The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1897-01-08

For moment Philip stock stark still
looking at me, then he dashed down tn,
stairs and aboard the steamer which
was about to leave the wharf.
In the crowd lost sight of him. The
bell rang out sharply. 1 was alone ant
in despair. Behind me stood Uncle
, Tobe.
''Let him go, Vreda; he'll come back
/, I'll give him the money after awhile
but not now. Young folks are too i'm
patient"
you should have given it to him
now, Uncle" 1 answered with choking
voice.
=
Philip had not returned. The sun
had gone out of my life. The rollick-
ing echo was dead. The days were
gray and dreary, the nights intermina-
BILE. We had no friends. There was no
one to come to house that had no open
door; no hand of welcome!
Uncle Tobe wrestled with figures half
the day, the other half he devoted to
business errands. In the evening he
read the newspapers. l was like a
deaf mute.
Take a good, long walk every day."
suggested compassionately Mrs Nit
chell. "You look like a ghost, and are
fading awayr'
Alasi there was no one, for whom l
would have exerted myself to keep
| fresh and young. The sooner 1 grew
old and gray the better 1 would fit into
my surroundings.
For Philip cried bitter tears Uncle
Tobe never mentioned his name
Poor old man, he must be fond of
you both," Mrs. Mitchell was wont to
say now and then when l went to her
room to talk of Philip. 'He is working
himself to death trying to buy this lit
tie house. My nephew tells me this; he
is employed in the office of his attor-
ney."
Il hate the place since Phil is gone"
I cried bitterly. Everything is gone,
the birds, the flowers and the people.
Only we've are chained to this same
old spot"
"Wait, Miss vreda; wait, later on,
perhaps"
That's what Uncle Tobe says, and
then it will be too late"
"Not for you. You are young, Miss
Vreda, but your uncle, nobody can
make him see what he ought to do"
We lived our lonely lives and 1 had
lost all hope that things would ever
change.
One morning we found Uncle Tobe
dead in his chair. He looked as if he
had dropped into a peaceful slumber.
Mrs. Mitchell and l seemed turned to |
stone when we discovered him. l felt |
no sorrow, but l was terribly frighten-
ed. When the doctor came he said that !
he could do nothing.
The funeral was very quiet and un-
ostentatious. There We're no tears. no
lamentations, no flowers, no friends.
After we had laid him away it occurred |
to me that the home in which l had
lived so long would now be closed to me.
But the thought had no terror. 1t was
a relief, rather, to be free. 1 knew
nothing about earning my bread Free
dom was all l crayed.
On the day after the burial, Uncle
Tobe's testament was opened. Philip
and l were his heirs. He had bought
the little home and had left us enough
to live in comfortable circum-
stances.
May God bless you," he wrote. ~
had no one on earth but your
1 sobbed aloud as l listened. "Oh. if
he had only given Philip the money
h., ia |
find him.
Mrs. Mitchell soon convinced me of
the futility Of such a beginning. Philip
would come home sooner or later.
Poor uncle, your happiness was all
ne worked forr' was Mrs. Mitchelps
cry.
HE has taken it from me-" l walled;
he has made me miserable, and him
Philip! he may be lost foreverr
l lived quietly on with Mrs. Mitchell | I
n the little house by the river. From
lay to day 1 waited. The trees took on
resh foliage and then came the au- ,
umn and the winter | waited in ST. ,
ence. With the spring hope was re- {
lewed within me. T
Suddenly, on the brightest day of all c
he year, the bell rang with a clang. t
knew the sound and FASTENED to the q
loor. Philip stood before me, but not | q
he rollicking youth whom remember r
d. The man in whose arms lay had t
erious, thoughtful face l cried aloud.
BE still,'' he whispered, 81 don't want
ncle to know. l don't want to see
i'm. l want you, only your o
"Unclev' l repeated Don't you S
now that he is dead?", c
Il am not sorry" he said bitterly; che
ook from me my youth. Want, care. d
nxiety were my companions on the t.
7ay. After many struggles success k
rowned my efforts, and now we need Il
o longer depend upon him. My fac g
Dry is far away. My invention was Il
7orth it's weight in gold" e
His eyes beamed down upon me as "
hey did on that fateful Sunday. He "
,ok me into his arms 81 came back le
Or you, my happiness, my youth. 81
ome, teach me how to laugh againr'
We cried and laughed in one When
e had told me everything l showed
i'm Uncle Tobe's last will and testa- a.
tent. s
mot cent Of this money will take" n
led fiercely my lover, the companion NJ
my childhood. "He has made our III
carts bleed often enough for itr' IL
We were married and moved to the OF
rye city, where Philip had his fac III
ry. The little house we turned over ST
Mrs. Mitchelps care. Every summer kl
e came home, bringing our children &C
ith us. Ny husbands heart has soft