Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 November 1884 — SUSY'S BEAU. [ARTICLE]

SUSY'S BEAU.

It was a favorite jest, upon old Farmer Collingwood’s farm, to call Joe Ellison Susy’s admirer. And Susy, when she heard the half-taunting joke, only smiled softly, and at their next meeting only gave Joe a kinder word or sweeter smile. **Slio was the orphaned daughter of a country clergyman, whose sole legacy to her had been the best education his own profound learning enabled him to give her. When she was but a little girl her mother died, apd she had been her father’s housekeeper, scholar, and companion until her 19th birthday, when Bev. Stephen Coyle was likewise taken from the child to his last, long rest. The good people of the parish, knowing Susy’s advantages for study, had put her at the head of the district school, and, her old home being the parsonage, she had removed her personal possessions and had taken up her abode at Farmer Collingwood’s, he having for years ‘.‘boarded” the school ma’am. It was a merry, happy farmer’s household- where. Susy lived. -Julia, and Mollie Collingwood were strong-armed, blooming damsels, full of coquettish grace, and with loud voices and active habits. Charlie and James, the sons, were fine specimens of young farmers, and the bld man and his wife were kind-hearted, homely country folk. But the young girl, brought up in' her father’s study, his companion for years, had developed more mental than physical strength, was shy in manner, reserved in speech, and craved intellectual food entirely out of her power to obtain. She was slight in figure,, with large black eyes, delicate features, a pure, colorless complexion, aud masses of nut-brown hair. The parsonagehaving always had a servant, Susie’s little hands were unspoiled by rough work, and beside the rosy-cheek ed, blue-eyed Collingwood girls she looked like a little pale nun, her deep mourning contrasting strangely with their gay attire, with all the color of the rainbow struggling for supremacy. She had been but a little time in her positiop as instructress to the twoTieaded youngsters of Brent Hill, when, coming up the road from school late on a summer’s afternoon, she heard wailing and groans in one of the cottages; where often before she had heard the same sounds. “Poor Joe 1” she whispered pitifully. For she knew a deformed idiot was being beaten by a cruel task-master. But op that afternoon, as she drew, near the cottage, the door suddenly flew open, and the idiot limped howling, and speeding as fast as his infirmities allowed, out at the opening, while following him, a strong, brutal man, half drunk, flourished an immense cowhide. The man, cursing and swearing, held the whip over the cowering, shrinking lad, but when it fell it struck, not Joe, but Susy, who. bent over him 7 “one arm raised to ward off the blow. Brute as he was, the half-drunken wretch stopd aghast when the heavy lash cut across Susy’s slender arm and shoulders. “I beg pardon, ma’am,” he said. “I did not see you was in the way.” “How can you ?” she cried, her pale cheeks crimson with womanly indignation—“how can you, a strong man, strike a poor, trembling boy like that— B boy whose infirmities should appeal for protection to any man who was not an arrant coward?” “Well, come now, that’s pretty strong,” said the man. “Don’t I. feed and lodge him for what he does, and ain’t I got a right to beat him if he does everything wrong? He don’t earn his salt, he don’t.” “Don’t keep him, then.” “I guess you're right. I won’t Joe, you may go to the mischief, but don't come here again.” So saying, the idiot's tormenter turned on his heel and re-entered his house, abutting and noisily bolting the door. Susy stood half terrified at the result of her well meant interference. Joe was a waif from the almshouse, lame, deformed idiot, and she had deprived him of his only refuge. ‘‘Oh, Joe,” she said, crying, am sorry! What will you 1 "do?” But Joe was only able to realize that his brutal task-master had cease to beat him, and that a long, red welt acrosaHusy’s hand had fallen there upon its way to his cowering shoulder. He only pointed to the mark, half crying: ■ s “It was better for .me to take it as you! ’he said, whimpering; the pretty white hand! “Oh, Joe is sorry you go: before him. Joe don’t mind beatimr/ All the chivalry in the poorS-dul I brain asserted itself in that speech, for Joe did mind a beating very much.

