Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 April 1879 — THE MORTGAGED FARM. [ARTICLE]

THE MORTGAGED FARM.

“Six o’clock!” said Marion Hilyard, looking up suddenly, as the tall, oldfashioned clock in the corner rang out its shrill announcement; “six o’clock, and oh! mother, here is Jemmy Lane, punctual to the very moment. Now we shall have good news from Jack, I hope.” She ran out to the gate, flushed and eager, to receive the letter from the country carrier; and, returning, seated herself on a low stool at her mother’s feet, and broke the envelope. On the first glance at its contents, a shade of disappointment dimmed her bright face. Instead of reading the note aloud, she glanced hurriedly over the brief lines, and then silently, with quivering lip, placed it in her mother’s hand and turned aside to a window. This is what Mrs. Hilyard read: Deab- Madam : I saw your son a few days since, when, to my surprise, be expressed himself reluctant to apply nis money to the redeeming of the mortgage, saying that he required it for a speculation which promises to be more profitable to him than the holding of the farm, i have, therefore, been compelled to dispose of the mortgage to a gentleman of my acquaintance, who proposes to take immediate possession, and consider it my duty to inform you thereof, in order that you may lose no time in making arrangements for removal. Very Respectfully, Abneb Habbis. Mrs. Hilyard returned the letter to its envelope with a trembling hand and a dazed, bewildered look, as though unable to realize the blow which had so suddenly fallen upon them. Her eyes met Marion’s, and the girl threw herself upon her knees by her mother’s side, and burst into a passion of tears. “Oh, mother, mother! what shall we do?' What will become of us?” “ ‘ The Lord will provide,’ ” said Mrs. Hilyard, raising her overflowing eyes to the motto on the wall, embroidered by Marion’s own hand. “ Where is your faith, my child, that it should fail you in this the very hour of need ? ” “ Mother, it is not so much the loss of our home, nor the poverty and trial in store which grieves me, but that Jack—your own son, my own brother should have so changed. Oh, mother, I know that our Father in Heaven will not desert us, but to whom on earth can we turn when even Jack can become worldly and heartless? ”

At this moment a little blue-eyed girl burst into the room with: “ Mamma—Marion! here is Miss 'Melia Anderson at the gate, in her buggy. She says will you step out a minute, for she wants to tell you about old Mr. Millard being sunstruck; and she daren't leave her horse without somebody to hold him.” Marion was in no condition to listen to Miss ’Melia—the greatest gossip in the neighborhood; so Mrs. Hilyard, drying her eyes, was in civility compelled to see the informal visitor. Marion, her head resting upon the win-dow-sill behind the screen of clinging roses, could have heard every word spoken; but, absorbed in her grief, she paid no attention until the name of Wat Hinton struck upon her ear. “It’s true, for certain; for Maria had it from his own sister, Aggie Hinton. Says Maria, in her wild way, ‘lf he comes back with all that money’—you know his Uncle Samuel left him most of his property last year—says Maria, ‘ if he comes back rich I mean to set my cap for him.’ On which Aggie answers, * Oh, you needn’t; for he’s to be married before long, and to a real nice, pretty girl.’ Of course Maria wanted to know all about it; but Aggie only laughed in her mysterious way, until Maria says, ‘ I believe you arc joking! ’ when Aggie replies, ‘lf Walter isn’t married before winter 111 make you a present of my new ear-rings which he has sent me.’ So you see it's a certain sure; and no doubt he’ll bring his bride to visit his family, and then> tell Marion, we may look out for a grand party. When the Hintons undertake to do "things they always do them handsomely.” Marion stayed to hear no more. Gliding out of a side door, she crossed the garden, passing little Myra, who was fondling a snow-white calf, her great Eet and treasure, and who called out to er to “see how fast Snowball was growng.” Poor little sister! It would be as hard upon her as upon her mother and herself to leave the dear old home, with all the scenes and objects endeared to them by the association of their lives. For in that ample, pleasant, old-fash-ioned farm-house Mrs. Hilyard had been born and married, and here her children also had first seen the light. Two years ago her husband—who had been too little practical to make a successful farmer—had died suddenly, leaving his affairs in a very embarrassed state, and the farm burdened with a very heavy mortgage. Then Jack, good son and brother that he was, had thought it best to go to the city, taking advantage of a situation offered him by a distant relative, until the mortgage should be paid. Only two weeks ago he had written cheerfully, saying that the matter would b 6 speedily settled to their satisfaction; and now, just as they were expecting to hear that their home was their own again, came this cruel letter. As Marion had said to her mother, not even the loss of their home went to her heart with so sharp a pang as did this evidence of the change in her only brother. That Jack should have grown so worldly and heartless as to consider his pecuniary advantage before the gratification of his mother’s comfort; that he should allow them to be actually turned out of the dear old house, and go to reside in the strange city, where they could never feel at home—oh, this wm the bitterest pang of all! • So Marion had thought upon first reading that letter; and, it was not until hearing Miss ’Melia’s words to her pother thst she awoke tq the pppsejous-

