Willmar tribune., 1897-10-12

member how father stared at the clock
when he was dying? Yes, we'll find
some clew on the clock. have a pre-
sentiment that our disappointing quest
is at an end," he continued, nervous
ly mounting chair. His sister stood
at his side, holding aloft the Pickering
candle. Harold was feeling in the dust
and cobwebs when the old clock gave
groan, the cuckoo came to the door and
repeated it's hollow note; there was a
harsh screeching, and the dilapidated
timepiece tumbled in heap. There
was shrek; the candle fell splutter-
ing to the floor, and the two ran like
guilty things from the room. They
stood in the empty hall for a moment,
painting with fright and peering fur
| lively into the dark; then fastened to
| their apartments.
Morning was stealing gray and shad-
owy through the quiet old building
when Harold stole down the stairway
to where lay scattered the wreck of the
old clock. He searched amid the debris.
and brought to light a bit of yellow,
time-stained paper. He brushed the
dust from it and read, in cramped
handwriting, the words: 'To my wife,
At last. There was no hurry now.
Harold was perfectly calm as he pushed
the paper in his pocket and stepped
| to the stairway to call his sister. She
came hurrying down presently, her
heart al a-futter with agitation.
Harold, have you found it," she
asked, huskily.
He bowed his head, and the glow of
triumphant satisfaction on his face was
pitiful. He led his sister gently along
the hall to the old rotting stoop. Here
they sat down in the crimson glow of
sunrise, and Harold opened the paper
and read:
| Dear Wife: In trying to atone for one
sin I have been guilty Of another-perhaps
a greater. But, when you know all, am
sure you will forgive me. I will be brief.
When child I was left an orphan. A
wealthy and childless couple adopted me.
! was reared in luxury, and when old
enough I was sent off to college. While
! there I made the acquaintance of some
| dissipated young men. and soon learned
! to drink and gamble. It was not long until
| / was ueeply lQVOVeu III ucUI-ucDCS OIL
| honor, as they were called. I was ashamed
to ask my foster-father for the large sums
| needed, but being threatened with ex-
| posure promised to satisfy my creditors
| on my return from vacation, if they would
wait.
| Banks were not as common then as now,
| and I had learned that my father kept his
money in an iron box in the study. His
| keys he always carried with him. The
night before I was to return to school
T stole to his room and secured them.
| had intended to take only sufficient sum
to pay my debts, but when the chest with
it's treasure lay open before my eyes a
wicked impulse overmastered me and I
| decided that it all should be mine. packed
the money in my portmanteau, locked the
| box, fastened the study door, returned the
keys to my fathers pockets, and. returning
! to my room waited impatiently the COM
ing of day. It chanced the following morn
| ing, it being busy season, that servant
| could not be spared to drive me over to
the railroad. I was to go over alone and
| the team sent for later.
"There was a swollen stream on my
| route, and as drove in sight scheme oc-
Cured to me that had not thought Of. I
| stopped the buggy at the waters edge.
! and, lifting my grip to the roadside, cast
the reins over the dashboard, and then
gave the horses a. cutting lash. They
| plunged with bo,fnd into the muddy
| water. I watched them until they reached
| the further shore, and then concealed my
self in the woods. They would think me
drowned and mourn me as dead.
'That night I walked to distant sta
| tion and took train for the west. After
years of aimless wandering, ever stung
with remOrse, I came to this place and
opened my farm. I resolved to make what
restitution was possible, the larger part
of my ill-gotten wealth by this time hav-
.1rr l1ov1 l. In
living that I took from my farm that
| soon became known as Miser Furgis. was
glad, for it made me more secure in my
purpose and my concealment. I sent the
proceeds of each years crop to the widow
| of my foster-father, for he had died soon
after my flight. have, at last, returned
every dollar of the stolen money, and the
farm, free from incumbrance, is yours.
This is my story. I need not speak Of the
! remorse, the fear the suppressed love that
I have felt all the sad years. Forgive me,
and think of me as your loving husband,
u. H. FURGIS."
The paper fell futtering to the steps.
A breath of air caught and Whirled
it out over the tangled weeds. Harold
gazed for moment toward the sunrise
that fared red above the treetops, then
his head sank to his knee and groan
burst from his lips. His sister was
weeping silently, her head on his arm
Motionless, silent they sat for minutes,
then Hettie, looking up through her
tears, said softly: Brother, I never
dreamed that it would be like this.''
There was no answer. He rose and
staggered into the shadow of the door,
way.
For weeks there was not sign of life
about the old ruins. But one bright
morning Harold came forth new man,
and went energetically to work. Now
the tenant houses are occupied. the farm
BLOSSOMS as the rose,'' and handsome
modern structure crowns the eminence.
Harold and Hettie found where their
treasure lay hid.-N. o. Times-Demo-
crat.
Wise NIirth.
There is a saying of Chamfort which
many serious-minded people, under the