, and her foolish
son.
Twenty miles away, in an adjoining
manufacturing village, the centre { n
scattered farming population, lived
John Barlow, the farmers only SON
and child. John was thirty, of much
the same disposition rs his father, al
though physically greatly unlike him.
He was large, strong and robust. He
had worked at home on the farm, in
8 the shop and in the mill until his
marriage. Since that time, and for
about six years, he had been keeping
s store in the village where he lived.
One cold, bright day in March,
while John was seated at high desk
busy pouring over book of accounts
the store door opened and Barlow
senior stepped in, and father and son
were face to face for the first time in
many years.
"Why, it's you, father" said John,
coming quickly from behind the coun-
ter with outstretched hand. 'I am
right glad to see you. Let me nave
your bag and umbrella Come and
: sit down by the stove Stay here for
a few minutes till noon, and then
wei go mp to the house and see the
folks"
The old man nodded o quiet assent.
81 may as we'll tell my errand now"
said he. Somebody's got to take
hold and carry on the farm. Ny days
for work are over. thought perhaps
you and Julia would feel like coming.
What with the farm, the mill and
starting up blacksmithing again you
fought to be able 30 do very well"
4 John did not look up, and for a
moment not a word was spoken. He
held the stove poker in his hand and
az he stood thus absorbed and preoocu-
pied with his thoughts he tapped the
m Of the stove with the poker. re
almost seemed as If he had not heard
o word his father had said
81 guess IL was all my fault, John, 8"
said the old man in q low, pleading
tone, Chat you ever went away. Bat
4 guess / was too set. But"
"Oh, that's oil right, dad. Don't
say word about it, said John, with
just the least suspicion of tear in his
eye, as be laid his hand affectionately
on tho old mans shoulder. "We're
none of MS too perfect, and we all have
our own mistakes. Come, / guess we
might as well go up to the house now.
It isn't far from noon"
well, John. said Mr. Barlow, ris-
ing, my plan is this; To deed every
thipR 70 you and Julie, and all aak IL