ness that fate could have even a greater sorrow than this in store for her. One year ago she had parted from her accepted lover, Wat Hinton, in mutual anger on both sides. Wat 'had become jealous, and had spoken sharply to her, and in a manner which she considered herself justified in resenting. Wat was too proud to apologize, and Marion too proud as well as too delicate to advances looking to a reconciliation, and so they had drifted apart, both miserable, until Wat had broken the last link by going to the West. She heard of him from time to time through his family, but no word or message to herself ever came. In all this while she had looked forward with a faint, yearning hope to the possibility of his some time returning, and of all being made up between them. But now this last hope was rudely stricken to the ground. Wat was going to be married. He had forgotten her, and was lost to her forever. “Oh, it is hard—so hard to bear!” thought Marion, as, with hands unconsciously tightly clasped, she passed slowly under the apple boughs of the old orchard. “Life is bitter. It has taken all from me. It can have no more to give. Only my dear, dear mother, and Myra! For their sakes I must be strong, and try to bear it all.” On the verge of the orchard, where the high bank sloped abruptly to the meadow, she came to a mass of tangled honeysuckle, fashioned into a rustic arbor. Wat had made it for her, and here, in fact, it was that they had last parted. Down in the meadow ran a little pathway, leading by a short cut to Wat’s home, a couple of miles away. How often she had sat here or an evening and watched for him! She could scarcely look back upon any object now before her eyes which was not connected with some association of Wat. There was the walnut tree which he and Jack used to climb, and there theclear, laughing brook in which he had taught her to steer the little boat which he had made for her, laden with grain, down to Jack’s famous water-mill, at the roots of that old willow. Further up was the real “grist and saw-mill,” which Jack had always been so desirous of owning, and which everybody said would be such a good investment for one who could manage it properly. And then Marion, seated on the bench in the rustic arbor, turned and looked long and yearningly at the old farmhouse peeping from the great beeches across the orchard. No other place on earth could ever be home to her. And her mother? Oh, it would be harder still for her, whose whole life of fifty years had been spent under that roof. A sudden sound aroused Marion—a sharp whistle as of some one calling to a dog, and she saw through tear-dimmed eyes the figure of a man hurrying along the pathway in the meadow. She drew back behind the screen of the honeysuckle. The path led past the arbor, but at the foot of the steep bank she would not be discovered in her retreat. So she thought; but a moment or two after there was a sound of footsteps ascending the bank, a rustle of the honeysuckle branches, and Marion saw standing in the entrance of the arbor the figure of a tall young man who looked almost as much startled as herself. For a moment they gazed at each other —Marion pale, and the stranger with a flush rising on his handsome face. Then he said, as he held out his hand, “Marion, don’t you know me?” She gave him her hand in silence. It was Wat. And suddenly with the sight of h’m came the full bitterness of her sorrow, in the consciousness that he was lost to her forever. She was nothing to him now, and he must be nothing to her. “I am glad to have so unexpectedly found you here in this dear old spot,” he said. “ I arrived at home only an hour ago, and could not rest until I had seen you.” She met his eyes,bent upon her with a strange earnestness, and her pale cheek faintly flushed, but she could not have spoken a word. “ Marion,” he said, suddenly, “ have you no welcome for me ? Is it possible that you cannot forgive me ? ” “ Forgive you? ” “ Yes; for all my absurd jealousy,and pride, and folly. I have never had a happy moment since I parted from you, Marion, and I have come back at last to beg your forgiveness, and to beg, too, for the love which I forfeited, but which I cannot live without.” “I do not understand you, Wat. I do not know why you should speak thus to me, when—when you are going to be married.” “ Who told you that of me, Marion ?” “It came from Agnes, your own sister.” He smiled.

“Aggie knows my wishes. It was she who encouraged me to come back. She thought you would forgive me. Will you,- Marion, darling?” She had averted her face to hide her tearful eyes, but he now took both her hands, and, as he drew her toward him, a great tide of unspeakable joy rushed over her, and she could onlv murmur faintly: “Oh, Wat!” When they were both calmer she told him of the heavy grief that had just fallen upon them. ’ They must leave their dear old home* which had passed into the hands of strangers “Of strangers, Marion? Do you call me a stranger?” h “You, Wat?” ' He looked surprised in his turn. “Did you not know it was I who have purchased the dear old farm. Did you not receive Jack’s letter?” “Oh, Walter, it cannot, cannot be true!” He took from a pocketbook a paper, which he opened and placed before her. It was the mortgage which ‘her father had given Mr. Abner Harris. “And the place is really yours now?” she said, looking up radiantly through sudden tears. “Not mine, but ours, darling.” She was too happy to speak a word in answer. 1 “ You see, dear,” Wat said, “ Jack and I talked it over the other day, and we agreed, as he was so anxious to purchase the mill and had not means sufficient for both, that I should take the farm, and leave him at liberty to invest in the mill property. It is the very best thing for Jack and for his mother, as I explained to her, if only she had received his letter. Jack is not fitted for a farmer, and could never have made much of the farm, as he certainly will do with the mill. He came up with me in order to attend to the matter. Forgive me that I neglected to inform you, but I left him behind in the maple-field, talking with Aggie.” Marion started up with a glad cry. Coming down the opposite declivity of the meadow was somebody, joyously waving his hand, and in two minutes she was sobbing in her brother’s arms—sobbing from a fullness of joy such as she had never in her life before known. They hastened to the house, all three eager to gladden the heart of the mother. Jack sprung up to the steps tovk uh K><> ojiAiio, winie wat lifted Myra, who had run to meet them in frantic delight. As Marion crossed the threshold, the old clock rang out a welcome chime. “ Seven o’clock! ” said the fdri, softly.

Her heart was full, and she turned away and went quietly up to her own room. As she passed the clock, she looked up at it with an expression almost of awe. “ What a lifetime of misery and happiness in one hour! ” she murmured.