Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 December 1879 — A HARD OLD CASE. [ARTICLE]

A HARD OLD CASE.

“ Yes, he is a hard bld case, that’s what even body says, so it’s bound to be true.” Then, didn’t he refuse to give good Mr. Doodluiu a single cent for the purchase of damask curtains and velvet cushions fora South Sea Island Church ? Anti didn't he telkMrs. Sniffle he hat! better use for his money than wasting it on the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Sea Serpents? . . Mrs. Sniffle, kind, thoughtful creature, says- she “prays every night for that poor hardened sinner’s soul.” Once, when the minister referred to the hard of heart, the last person in church knew he meant Stephen Somerville. They say he makes “ lots” of money, ami hides it away—the miserly fellow! They say be is awfully stingy, and as unsocial as a turtle in its shell. They ' say—how simple the words, yet what cruel scars they carve on many a fair name! To how many bitter and unkind thrusts arc those two cowardly little words a prelude! They say he is a perfect Tack let on in gruffness, but somehow, all little children seem to loVeliini. You see, they, haven’t yet learned to reason themselves into likes and dislikes, but rush blindly into -friendships and hates. Poor little innocents! But semie persons believe the ,• little ones are blessed with a God-given intuition that makes them know the pure and the true from the false. , - Therejs an almost imperceptible soft dight in Stephen Somerville's grave eyes, and a nameless something -winning in the lines around his mouth; but what •are those insignificant little gleams and curves compared to the “they says” of society? Anatomists say we all have such a thing as a heart, but no one imagined that the hard old case , owned such a piece of property, until he fell in love with pretty Kate Lawrence. But she was too well aware of his reputation for being penurious, cold and selfish, to trust her life in his care. Still, at times, she could not conceal from herself the fact that one word from quiet Stephen Somerville interested her more than all the brilliant compliments showered on her from other lips, and that one of his rare smiles haunted her for days. But she didn't love him, of course not! The Lawrences are mat-ter-of-fact, sensible people, and not likely to indulge in such a weakness as falling in love with marble statues. Her most devoted admirer was Mr. Legay, a vivacious, courtly, captivating, carpet knight as elegant and demonstrative as poor Stephen was blundering, and reserved. His tact and winning ways soon rendered him the honored favorite of St. Mary’s best society in general, anil of Miss Kate Lawrence in particular; so said Dame Rumor, and she knows everything. To study hum in nature in its most undisguised state, travel on an uncomfortable stage over bad roads. We may meet' people in the ordinary social circle for years without gaining half the insight into their character that one day’s travel together over rough roads will afford. Under these adverse circumstances all infirmities of temper and disagreeable traits, hitherto concealed, are brought out as distinctly as “ invisible writing” when, exnosed to the fire. I once heard a gentleman say it was the ordeal by which he intended to test a young lady s disposition before offering his-hand. A good idea, and he deserves .a patent for it. Arnone the passengers on a very uncomfortable public vehicle, advertised as an “ elegant luxurious coach,” winding anil bumping and jostling its way to St. Mary s in December, 1877, was Kate Lawrence, returning home from a little visit. A gleam of surprised delight overspread the countenance of Mr.Ltgay, when, on entering the stage, he beheld his “heart's fond idol.” And, after an hour’s travel, who should appear but Stephen Somerville! As a general thing the reserve of this hard old case was a safe fortress behind which to hide his feelings; but at this unexpected meeting with somebody on the stage, either Mr. Legay or one of the other passengers, a smile and a glow of pleasure played traitor and crept forth from the citadel. And, after the usual greetings, he even ventured on some original observation about the weather being very cold. But Kate replied rather indifferently to this overture, and the hard old case retired, repulsed, to his shell. Mr. Legay improved this .opportunit y of displaying his conversational powers, and his bright, witty nothings were in such marked contrast to poor Stephen's I meteorological remarks that Kate soon ! became an eager listener. Presently he; spoke of the deference due to the “gio- j nous sex ” especially in the matter of traveling, obtaining tickets and giving I

