Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1899-1903, 1900-04-12
better all would be well, and now he Is
sleeping splendidly."

better all would be well, and now he Is
sleeping splendidly."
With folded arms and closed eyes
she fell to picturing things as they
would shape themselves as soon as her
father should leave his sick bed. She
would tell him how Clarence was
pleading for an immediate marriage so
as to help her take care of him in his
declining years. 1t was lovely to have
her lover so fond of her father, but
then everybody looked up to and rever-
enced her father. 1t would be terrible
to have father whom all the world
could not look up to. And thus COM
forting herself after the manner of all
things young and innocent she settled
herself to keep vigil. In five minutes
she was sound asleep. Not for very
long. She fell a-dreaming, an unpleas-
ant, startling dream. She fancied some
terrible, wild thing was standing over
her fathers sick bed with flame in it's
eyes and venom on its tongue. She
writhed as one does in the conscious
effort to shake off a nightmare and
opened her eyes, only to cover them
with her trembling hands as she smoth-
cred the impulse to cry out.
Standing close by the pillows of the
sick man was the tall, white robed
figure, never to be forgotten, that had
occe before deprived her of the power
of reasoning. High over tumbled
mass of snowy white hair it held the
small bedroom lamp that had been
burning low on the hearth.
The Broxton ghost stood revealed in
Mother" Spillman! In that one
frightened glance Olivia had made that
discovery. But how was she to get
this determined old woman, this avow-
ed lunatic, away from her fathers bed
side quietly? Petrifed by fear, help
1essly casting about for plan of ac-
ton that would not react upon her be-
loved patient. the girl shivered, with
renewed terror as Mother" Spillman,
in low voice, made intense by the
concentrated passion of purpose, en-
tered upon her awful arraignment:
you are i'll, Horace Matthews, ill
unto death perhaps. / have been bid
ing my time. Before another night
passes over your head you may stand
III the presence of your Maker and
your Judge. What will you answer
when he asks you how the orphan has
Jared at your hands, how the son Of
the man who loved and trusted you far
beyond your deserts had been treated?
Why has Rufus Broxton's son waxed
poor and you rich, Horace Matthews?
You know me. Oh, see that you
do, for all you are staring at me as if
you saw a specter. You've looked at
me many time that way, Horace,
when I've caught you at some of your
vicious boy tricks long ago. And 1
know you through and through. I
laughed when 1 heard of your books
and papers being burnt up. That was
one of your old tricks You burnt up
a composition book when you We're
boy when your theft of an essay was
threatened with discovery. You burnt
up your philosophy to escape an extra
hard task. 1t has been "A silly but a
vicious practice of yours ever since
you were 10 years old. 1t served you
in good stead when vouchers that did
not exist were to be produced
"But I did not come here to rail at
you for bygones came here to plead
the cause of the orphan son of the best
friend you ever had. AS you hope for
forgiveness hereafter, Horace Mat
thews, make such restitution as is
possible to that poor boy. You have
ruined him, and you know it. The
money you have piled up for your girl
will never do her any good, never!
"You have bedecked her with stolen
jewels, and you know it. You fasten-
ed Lucetta BroXton's pearl necklace
about her pure young neck the night
she was Is years old, just the age at
which poor Lucetta died. 1t is. a Won
der it did not scorch the child's flesh.
You see, am old, but do not for
get my friends. They call me crazy.
My own girl has joined in the cry
against me. But I have mind enough
left to remember the things that are
worth remembering. remember the
love and gratitude / owe to every
member Of the Broxton family. I have
tried to serve Thomas, but his faith in
you was not to be shaken. You lost
some papers the night his father died.
You did not make a very thorough
search for them. / think you pre-
ferred to have them lost. But they
were found and brought to me. The
Lord put them as weapon in my
hand. read them, and I hid them.
Il meant to give them to Thomas
when he should come of age and your
control of him cease. But lost them.
I think / know how, but l can't say
where. You see, my poor head plays
me tricks sometimes. 1t is not as
sserviceable as it was when you were q
boy, Horace.
,'In the envelope you lost there was
an unfinished letter from Rufus Brox-
ton to his son. went up to the house
at night to give it to him. He was
asleep, poor laddie, and / twisted it
about some flowers that had laid over
his fathers picture as my poor tribute
Of love.
"You see, wanted him to have that