Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 February 1879 — THE STOLEN BRACELET. [ARTICLE]

THE STOLEN BRACELET.

A Sunshine Lover. The position of a farm laborer in some of our English counties is anything but enviable, Hard work, from morning till night, scanty food, small co tages, with insufficient accommodation, and a large family to maintain, make the lot of a laboring man anything but the realization of bliss upon earth. Peter Tillson was one of the said sons of the soil, who rise with the lark, and labor to make the earth bring forth its fruits. He had several children, amongst whom his eldest daughter, Sarah, was the mo-t promising. She distinguished herself in the parish. school, and won the favorable regard’of Mrs. Rutherford, the rector’s wife. When she reached the age of 16, she was pronounced old enough to get her own living; and her father and mother could not afford to allow her to remain any longer at school, though under the fostering care of Mrs. Rutherford. That good lady received the intelligence of her intended departure with great regret. “ Wiiat do you propose to do, my dear chihl ? ” she inquired. “Goto service, ma’am,” was the reply. “Ah, well, that is usual resource of country girls,” said Mrs. Rutherford. “It’s a pity, for you are worthy of something better.” “ I shall be sorry to leave you, ma’am,” exclaimed Sarah, in a tone of genuine regret. Mrs. Rutuerford thought for a little while, and then said : “If you are not in any immediate hurry to leave home, I think I should be able to employ you myself at Michaelmas.” The look of delight which stole over the girl’s countenance sufficiently informed Mrs. Rutherford how welcome her communication was. “ You must know,” she continued, “ that my housemaid leaves me at the end of the quarter, and I shall be glad to give you a trial. If you do not like the place at Christmas, let it be fully understood between us that you are perfectly at liberty to leave and do anything else you imagine will be for your benefit.” “ I should be pleased to come at any time, and on any terms,” responded Surah. “My chief regret, ma’am, has been through the thought of leaving all my kind friends in Barsley.” “Go to your father. Consult him. I have heard him spoken of as a sensible man; be guided by him, and let me shortly know your decision.” “ I will, ma’am, and many thanks,” Sarah exclaimed. Curtseying to Mrs. Rutherford, Sarah wended her way to her lather’s cottage, ; which lay at the end of a prettily- i wooded lane some distance from the i village. She hud not proceeded far before she ■ heard cries, as of some animal in pain. | Quickening her pace, she, on round- ; ing a corner, perceived a young man > holding a lad with one arm and belabor- i ing him with the other. With a heightened color she recog- j nized in the first John Aitken, the sen j of a well-to-do farmer in the vicinity, ' who on several occasions had done j Sarah the honor to walk home from church with her, and look at her in such a way as to lead her to believe that he either loved her or regarded her with anything but indifference. Ju the person he was violently assaulting she distinguished a half-witted fellow, much older than he looked, who went by the name of Nollykins. He was a mischievous, malignant elf, who frequently committed reprehensible actions, escaping from the consequences of them through his natural infirmities. Continued impunity made him bold. John Aitken relinquished his grasp as Surah approached, and seemed half ashamed of being detected in administering corporal punishment to one so much inferior in every respect. “I really couldn’t help it,” he exclaimed, apologetically, as «she came up. “ What has he done to deserve such severity?” asked Sarah. “ Why, the provoking rascal 1 I can hardly keep my temper when I think of it.” “But you must,” she replied, with a smile; “ that is the first requisite when telling a story.” I “ Well, I was coming by here, just now, and had no sooner entered this field of my father's before I saw Nollykins cutting off the tail of our finest brood mare.” Mollykins withdrew a short distance, and, thinking himself ont of immediate danger, gave vent to a burst of demoniac laughter. But, seeing a threatening movement on the part of Aitken, he removed to a further spot, and kept gradually retiring, while his peculiar shouts and noises were heard weirdly at intervals. “He should be put under some restraint,” said Sarah. “ He is clearly not answerable for his actions.” “I do not agree with you. The scoundrel is clever enough not to offend when he knows he will be punished. I have given him something to remember me by, and I hope you do not think me cruel?” “ A little,” she answered. “ It shall not occur again,” he hastened to say. “On that assurance I forgive you. Are you walking my way? I am going homo and shall be giad of your company.” He placed himself by her side with alacrity, and they walked steadily along till they came to a stile, over which he assisted her. They were now in the lane which led in a direct line to her father’s house. “ I hear, Sarah,” exclaimed the young man, “ that you think of leaving the village shortly.” “Indeed! Who told you so?” she asked, willing to mystify him a little. “I really forget. It would give me some trouble to trace a vague report to its source, but is it so ? ” He looked earnestly at her, and waited, she fancied, anxiously for her reply. “I am in hopes," Sarah answered, “of getting employment here, If so, I