up seats. “Tome,” be said, “woman is ever an object of adoration, whether arrayed in the garb of a peasant or the silken attire of s' princess.” (People in love do talk so extravagantly!) “ And rather than allow a lady to stand in a street car I would walk all day.” “Humph!” retorted the statue, venturing out again. It depends on who the lady is whether I rise or not. Some of your ‘glorious sex’ accept our sacrifices as thanklessly as the goddesses of old did the human offerings laid on their altars. A few, like Queen Bess, repay the simpletons for casting the velvet mantle for their dainty feet, but it’s precious few; and, after all, poor Raleigh won a place in her good graces only to lose his head.” The consequences of this long speech sent Stephen blushing behind his fortifications again, for Kate said: “You’re a severe critic, Mr. Somerville; I really had no idea you were such a student of woman nature! Pray, how and when and where did you acquire your knowledge on that subject?” “ There’s more danger of my losing a heart than a head in the service of my Queen,” murmured Mr. Legay, looking an avalanche of tenderness at Kate. At this interesting iuncturothe “ elegant, luxurious coach’* stopped “ to take in a ’oman;” the driver said: • “ Her husband is as industrious a fellow as ever nailed on a hoss-shoe, or blowed the bellows, but he couldn’t git no work on those bar'n pine hills, so he goes down yonner to Sint Mary's; gets a situashun* an’ sen's fur his famberly. An’ here they comes.” ■ The little old gate creaked the “famI berly” a dismal farewell on its rusty hinges, as a poorly-dressed woman, with a delicate child in her arms, and a little boy clinging to her skirts, came out.

Once more the stage started. The cold became more intense, and before many miles were traversed the little trio were blue and shivering. The mother took off her faded shawl and wrapped her childreh carefully in it. Little Dixie, the boy, sobbed on his rough jacket sleeve, and said he “wished he was in a big ole fire.” At last, all the passengers complained of the cold, except the hard old case, who forgot his former weather observation and grew so warm that he was obliged to lay aside his big, warm shawl.” “Shawls are such a trouble, and I'd be glad to get rid of this one,” he said, handing it to the grateful little mother. She thought he jnust be very queerly constituted, to get too warm on such a day, while Mr. Legay wore two shawls with seeming comfort To Kate the action was almost sublime. and the white lie accompanying it was such as the angels blot out with a tear. The “invisible writing” in Stephen Somerville’s character was becoming clear. For the rest of the ride she could not see the point of Mr. Legay’s witticisms, and replied so curtly to his sentimentalisms that he wondered what could have wrought such a sudden change. “Fair but fickle,” he thought. When the “elegant and luxurious coach” finally lumbered into St. Mary’s, the wear}’ passengers willingly began to alight. Boy-like, i)ixie was among the first to escape from the thralldom; and before bis mother could collect up baby and bundle and basket, he was under the horses’ feet. His mother saw the danger as the wild horses took fright, but was too far off to render any assistance except a useless warning. One swift moment—to her a year!—then there was a child’s sharp cry, a woman’s wail, and the silence of breathless, stifling suspense fell upon the bystanders. Another instant, and the boy, terribly frightened, but safe and sound, was in his mother’s arms, and the hard old case was picked up where the elegant coach, witn its flying steeds, had just stood. Ho was senseless and severely injured. Kate wanted to wring her hands and die, but her good sense prevailed, and she gavd orders for Mr. Somerville to be conveyed to her own pleasant home instead of his distant boarding-house. Ah’, now, in unfading characters, glowing, golden letters, was the writing all revealed! At first the physicians thought there was no hope, but by their skill And the faithful nursing given him by the Lawrences and Dixie's parents, Mr. Somerville began to improve. It was wonderful to see what a tender, gentle nurse the rough blacksmith proved himself. He felt that even a life-long devotion could not express his gratitude to the man who had so nobly risked his life to save his boy. Kate wandered about the’ house like a lost spirit, and her mother was puzzled at her being “so nervous over an accident to a comparative stranger.” But when Stephen’s recovery became certain, the young lady happened to overcome her “nervousness” very rapidly. Christmas morning, with its wealth of evergreens, pearl v-f mi ted, waxenleafed, mistletoe and crimson-berried holly, dawned. Stephen was able to make his appearance in the parlors for the first time, and Dixie came over in all the glory of a bran new suit, full of pockets, which Santa Claus had brought His only shadow of sorrow now was that he didn't have a hand for each cute little pocket. He’ had spent two hours, and nis only “two bits” in a toy store, getting a Christmas present for his deliverer. Kate said it was a jierfect beanty, and the hard old case declared that a toy barking sheep, with l>c;ul eyes, was just exactly what he wanted! Then some mysterious-looking packages were given to Dixie, and he went home with as much tnie happiness stowed under his tiny gray jacket as a little prince ever felt. Then Stephen Somerville summoned up the courage to tell Kate the “ three little words” he had so long wanted to say. I don't know what reply she made, but for some reason she didn't seem to be the least bit annoyed at what he said.— Detroit Free Press.