The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1907-08-17
A PRICELESS PEARL
BY Virginia F. Townsend
1copyrIght. by Joseph B. Bowles.,

"It's two cents for foot passengers"
It Is very singular, but hear those
tones still; the small, sweet, suscep-
tible voice, winding in and out OF the
delicate syllables. and ] see the little
brown, thin hand which was thrust up
at the toll-gate. was 16 years old at
that time. and many years have
passed since then; but the little hand
Is before my eyes now, and the voice.
sweet as an old tune. in my ear STILL
I see the old plank road, too, which
had come upon suddenly. twisting IT.
self like a rumpled brown ribbon along
the hills and among the fair pasture
fields on either side.
was passing the summer at Long
wood at my grandfather's place. and 1t
was one summers day while rambling
through the woods that ! came upon
this child.
I learned from her that her name
was Margaret Willoughby; that her
father and mother were dead; that she
had neither brother nor sister, and
lived with her grandmother. who kept
the tollgate, and knit seine for the
farmers to go fishing in the summer.
They were very, very poor folks, in
deed, Margaret said. She told me her
life story, her aims and ambitions to
some day acquire an education.
On reaching home, learned that
letter had been received from my IA
Their, stating that his business re-
quired his going abroad Immediately;
and that he had concluded to have mo
accompany him, as the time of his
return was somewhat indefinite, and
l could pursue my studies in Europe
az well as in America. I was to
leave my grandfather's the next day.
In the midst Of the interest which this
news occasioned, the little girl at the
toll-gate did not quite escape my mind.
had private interview with my
grandfather, and related to him the
history of my meeting with Margaret
Willoughby. and succeeded in awak-
ening the old gentleman's interest
in my little protege, and obtain
ing his promise that he would send
her for two years to the academy up
the hill. managed to find time to
prepare large box of books of misce,-
laneous kind, poems, histories, stories,
ETC., which were duly sent to my grand
fathers care for the little girl at the
toll-gate.
Twelve years lay between this
spring and the last one I had passed
at Longwood. They had brought many
changes to me, as they usually do to
all lives. My grandfather had laid
his gray head under the grasses six
years before; and sudden fit of apo
plexy had stricken my father, Just
as he was on the eve of returning to
three years before.
One night, IL months later. while
was travelling through the south of
England, that great and terrible mis-
fortune befell me, which swept out,
for time, all my hope and desire in
life. The bridge, over which our cars
were passing, broke down; many of
the passengers were hurled over a
precipice into the river, hundred feet
below. l was thrown upon a part of
the bridge, which remained, and re-
nothing more. A long, slow
illness followed. / was internally in
jured, my ankle broken, and l found
myself cripple for life: believed,
then, a confirmed invalid. / returned
to America year later, somewhat i'm
proved in health, but still physically a
wreck Of what i had been.
Frederick Mathers, my cousin on
my fathers side, had been my most
intimate companion and friend dur
ing boyhood; and we had kept up an
intermittent correspondence during
my residence abroad, for l had grad
uated at German university. Fred.
erick was a young physician; he had
married six years before, and was sue
ceeding well in his profession. But
he was still poor, while was the only
heir to my fathers wealth.
easily persuaded my cousin to 60
with his wife and little boy to Long
wood and take up his residence in the
gray old stone house, which my grand
father had built. It was the only
spot on earth which was home to me.
Fred and Annie, his pretty little wife,
were enchanted with their new resi-
dence. and we daily congratulated
each other on the success of our pro-
ject.
One day while doing over a book I
had been reading was aroused by
the voice of my little friend:
Uncle. Uncle Bryant, see what I've
got for you'll"
A slender thread of sound came
through the open door, and there was
the soft patter Of child's feet In the
room, and a little hand held I'D tri-
before my eyes cluster of
white roses.
ooh. Harry, where did you get
these beautiful roses?"
miss Willoughby gave them to me-"
lisped the voice of six summers.
"And who is Miss Willoughby?"
"She's my school teacher, you see;
and I went home with her to-day. and
when I saw the flowers growing all
round the front window, spoke right
out: oh. Row Uncle Bryant would