“You can’t stay here in the road all night,” said Susy. “Come with me and I will ask Mr. Collingwood to give you a place to sleep.” The good people at the farm looked rather astonished when Susy appeared, followed by the stooping, limping figure of the village idiot. But the farmer broke into hearty laughter when she told of her interference, -and begged a shelter for the boy. “Stay here;? Of course he can stay here,” said he: “We’ll find something for the poor beggar to do! ‘ But to think of you’re spunking up to Bob Carter after that fashion. I’d ha’ given my best cow to see it. A little white bantum pecking a bull would be nothing to it. And he run off. Well! Well! Here, Charlie, show Joe tiie room over the barn. He can sleep there and he’ll soon learn where to come to meals.” So the idiot found his hard bed on the floor replaced by the cosy barn chamber; his scanty food exchanged for generous plqnty; and for blows, kicks, and curses, hard work, overtasking his brain, he had kind words and light labor suited to his comprehension. And under this treatment he brightened visibly, > performing his simple task willingly 1 and well. When winter came, Susy herself altered a suit and overcoat of her father’s to clothe the boy comfortably for cold weather, and Knit him a scarf, cap, and mittens. She never passed him without a word of encouragement and kindness, and in his darkened mind the fair, sweet face stood for a religion, something to be worshiped, poor Joe’S special Providence. He never forgot the falling of the cruel lash upon her slender figure bent to protect him, and he understood perfectly that Susy’s intercession bad procured for him his happy, comfortable home. And his gratitude expressed itself in such offerings as were within his reach, bouquets of wild flo\vers, clusters of delicate ferns he khew she loved, basket of wild cherries or nuts, and an eager offer to lift any obstacle from her path. And the good-natured, jesting, countryfolks called poor Joe Susy’s admirer. But while winter snows were yet upon the ground, there came to Brent Hill a new clergyman, one Cyrus Portman, who had been a pupil of Susy’s father, when he was a youth of 19, she a child of 12. Having fitted himself for college under Rev. Stephen Coyle’s instruction he had gone to Harvard, had studied for the pulpit, and having preached in Boston,had"accepted a call to Brent Hill. -

It was quite natural that he should seek Susy, and the old servant at the parsonage was warm in her praise. He was a wealthy man, having inherited a fortune from his father, and he was eager to help the poor in his parish. Susy, having the children under her control, was able to point but to him many avenues for his charity, and thus added another link lo the associations that bound them together. Ho Was a grave, studious man, refind in taste and of quiet manner, and he shrank a little from the noisy demonstrations of the country people around him. It rested him, after a round of calls or the services of the Sabbath, to talk with Susy, to hear her low, sweet voice, and see her quiet, refined movements. He heard of the gentle charities she performed whenever he was in the cottages of the very poor, and memory told him what a little household fairy she had been, even when a child. So, in the long evenings, in the spring walks, he let his heart go out to Susy, and gather her image into its deepest recesses, while she, unconscious of her own secret, felt there was no happiness so profound as Cyrus brought by his mere presence. It wasaqu’iet, uneventful courting of six long month's, but it bound two hearts together for life. And Joe, looking on, understood vaguely that Susy was happy when Cyrus was near; that a service performed for Cyrus pleased Susy as well. And as events progressed he understood that Cyrus would one day take Susy to the parsonage as his wife, and that Susy would be happy there. All this was firmly rooted in poor Joe’s clouded brain, and he knew that trouble to Cyrus would be sore grief also to Susy. *. I ■ So, with an allegiance that was touching, Joe trausferred some of his devotion to the young clergyman, and when he was at the farm would fnutter often: “Susy likes him; Joe must be good to him because Susv likes him.” He was grateful for the kindly words of Cyrus, his many gifts of clothing and money; but the great claim that he held over Joe was the fact that to please him was to give Susy pleasure. Summer sunshine was ripening the grain, and the berries were in ripest clusters, when Susy had an entire month of leisure for the school holiday, aud Cyrus won from her a promise to resigh her place and be his wife in September. Her simple outfit became her daily task, and the Collingwoods lent willing hands to prepare for the wedding. Joe was made entirely happy bv a promise of a home at the par-, sonage, and the long summer days seemed too short for the happiness that filled them.

