Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1898-01-08
%. WOODSTOCK. VT. SATURDAY. JANUARY s. 1898

rama hOuSnetIka remained petfl-
fed. After while she made ont to
inquire: "S,aukevitch, did yOu say?"
why, have you heard of him or
some of his family?' Smirnotf asked,
eagerly.
NO, + am simply interested in
what you are relating. Proceed
please
well, he was the most delightful
fellow in the whole lot OF us, but he
did not know how to take care of him.
self, and paid his life for it, poor boy.
His heart was with the insurgents.
and ] knew it anl begged him to be
guarded, but he was too much of Il
patriot to allow the instinct of self
preservation to get the better of his
revolutionary sympathies. One day
when the Cossacks had looted the
house of Polish nobleman and taken
the owner and his family prisoners,
my friend gave loud utterances to his
overbrimming feelings in the Officers $
Club, cursing the Government and
vowing vengeance.
"You must have heard how strict
things were in those days. The city
of N was in state of siege, mar
tial law prevailed, aud the most peace
tnl citizens were afraid of their own
shadows. Well, poor dear Staukevitch
was court -martialled and sentenced to
be shot within twenty-four hours by %
line of soldiers from the very company
of which he had been in command.
And who was to take charge of the
shooting and utter the fatal word to
the soldiers but l. his best friend, who
was ready to die for him.
Smlrnoff said it with a grim sort of
composure, and then broke off abruptly
and fell into II muse.
"Well?" the widow demanded, in a
strange voice, which he mistook for n
mere mark of interest in O thrilling
| story.
"Well," he resumed, "I did not, of
course, utter the terrible word, but at
the very moment 1 was to do so fell
on the ground in q feigned swoon. My
place was instantly taken by another
officer and I was since then branded
Is a coward, and had no choice but to
resign my commission and to become
the rolling stone that I have been ever
since"
He went on narrating some Of his
subsequent experiences in foreign
countries, but the widow did not hear
him. All at once she interrupted
him.
"Don't tell me about that, pray.
Better tell me more about that friend
of fyours-Staukevitch, "and, succumb-
ing to an overflow of emotions, she
burst ont, sobbingly: 81 know you.
l have your photograph, Staukevitch
was my father!'
"Ma-ma -marusia! Is that you?"
the old man shrieked, jumping to his
feet and seizing her by both hands.
Dear little Marusia Why, when
you were morsel of thing I used to
play with you"
"I know" she rejoined, "sna now
that you say 1t I can recognize your
face by the faded old portrait / have
in my album. You were photographed
together with my unhappy papa.
Mamma left me the picture. I did
not remember your name, but heard
the story from mother when 1 was a
child, and since then have held the
portrait dear for your sake as well as
papas. OF course it never occurred
to Inc that it was You, but now the
identity of it is as clear Us day to me. !"
She invited him to her lodgings,
where she introduced him to erIand-
lady as the best friend of her dead
father. They had long and hearty
talk over the portrait and about the
persons and things it brought to the
old mans mind. And on tho follow
ing evening, when he came to the
French restaurant for his supper, he
found there a letter which read as fol-
lows:
"Dear Aleksey Alexseevitch-Itwas
not yourself, but an utter stranger,
that refused the other day. I have
loved you my whole life without know
ing you. The handsome officer who
ruined himself for my poor father has
always been my ideal of husband,
and, will you believe it, L never gave
up vague sort of hope that he would
be mine. Your loving
"MARusIA."
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