The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1898-08-19

mother will have taught you not tc
do so.n
No. sir; my mother never taught
me anything wicked,n replied Lily
She says | am to love everybody and
l always say a prayer for grandpapa.' -
The old gentleman was struggling
with strong emotion. He averted his
head without speaking, and with
trembling haste pressed some money
! into her little hand, more than enough
. to buy out the stock in trade of half a
dozen flower girls, and IL much larger
sum thar Lily had ever held in her
hand before.
Wont you take the violets, sir?"
she asked, half bewildered with Joy.
Not now, little one, said he; you
may keep them for me- l will send
Tor them tomorrow"
The old gentleman forgot his ap-
pointment in the city, and stood gaZ
ing after the little figure till it was lost
in the distance.
Happy Lilly was no longer weary,
but flew along the streets, with beam
ing eyes and feet that would not have
crushed a daisy under their light
! tread. She never stopped till she was
safe in the humble little room where
her gentle mother sat stitching in the
twilight, with little Charley playing
OH the floor at her feet, YEARLY droop-
ping her aching head over her work,
and anXiously listening for the return
of her absent darling.
| What proud moment it was to
sweet Lily Bell. How full her little
heart was when she placed the money
in her wondering mothers hand, and,
! pressing her glowing face to the dear
wasted cheek, poured out her eager
| breathless story about the kind gentle
man who had given so much money
| for her violets.
1t would have been touching les
| son for the proud merchant, who had
grown gray at his counting house
desk, making money till he owned
| more wealth than he knew what to
| do with, if he could have seen all the
| happiness that grew out of his gift to
| the little -girl-the gift so tritiing
| to him,
! The merchant needed some thought
| to soothe that night when he paced
| his stately drawing-room SO uneasily.
| The SCUM of his heavy foot fall was
| muffed in the rich moss-like carpet,
but there was the workiI g lip and the
| troubled eye that nothing could hide.
Why was he disturbed? 1t was not
| business cares. He had locked them
up with his ledger. 1t was not anxiety
about the fate of any of his ventures,
| for he knew they were all safe. No,
it was The vision of the little flower
girl that haunted him, and her sweet,
childish voice, like the soft chime of
silver bells, WAS still ringing in his
ear.
YES, it must be-" he murmured.
The name removes all doubt. Lily
Lily Bell. l spoke roughly to her.
Heaven bless her! She always says
prayer for her grandpapa. Oh. has it
come to this-my sons child in the
street selling flowers? To think that
those he loved are III this extremity,
while but they did not seek my
help. Why should they, when they
knew shut him from my heart. What
hope had they from me when | could |
let him struggle, and sink and die?
Il could but undo the past. On,
Charles, Charles
the room IN a low sharp cry agony. |
He looked round, as if vaguely hoping |
fer some reply; but there was no |
SQUAD except the fall of a cinder from |
the lire, and the low, tranquil ticking |
of the gilded clock on the mantle-piece. |
The rich man was alone with his |
awakened conscience.
1t was one of those every. day stories |
of life, so often realized in our busy, |
money-making world. The merchant |
had an only son, the pride of his heart, !
and the object of all his ambitious |
hopes Like many other worldly |
fathers, he planned his sons marriage |
with wealthy heiress, but in setting |
his heart Oh this match he made the |
common mistake of not consulting the |
inclination of the person most con-
cerued. The young man fell in love |
with the orphan daughter of poor |
clergyman, a sweet young creature,
who was governess in the family of |
one of his fathers friends. He per-
suaded the gentle girl into the impru'
dence of private marriage, believing |
that, after the first stormy meeting |
was over, his father would relent. He |
thought that one sight of his young |
wife would charm away all his anger.
But the young man did not know
what it would take to uproot his
fathers pride and prejudice. He suf-
fered much for his first act of 1ilial
disobedience. The stern father would
not forgive his sons unworldly mar
against him, sternly forbidding his
name to be mentioned in his presence
OIL pain of his displeasure.
His meek wife wept and pleaded
for her boy, as only a mother could
weep and plead. She did not live
twelve months after his Punishment;
her husband knew that it had broken
her heart, but this only added new
bitterness to his anger against his son.
Every day the breach between the
father and son grew wider; when they |
met it was as strangers. The sons |
letters were sent back unopened, and |
the father turned coldly from all who |
spoke of him. He even secluded him |
self from society and lived much |
alone i'll his great gloomy house.
The young man struggled bravely |
against the ills of adverse fate, till a |
prctraeted illness reduced him and his |
loved ones to the poverty he had so
much dreaded. He died, leaving his |
wife and babes to the mercy of the |
world, which could not be more pitt
less than his father Mr.. Bell read the |
tidings of his sons death with appar-
ept calmness, but from that moment |
twenty years might have been added |
to his age.
Dear little Lily was the unconscious
ayenger of her fathers wrongs. Who |
could have told what was to result |
from the sale of those simple violets?
Convinced beyond doubt that Lily |
Bell was his grandchilG, the humbled |
repentant man went next day with as
much speed as his handsome carriage |
and sleek gray horses could take him
to the address he had written in his
pocketbook. He did all that could be
done to atone for his past harshness,
never allowing himself Il moments
rest till he had taken the widow and
children of his lost son to gladden. his
lonely old age.
The wealthy merchant soon learned
to love his gentle daughter-in-law,a and
ceased to wonder that she had won
his sons heart. His only sorrow was
| that he was so soon to lose her, for
| the physicians could not disguise the
painful truth that she was in hope
| less consumption. Those long days
| OF weary stitching and the struggle
| with poverty had worn her life away.
Every luxury that wealth could pur-
! chase was spread about the gentle in
| valid. but it was too late to save her.
| Iily's mother was fading like the
| light of summer evening. But in
relieving her;painful fears about the
| fate of her children, her father-in-la law
could take the soothing thought to
his heart that he made her last days
happy.
| 1t was that old Mr.. Bell had al
| vays a marked fOndness for yiolets