It was nearly two miles from the parsonage to the Collingwood farm, but there were few evenings when Cyrus failed to walk from his home to Susy’s for an hour ortwoof the sweet companionship he loved- And his way led him through a lonely stretch of country, where the farms were scattered far apart, for Mr. Collingwood had bought a farm at some distance from the village. By what instinct Joe knew that there might be danger lurking in the road, I cannot explain, but it became his habit, solely of his -*own will, to follow Cyrus Portman, out of sight himself, till he saw him safely within his house, and then limp back again to his own barn chamber./ It may have been that the talk of the farm hands, about some of the crimes perpetrated by tramps <ohveyed a warning, to his" weakened tnind- But, whatever the motive, he was constant in his unsuspected attendance. . Rev. Cyrus Portman, secure of his place in the love of his congregation,

thinking his village home fiver secure from danger of robbery, dr even the fear of theft, was careless of the fact that it was known he carried about him large sums of money. He drew his income quarterly from a Boston bank, and was apt to carry large rolls of bank notes in his pocket-book, ready for his own expenses and charities. He wore diamond studs' and finger-ring and a heavy gold watch and chain. All these facts becoming known to Bob Carter, Joe’s old tormentor, led to the fact that proved the idioj’s deepest devotion to Susy. One of the tramps seeking employment at Brent Hill, proving a congenial companion for Bob Garten in his drinking frolics and idle life, became his guest, and the two, under the influence of liquor, resolved to rob the parson. “He’s bound to have a pocket full of money,” Bod said, “and we’re half starved! We’ll make it more equal like!” So it fell that one .'.ugust night, when there was no moon, Joe, faithfully trudging upon his self appointed task of seeing Susy's lover safe in his own home, saw two men spring upon him as he passed a high hedge. Taken entirely by surprise, Cyrus Portman turned to his .assailants and fought for his possessions with the courage of a truly brave man. But they were two to one, and had thrown him down, when Bob Carter, lifting a formidable club of wood, ordered him to give up his mony and watch. Instead of complying he struggled more ! fiercely to free himself from the grasp of the other ruffian. “ You Will have it, then,” growled Bob, lifting the club, and surely there would have been an end of all Susy’s dreams of happiness, had not Joe, with a cry utterly indescribable, flung himseli between the heavy murderous weapon and Cyrus Portman. Down came the wood with a sickening crash upon the idiot's back and headland Cyrus Portman, with a suddenwrench, freed himself as-the tramp dodged back to avoid the blow. At this moment the voices of a party of village merry-makers were heard coming up the road, and the would-be robbers and assassins turned and fled.

The calls of the clergyman hurried the steps of the farmer lads coming home, and the welMtnown voices of the Collingwood boys were soon heard in eager exclamations. In hurried words the young clergyman explained the situation. “Poor Joe!” he exclaimed, looking as he knelt to examine the prostrate body. “I am afraid his devotion has cost hiin his life. I cannot feel his heart beat.” “ We’ll carry him home,” Charlie Collingswood said. “Come, boys, it’s not half a mile to the farm.” Willing, strong hands lifted the still insensible figure, and tenderly poor Joe was-carried to the farm again.- Susy, still sitting upon the wide porch, thinking of her lover, saw the procession enter the gate and ran quickly down the path. Her tears fell fast as Cyrus told his sad tale, but she opened the door of tho spare room on the lower floor, wakened Mrs. Collingwood, brought lights, water aud bandages, while James saddled a horse and rode back to the village for the doctor. But doctors could not help poor Joe! the blow was a death blow, and before morning there was only a cold, still form where the poor idiot’s life had existed. But before he died he was brought back to consciousness, to know Susy was bending over him, her tears dropping fast upon his white, deathstricken face. “Don't cry,” he whispered faintly. “It was because you loved him. I didn’t forget,” he said, while a smile brightened his poor face. “Joe didn’t forget when you took a lashing for him. Joe remembered. And he put his head under Bob Carter's club to save the parson. Is the parson here ?” “ Yes, Joe, I am here.” “ All alive, and Joe did it! Joe did for Susy!” And so, with Susy’s name upon his lips, poor Joe died.