Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1897-04-22

John; let us give the children one
more year. We can spare so much
TO them. just one, | premise
not to ask another, john
With heavy heart he answered
for third time, ait shall be as
you wish, Merry"
think Aunt Merry began to feel
then that an unseen power was
shaping her life in a strange. un-
comprehended mould.
Strange indeed !! Before the year
ended scourge passed over the
city. The Angel of Death hing
his black banaer ens aimcst every
door. Uncle George was among
the first to be stricken.
''God bless you, Merry" he said
"don't forget the children; God
bless you 80
With the blessing still on his lips,
he left us.
Then she was glad that she had
stayed with him; the sacrifice was
fully repaid in that last blessing.
But the next day little Annie
laid her hot cheek against Aunt
Merry's, and cried out that the
fever was burning her throat. For
eight days the little life swung in
the balance; but on the ninth she
crept into Aunt Merry's arms aud
whispered, "Good auntie % just
once before death set a seal upon
the childish lips.
The black banner foated again
from our door, and met an answer
ing signal through all the strickea
town.
Death played upon many heart
strings; but none, l think, were so
entirely swept as was Aunt Merry's.
She had scarcely seen the clay
heaped upon the grave of little An
ME before messenger came for
her. John-honest.. patient John
Eastman-was dying.
Poor Aunt Merry! The blows
fell so fast that she had scarcely
time to consider the magnitude of
one before a heavier.sunk it out of
sight.
This was the last; when the light
left Aunt Merry's heart, to follow
into and fix itself upon that un-
known land into which his soul
had drifted.
"Don't reproach yourself" he
had said, at the last; "you did your
duty, Merry. God bless you %
We never called her "Aunt Mer-
~" after that-never but once. Il
was the day they buried John East
man; and she turned to me with q
look of hopeless sorrow upon her
pale, sweet face, and said, .Call
me Aunt Meredith child"
The years have crowded fast, in
spite of crippled bodies and hearts
that give back echoless answers.
Thirty and five; / have notched
them upon my crutches; ten upon
two, the last one fifteen. For the
twisted body is well-nigh spent,
and the last crutch is as good as
as new, save for the notches
where my knife has recorded the
years.
| have borne my burden tolera-
bly,, with Aunt Meredith's help.
She has borne hers grandly with
out help.
Without help, did l say2 Then
| spoke too quickly; for one even
ing | found her sitting alone on
the west piazza, among the honey
suckles and jasmine vines, watch
ing the sombre cloud banks piling
across the sunset, or forming into
o purple bridge to span the crimson
cloud lakes.
She did not hear my crutch upon
the sward, and her voice was
scarcely more than the hum of the
bees in the yellow jasmine bells.
''No man, having put HE hand
to the plow, and looking back, is
fit for the kingdom of "God."
Every step Of my life, the cloud
ed and the cloudless, has been
blessed and frightened ty her.
She has paid her debt, interest and
principal. and is now herself the
lender; for when Uncle Clay's wife
| died ten years ago, four Others
were admitted to her household
Uncle Clay himself. Frank. May
and Richard.
Frank and May have both been
in to say goodnight since | have