should be under no necessity to leave Barsley.” “That is good news. Who has offered to employ you?” “Mrs. Rutherford.” “You could not be in a better family,” said John Aitken. “I am the more pleased because we shall be near one another.” “How can that please you, Mr. Aitken?” asked Sarah, innocently. “Can you not guess?” She shook her head, as if fairly puzzled. “I must help your sluggish comprehension, I can see," said John Aitken; “that is, if I shall not offend you by so doing.” “Not in the least.” “That is right. You must have noticed, Sarah, that I have sought your society on every possible occasion.” “Ye-es,” replied Sarah, hesitatingly, as if she was no quite sure of the fact. “In another year’s time I shall come into a good bit of money, left me by my aunt,” continued John Aitken; “with this I intend to set up farming on my own account. Then I shall only want one thing.” “ What is that?” “ A wife,” he returned. Sarah gave a tiny scream of amazement. “ A wife ?” she repeated. “ Oh, Mr. Aitken, whatever would you do with a wife? You would be out all day with dogs and gun, and I am afraid your poor wife would have but a sorry time of it.” “You do not believe that in your heart, Sarah I” he exclaimed, in a tone that showed her levity pained him. “Forgive me,” she answered, lowering her eyes; “ but you are full young to marry.” “Why, Sarah,” John Aitken exclaimed, “I had no idea you were such a moralizer; one would think you were a grandmother of 70. Now, tell me, where shall I look fora wife?” “You will be wanting a great lady, I’m thinking,” said Sarah Tillson, musingly. “No; I’m an humble fellow myself, and I don’t want to move in a set above me. My father married a dairymaid, and he has never repented it; for she’s made more money than ever she spent.” “A farmer's daughter, then?” suggested Sarah. Somehow or other, her eyes were a little moist, her voice was just the least bit husky, and her face became hot and cold by turns. “I don’t know of one about here that I’d care to make my wife, Sarah,” he rejoined. “They are all too frivolous to please me—too fond of finery and frippery.” “ You are very hard to please. I don’t know that I can assist you any further.” “ Yes, you can.” “In what way?” j “By consenting to be my wife yourself, Sarah,” said John Aitken, looking lovingly at her, and taking the unresisting band in his. Sarah had an intimation at first that Mr. Aitken meant to ask her to engage herself to him. She was, therefore, prepared with an answer. “ If, at the end of the year, you are still of the same mind,” she replied, “ I will cheerfully consent, dear John, for I have often thought that if ever I married, I should like to—to—” She hesitated, as if she feared her candor might betray her into an unmaidenly confession. Seeing her embarrassment, he hastened to relieve her to the best of his ability, and said: “ You wish me to understand that you reciprocate my admiration and affection for you. Is it not so? ” “Yes,” she answered. “Very well; let us consider ourselves j engaged. We are both young; but in a year’s time we shall, as you suggest, be able to tell if we shall suit one another. If you see cause or reason to change your mind, I will not hold you to your promise, and, of course, I shall expect the same latitude to be ex- ! tended to myself.” “Certainly,” Sarah replied. They had now almost insensibly I reached old Peter Tillson’s cottage. “I suppose I am at liberty to tell mother?” said Sarah. “Oh, yes. Why keep the affair a secret? There is nothing to be ashamed of in two people loving one another, is there, my pretty Sarah?” “I should hope not,” she replied. “I won’t come in just now,” Aitken continued; “I f eel a little flustered and j flurried. Make my compliments to the ’ old people, and Heaven bless you, Sally, my lass.” He spoke in a firm, manly tone, which went direct to Sarah’s fluttering heart. Grasping her hand, he wrung it warmly and started off at a rapid pace up the lane. Being blessed with a good, sympathizing mother, in whom she could confide, Sarah generally made her the recipient of her confidence. In the present instance, she had not been five minutes in the cottage before Mrs. Tillson knew all about John Aitken’s proposal. It made her as proud as a Queen to think that her daughter would make so excellent a match. She was also pleased that Mrs. Rutherford had agreed to take her into her house, because Sarah would be in the place of her birth. Surah went to her situation in due time, aud gave entire satisfaction. She proved to be industrious, careful, tidy, civil in her manner, and, in fact, a model servant. John Aitken wasn’t at all annoyed to think that his future wife was in a subordinate position. He was rather glad to know that she was earning her own subsistence. It would teach her the value of independence, and, having served others, she would, in her turn, understand how to govern with moderation. Every one predicted a prosperous career for so sensible a young couple. Sarah Tillson had been six months in Mis. Rutherford's service when an event occurred which altered the complexion of affairs, as if by magic. Miss Aline Rutherford, the only child of Sarah’s employers, had received an invitation to an evening party. Sarah acted the part of a lady's-maid, and, in assisting her to dress, admired a handsome bracelet which she wore on her right arm. “ How would you like to have such a beautiful thing, Sarah ? ” asked Miss Rutherford. “ Very much, indeed,” replied Sarah, who was not without her share of feminine vanity. “ Wait till you axe married. I dare say your husband will buy you plenty of pretty trinkets,” Miss Aline remarked. Sarah blushed, and her young mistress swept grandly out of the room to take her place in the carriage, which was waiting for her at the door. On her return she was much fatigued, having danced all the evening, and put her jewelry down on the table, without taking the trouble to replace it in her 1 dressing-case. ■ The next morning she was scarcely dressed when the bell rang for prayers. Mr. Rutherford was a strict disciplinarian in many things, and he invariably felt annoyed if any of his household absented themselves from morning or evening devotions. Hastily slipping on her dress, Aline . ran down stairs, leaving her bracelet on the table, I Bftrah, being in a distant part of the

house, did not hear the bell, and went on with her domestic work. Coming to Aline’s bedroom, and finding it empty, she shook up the bed, and opened the window. Seeing the bracelet on the glass, she took it up, and held it admiringly to the light. While she was thus occupied, a Miss Selina Young, who was staying as a guest in the house, passed by, and noiselessly looked into the room. She distinctly saw Sarah with the bracelet in her hand; but, not perceiving Aline, she hastened on to the breakfast room, hoping to arrive before prayers were entirely over. Putting down the bracelet, Sarah looked out of the open window at the fresh green grass; the leafy trees, whose branches swayed in the summer breeze; the rocks in the neighboring meadow; the magpie and jackdaws flying to and from the old church steeple, darting in and out of the belfry as if it belonged to them. Then she went to another room, and was surprised soon afterward at meeting Mrs. Rutherford, who said, “You were not at prayers this morning, Sarah; how was that?” “I did not hear the bell, ma’am,” replied Sarah. “ Don’t let it occur again. Mr. Rutherford does not like such inattention and carelessness.” Sarah looked confused. Aj>out 11 o'clock Aline and her friend, Miss Young, went up-stairs to attire themselves for a morning walk. “ I forgot to put my bracelet and things away. I’ll do it now,” said Aline. Her earrings, brooch and other articles of jewelry were on the the table, but, to her intense surprise, the bracelet was missing. “Why, where ever is my bracelet?” she exclaimed. “Which one, dear?” asked Miss Young. • “ The one I wore last night ” “ Cannot yon find it?” “ Indeed, I can’t. Look on the floor, near you. No, it isn’t there. ’Where can it be? It was here this morning when I got up, and I havr not been in this room since.” “Look in your jewel-case, dear,” eaid Miss Young, whose face was very grave. With trembling hands Aline Rutherford did so. But without discovering the slightest trace of the bracelet. “This is odd!” she mused, as if speaking to herself; “so odd as to be mysterious! We have no thieves in the house; that lam sure of.” “Never be sure of anything,” replied Miss Young. “What am I to think? ” “Do you suspect any one?” “Of what?” “The theft.” “Oh, I-must not call it theft yet!” cried Aline. “It may, after all, be the result of some carelessness on my part. I should hate myself forever if I turned the house topsy-turvy for nothing at all!” Again she made a great hunt, but, as before, without success. “If you think you have mislaid it, I will say nothing,” remarked Miss Young. “ What can you say, dear?” queried Aline, looking inquiringly at her. “ Not much, perhaps.” “Do not—pra y do not be. so mysterious. What is it you know ?” “If I tell you,” replied Miss Young, “ you must promise me that you will not use what you hear from me to this girl’s prejudice unless you are satisfied of her guilt.” “Prejudice!—guilt! Whose guilt?” “The housemaid's—Sarah, I think you call her.” Miss Rutherford smiled skeptically. “ Oh, no! She would sooner die than be guilty of such an act,” she said. “ You think so?” “ I do, because I know her so well. I have known her all my life, I may say. She is to be married, in a few months, to a rich young farmer. Oh! nd, my dear, you are mistaken.” “ Nevertheless, yon shall hear what I have to say, and then you can form your own opinion.” “I have no objection to listen; but my opinion will be changed with difficulty,” said Aline, still incredulous. “ You know,” began Miss Young, “ that I did not reach the breakfast-room until your papa had nearly finished reading prayers? ’’ “ Yes.” “ As I passed your room, I looked in to see if you were there.” “And you saw ” “ Sarah, holding the bracelet you wore last night in her hand, and looking admiringly at it.” “Did you, indeed?” said Aline, becoming grave. “ I give you my word!” returned Miss Young. “ I should be very sorry to do the young person any harm, but I cannot refrain from telling the truth.” “Oh, Selina 1” said Aline. “ I know not what to think.” “ Are you changing your mind? ” “ I fear so.” “ What has worked so great a miracle?” “ First of all, your communications; in addition to which, I remember that last night the girl admired tile bracelet very much. Then, again, she was not at prayers.” After sdine further consultation, the young ladies went to the drawing-room, and, having found Mrs. Rutherford,made her acquainted with the facts. She, in her turn, consulted Mr. Rutherford. The clergyman, though a humane man, was occasionally a hasty one. Without waiting t® think of the probable effects of his conduct upon the girl’s character, he sent for the village policeman. On his arrival he told him to search Sarah Tillson’s box. Sarah cheerfully gave up the key, not knowing in the least what charge was to be made against her. Nothing was found in her box except that which was strictly her private property. Sarah had stood trembling by while her box was opened in the presence of Mr. Rutherford and his family. She knew intuitively that something was wrong, but what that something was she had net an inkling. “Are you satisfied, sir?” asked the policeman. “No! ” replied Mr. Rutherford. “Take her to jail? ” “To jail! v cried Sarah, shrinking back terrified. “You give her in charge, sir?” asked the policeman. “I do.” “ Oh, sir! ” almost screamed Sarah, “ of what am I accused, and why do you all look so severely upon me? What have I done?” “ I accuse you of stealing my daughter’s bracelet. It remains to be proved whether or not you have broken the eighth commandment. The facts are very much against you. You were not at prayers; you admired the bracelet last night, and this morning you were seen with the bracelet in your hand.” “ That is all true! ” replied Sarah. “ But I swear to you, sir, that I am innocent ! ” “Do not send her to prison, papa!” said Aline, imploringly. “ I have a duty to perform,” responded Mr. Rutherford. “ For my sake, let her alone! It may be a mistake, after all.” The parson was inexorable,

“Wait a little while, sir!” pleaded Sarah—“ wait, I beseech yon! If you act thus hastily, you will blight my character for life; and when you find out my innocence, as you undoubtedly will some day, you will, by your hastiness lay the foundation of a lasting regret!” “ I must do my duty,” said Mr. Rutherford. “ I join my voice to that of Aline’s,” exclaimed Mrs. Rutherford. “Be lenient with the girl I Send her home.” “ She must go to prison. The matter is far too serious for me to deal with it,” replied her husband. “ Then you decide upon charging her, sir? ” said the constable. “ Yes. Take her away.” On hearing this harsh decision, Sarah Tiltson fell back in a fainting condition. It was some time before she could be removed. She passed from one fit to another. The sympathy of the whole household was excited in her behalf. But the clergyman prided himself upon, being firm as a rock when he once made up his mind. So, at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, Sarah found herself in custody—seated in a small cart, by the side of a policeman, with a pair of handcuffs round her wrists. Fortunately for her, the assizes were then being held, and she was tried at once. The jury found her “ Not guilty,” because there was no evidence of the disposition of the missing property. Every one, however, thought the case very strong against her. She at once returned from the assize town with her father and mother to Barsley. They believed her innocent. The comfort she received from her relations was the one sole consolation which supported her in her affliction. To her dismay, John Aitken did not come near her. This was the heaviest blow of all. She could bear being called a thief—could bear the trial—the exposure—ihe loss of her situation- but not the loss of his love and esteem. Indeed, she felt that she wanted his love more now than at any other.time. A month glided away. Sarah fretted and worried herself away until she became thin and ill. She did not lose her good looks—that was impossible. Her features were too well formed for that. But she looked wretched and miserable, and settled melancholy took possession of her face. She would sit fox' hours by herself, and her friends were pained in the extreme to behbld her. As the year which John Aitken had agreed to wait drew to a close, she became nervous and irritable. Her mother knew well enough what was on her mind, but she did not dare speak of John Aitken. On the last day of the year John walked up to the cottage. Mrs. Tillson met him at the door. “Is Sarah within?” he asked. “Yes,” replied Mrs. Tillson. “Tell her—” “ Will you not see her? You had better, I think. I do’ not care about taking messages.” “ I merely wish you to say that I have called to release her from her promise.” Sarah, who was sitting behind the half-open door, heard every word that was uttered. Unable to bear the announcement he made without some sign, she rushed forward, and uttering the single word “ John! ” fell into his arms. He very quitely carried her into the cottage, and laid her down gently. “ So you are not going to marry my girl, Mr. Aitken ? ” cried Mrs. Tillson. “ I am not aware that I am under any particular obligations to do so,” he answered. “ You’re a sunshine lover, and I think Sarah is well rid of you. I wouldn’t give a pin for a man who couldn’t love through storm as well as sunshine! But the clouds will break yet, and may be you’ll be sorry, all of you, when it’s too late!” said the indignant mother. “ Too latel” he repeated. “ Yes.” “ What do you mean ? ” “ Can’t you see, my man ” replied Mrs. Tillson, “ you’ve as good as killed my poor girl? You’ve given her her death blow, or I’m not a sensible; woman!” j “ I trust not,” he replied, evincing a I little more tenderness than he had hitherto shown. “ You’ll find it so. When she’s dead, I’ll write on her tombstone, ‘ Killed by John Aitken.’ ” John said nothing more, but coolly turned on his heel and left the place. Mrs. Tillson’s words, however, rang in his ears. In the course of his walk, he passed the church-yard, and, scarcely knowing why he did so, turned in. The tombstones made him think of what Sarah's mother had said. “ Killed by John Aitken! ” If Sarah did die, as her mother with prophetic voice predicted, would he be indeed answerable for her death ? In a manner, he would. The reply given by his conscience was not to be avoided. But then, on the other hand, he could scarcely be blamed for refusing to ally his young life to a woman who had been tried for theft. All at once, he heard a strange noise, which, at first, he thought was made by some bird in the air. Looking up, he saw nothing. Again the same strange sound saluted his ears. It appeared to come from the belfry. Soon afterwards, he saw a head protruded from the narrow window. It was that of Nollykins. The half-witted lad instantly withdrew it on seeing John Aitken. “ That imp is up to some mischief there I’ll be bound! ” cried John. “ What’s that you’re saying, Mr. Aitken ? ” asked a voice at his elbow. Turning sharply around, he recognized Francis Mellish, the sexton. “The lad they call Nollykins is up in the belfry,” he said. “Yes,” replied Mellish, “I sent him there.” “For what?” “He wanted a job, and I told him he might take a few of the nests in there. The magpies and jackdaws quite choke the place up. It is time some of them were routed out. At this moment, Nollykins descended the stairs, and passed out through the church door into the yard. He held something in his hand, which he appeared desirous of concealing from view. “What have you got there?” asked Mellish. “Nothing,” replied, the lad. “Come here!” cried Aitken imperiously. Nollykins set off at a run, but he was captured by Aitken before he could get far. “Now, then, tell me what you have there 1 ” said John, holding him tightly by the collar of his tattered jacket. “Gold,” replied the lad. He opened his closed hand, and displayed something which made John Aitken’s heart palpitate strangely. It was a bracelet. Somewhat soiled and dirty, it is true, but none the less a bracelet/

A rapturous thought crossed John’s mind. Sarah’s innocence might be proved, after all. “Where did thin come from?” he asked, in tremulous accents. “Up there,” answered the lad, pointing to the belfry. “What, from the belfry?” “Yes.” “Confess, now, you stole it,” said Mellish. “No, it was in a nest,” said the lad, earnestly. “There are white things in the nest. I took this because it was gold, and prettier than the others.” Handing Nollykins over to Francis Mellish, John, keeping possession of the bracelet, set off at a run for the belfry. He clambered up the wooden steps as if he had been a boy again. In a particular nest he saw several miscellaneous articles. These had evidently been purloined by a magpie. All was now as clear as daylight. A magpie, with felonious intentions, had entered the bedroom window and stolen Miss Aline Rutherford’s bracelet. By a fortunate accident, Nollykins had discovered it. In half an hour the startling intelligence was all over the little village. Mr. Rutherford and John were the first to convey the welcome news to Sarah. She received Mr. Rutherford’s apologies very coldly, and would scarcely speak to him or the members of his family, who hastened to express their regret at what had occurred in person. But upon John she smiled. He knew her to be innocent—that was all he cared about. The roses soon returned to her cheeks, and, in a short time, John Aitken made the best amends he could for his unkind treatment, and led her away from the altar a blushing bride, the future partner of his domestic joys and sorrows.