Year: 1860

Walters nigh, wait upon him if the
stable boy helped in the pantry; and if
we gave up the pretty pony.pbeton we
might keep the brougham. AS to the
disarrangement Of our family enjoyments,
we must put up with it. The Kindness
would bring its own recompcnse, some
how. l went down stairs with lighter
heart, for was conscious of a praise.
worthy resolution; and sending the chill.
dren to bed, knelt down by my husbands
side, and said:


"Shall we write the invitation, Ron
ald?"


He answered me with kiss, and bright
ening of the eye, which were almost
enough recompense for the sacrifice.


The invitation was written, accepted,
and before the end of fortnight, old Mr..
David Turton-"Uncle Davy," as we
called him, made his appearance.


l went out to meet him, and tried to
give him a hearty welcome; but lie was
seemingly very unamiable old man
His manner was short and snappish; his
little grey eyes looked at me suspicionsly,
and when he attempted to smile he
sneered sarcastically. led him into the
drawing room, and offered to relieve him
of his great coat and stick. But no; he
growled at me as if l had taken an mn
pardonable liberty, and setting his stick
across his knees, leaned forward on it,
and stared me full in the face. / tried
to look unconcerned; but my cheek had
flushed and my tone was sharp when l
desired Lucy to run up stairs to the
school-room.


The old mans eyes twinkled, and the
sneering smile came to his lips.


"You are offended with me, madam"
he said. 81 beg your pardon; but my
staff is an old friend-the best friend |
have. Inever allow it to leave my side"


He never did. By day it rested on
his knees; by night it lay on the bed be-
side him. His brain had evidently been
effected by his illness, and showed its dis
order by a strange attachment to that
wooden staff with its round knob for
handle. 1t was perfect monomania


remember once one Of my little boys
seized it when he was doing, and con-
verting it into horse, raced up and down
the room with it. Uncle Davy woke
and his anger knew no bounds. l ran
out of the room with the child, imagining
him in positive danger, and when
returned, l found the old man sobbing
and crying like an infant, with his head
bent down on the much-loved staff
Truly Uncle Davy stay at Turton was
a sad trial to me. Over and over again
| regretted that we had ever invited him; ;
and so l am sure did Ronald. too. He
said at last that we must seek him lodg-
ing elsewhere; but the plan was hardly
formed when the old man fell sick and died.


He had lingering illness, and
watched beside him day and night. Then,
for the first time. l found that he had
formed sort of attachment to me and
the children, and given us little corner
of the heart that l had supposed to be
wholly devoted to his staff.


But he was trying invalid, and at
last | was fairly worn out with incessant
watching. He protested against nurse
or servant, and kept me constantly at his
bedside. From no one else would he re-
ceve food or medicine, and if l left him
for a moment he was miserable. But his
childlike dependence and clinging aflec
ton touched my heart in spite of myself.
| began to love and tend him gently like
a baby, ruling and chiding him as /
should have done one of my own little ones
when it was naughty. Under this treat
ment we got on better, and should have
managed without any outburst had it not
happened that one unlucky morning, in
pressure of occupation, neglected to rub
and polish the staff as he had desired me
to do. Before his illness, this had been
the one important duty of his day; about
which he set in the most scientific man
ner. with clean towels and wash-leather
Since himself incapactated he had re-
quested me as an especial favor to under
take the process, and, anxious to indulge
him in all small matters, | had complied; !;
holding the knobbed handle as he di-
rected in a cambric handkerchief, and
rubbing from right to left. This morn
ing he had been in sin 5uarly perverse
humor; nothing pleased him; and the sup
posed neglect of his iavorite cansed the
lowering storm to burst forth. He rag
ed and stormed for an hour, threatening
me with every sort of vengeance. At
length, fairly exhausted, he sank back in
bed and babe mo leave him-he would
try to sleep.


hovered about the next room for
some time, then, finding all quiet. stole
away for an hours rest. When return
ed all was silent as before, nevertheless
/ noiselessly turned the lock and looked
in. What was my horror to find my bed
empty and my patient escaped?


l called the servants, and sent every
where to seek him. But he was not soon
found; no one had seen him leave the
house, and we could not imagine what
was his object in doing so. At last
discovered him myself in retired corner
of the shrubbery. trying, with feeble
efforts, to dig hole and bury his staff,


"No one is worthy of it," he said; bu
he would not leave it when we had dis
covered his secret hiding place; and, aftc
many arguments. l prevailed upon hin
to return and let me polish and clean it.


That night he was very ill--the exertior
and exposure brought on relapse. HI
bade me put the staff quite close to him
and his feeble fingers clasped it fondly
and stroked it down. Just when he wa'
dying he put it into my hand: