Rensselaer Union, Volume 5, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 June 1873 — THE MILL AND THE TAVERN. [ARTICLE]

THE MILL AND THE TAVERN.

BY T. S. ARTHUR.

- . ...r. .. ... “To my oldest son, Richard, the tavernstand known as the ‘Red Lion,’ and twenty acres of ground attached thereto; and to my other son, Jacob, the grist-mill on Dart Greek, and the residue of my landed property.” So the will read. A deep silence, and then a single word of dissatisfaction. It came from Jacob, the younger son of the —deceased Richard .Cragan. JHis brother looked up with a troubled expression on his thee, and their eyes met. ==2=3= “The will is not to yourmind,” Richard said, gravely, but kindly; “No, it is not, lr answered Jacob, with a hardness in singular contrast with his brother’s subdued and gentle manner. “You prefer the tavern stand?” “Of course I would,” rejoined the brother. “And I would prefer the mill. So all can be satisfactorily adjusted,” replied Richard, in a frank and cheerful way. Jacob’s face was not the only one that showed surprise. But as none present had a right to question Richard’s decision, there was no remonstrance or deprecatory remark. “Well, you are a precious fool!” said Harry Glenn, in an angry voice, on meeting Richard Cragan next day; “and, it Katy follows tny advice, she’ll give you the mitten.” “What do you meat}' 1 ?" asked Richard, showing some reschtment at this rude assault. & “Just what I say. Didn’t your father leave you the ‘Red Lion’ tavern-stand?” “Yes.” “And you’ve given it to Jacob for that miserable old grist-mill on Dart Creek?” “Yes.” “Humph!”—contemptuously—-“I knew you were not remarkable for wit, hut did not imagine you were such a cursed, fool, as you are. Why, the tavern-stand is worth forty times as much as the gristmill.” . “Maybe so, and maybe not,” replied Richard, with a flush in his eyes that was unusual to their blue tranquility; “time will show. As for me, lam satisfied; and no one has a right to question any decision I may choose to make touching my own affairs.” "1 have a right,” said Glenn, witli something offensive in his voice, “as the brother of lvaty—” “Stop there, Harry!” interposed Richard, in a voice so stern and indignant that (Jlehn moved back a step or two in surprise. “I never permit any one to meddle in my affairs, and you cannot be made an exception. Katy has cast her lot with mine, and her happiness is in my keeping, not in yours.” “Not quite cast in yet,” muttered Harry Glenn, as he turned away from Richard, whose ear caught the sentence. Its meaning lie well understood. On the evening of the same day Richard met Katy Glenn, and noticed, with a sudden chillness about his lieart, a change in her manner. She was very dear to him. He had loved her ever since he was a boy —loved her with a steadiness that no coldness on her part, no flirting with other boys, or, as the years went on, other young men, could diminish. She was pretty, but wayward—the very opposite to Richard Cragan, who was so quiet, reserved, and true of purpose. After a long series of tender vicissitudes, of pains and discouragements, of hopes and fears, Richard at last-had.the-ineffable happiness of giving her the kiss of hetrothmeut. This happened only a short time before his father’s death. A cloud that looked no larger than a man’s hand at first now appeared in his sky. But it grew rapidly, and In a little while, tilled the whole horizon, obscuring the sky. “Is this true that I hear?” said Katy. “What?” asked Richard, his heart falling like lead, for he understood what she meant. “That you have given Jacob the handsome tavern-stand your father left you, and taken that old grist-mill and a few acres of poor land for your share?” “It is true,” answercflllichard. “What could have possessed you to do this?” said the maiden, with all the beauty in her face dying out under the hot flushes of a selfish indignation. “Because I would rather have the mill, nnd earn my bread by useful work, than burden my heart and life with evils that are inseparable from tavern-keeping.” “Pshaw!” ejaculated Katy, in no amiable tone. “As good men asyoti have kept, aud still keep tavern. Are you better than your father?” ’ "I don’t set up as being better than any one, Katy," replied the young man, whose face had become very pale; “I only determine for myself what 1 ought or ought not o do. If 1 had not let my brother take the ‘Red Lion,’ it would have made no difference as to my own future—l should . have sold it and put the money in a farm, •or something else by which I could make a living.”' , Katy bit her lips, and looked angry and disappointed. “I will never consent,” he resumed, “to bring up a family amid the baleful associations of a tavern. There are only twoof us left out of six brothers. Four of them died years ago—and it is better that they died. Oh, Katy! try to think and sees as I do. The mill har a good run .of custom. I shall improve it in many ways, and double its capacity. We shall get along well—trust me for that, and be, oh, so much happier! As for me, I should

have a restless, miserable, guilty feeling all the time if I kept a tavern, and sold drink to the young men of our place—hurting all, and doing good to none.” And he shuddered at the bare thought of such responsibility. “As you like,” answered Katy, in a chilling voice. “But, one thing is certain, I’m not going to be cooped up in the little pigeon-house over at the mill, you may count on that as settled.” “I will have it done Up new all over, and make it the nicest place in the world,” said Richard. “But you’ll never put me into it,” cried Katy, with a sudden passion in her voice. “You are surely not in earnest, Katy,” remonstrated Richard; “I surely am,” she replied, tossing her head in a way that hurt and amazed the bewildered young man. Richard Cragan sat quiet and still for a long time. Then, rising slowly, and with a quiver of pain running over his pale face, he put out his hand to Katy. She let hers fall into his coldly, not returning by the slightest motion the pressure he gave. “Good-night, Katy!” The girl would never have known the voice as that of her lover. “Good-night!” Not a pulse of feeling beat in her tones. Richard turned slowly away and left the house—but all the while, as he went farther and farther from her, his ear hearkened for her voice breaking out into a repentant ay,.but hearkened in vain! _ It was all over with Richard and Katy. The selfish, fickle and worldly-minded girl, who was incapable of such a love as glowed in the heart of this young man, broke off her engagement, and in less than a year became the wife of his brother Jacob, who installed her as mistress of the “Red Lion,” which had been fitted up in the most attractive style, and was known as the best tavern for miles around. The custom had more than doubled since JacoKbeeame “mine-host,” amLthe new owner was beginning to reap an abundant harvest of profit. Katy had her horse and carriage, her fine clothes, her personal ease and comfort; pride and vanity were gratified in many ways. Yet she was not so happy as she had expected to be. Jacob was a different man from Richard. He was harder, more selfish, less scrupulous—aud had little hesitat ion about trampling down with a ruthless foot whatever came in the way of his purposes. He had no tenderness toward his wife, and never seemed to regard her feelings, comforts or wishes in what he did. Not that lie was unkind to her—only indifferent. There were no little confidences between them—no concessions on his part to her wishes and comforts, but a silent self-assertion that left her wholly out of his business affairs, while in all that concerned her personally he seemed to feel little or no interest. No, Katy was not happy. Far from it. And as the years went past, the desire of her heart was less and less satisfied. Richard Cragan took possession of his mill, and began refitting, improving, and setting things in order. All the light of his life seemed for a while to have, gone out. But his work kept him up. There were not many in the neigborhood who did not call him a fool But, in his own mind, he never doubted or repented. “Better so,” he would often say to himself, “than hear the responsibility' of all that”—meaning the tavern. “I trike ho man’s money without giving him wliM is good in return. My work will not come back to curse nie in after years. No father or mother can ever say to me, ‘Where is my boy?—my poor, lost boy, that was led astray in your bar-room?’ No—no—no! I will give the people bread, not a poison to consume body aud soul.” The years went on. Jacob Cragan grew rich; but, alas! how many became Demand miserable that he might abound in wealth. Richard had no ambition beyond his mill, and the thirty or forty acres of land attached thereto. His first work had been to put it in good order, and year after year he made one improvement after another, until he had the finest mill in all that region, and as much custom as he could possibly attend to. The miller did not marry. Katy had been his first and only love; his heart never opened to another. Year after year he grew better off; but not with the rapid increase that marked the fortunes of his brother. But there came a time when things began to change—When the owner of the “Red Lion” grew less attentive to business and more given to sporting, and the company of sporting men. A good customer at lffs own bar, the evil of his work cursed him as well as others. His leet drew near to the pit he had digged for other men, and the edge was crumbling away from them. “The ‘Red Lion’ is not what it used to he,” said one and another of its old customers. . • “Jacob is going to the dogs, I’m afraid,” was heard now and then, half confidentially. One day, more than twelve years after Richard and Katy parted company, the former, while standing at his mill door, was surprised to see his brother’s wife coming down the road. She Was alone. “Why, Katy!” he said, going out to meet her, “what has brought you away down here?” As lie looked into her face, he saw that it was full of trouble. “Is anything wrong?” he added. “Yes, everything is wrong," she replied, her voice choking with the sentence, “and I want to talk to you.” , •• < Richard’s bachelor home stood close by the mill, and he went in with Katy. “What is it?” he asked, with kindly interest. “Oli, Richard!” She choked, and sobbed, and then, controlling herself, went on-. “Oh, Richard! I am almost heartbroken. Tilings are going to rack and ruin; and if there isn’t some change, we’ll not have a house over our heads in a year.” “Which may be the best thing that can happen,” replied Richard. “A tavern is 1 a curse to all who have anything to do with it, and the sooner you and your children are out of it the better.” Katy covered her face, sobbing and crying in a weak, despairing voice, “I wish you would talk to Jacob,” she said, after a few moments, looking at Richard with tearful, pleading eyes. “I have talked to him again and again; but he only gets angry.” “Yes—ves—that’s just It. I can’t say a word without his flaring up, and—and—cursing me! Oh, Richard! It’s dreadful how li« goes on sometimes!” “I know. Tavern-keeping has been his ruin; and I wish he were out of it—if it isn’t too late.” “Too late!” The words sent u chill through Katy’e heart.

“It isn’t too late for your boys, if it is for their father,” Richard added, in a softer voice. - “But what else can Jacob do?” asked Katy. “If we give up the tavern, we must starve.” “Not so bad as that,” said Richard. “He’ll never turn his hand to anything else, you may be sure.” replied Katy. “Necessity drives men to do a great many things.” “It may drive him to do worse than lie is doing now," answered Katy-. —“He’s in” with a dreadful had set of men—horse jockeys, and—and—gamblers, I’m afraid 1 Oh, dear! And I’m getting worried about Jimmy. He had trouble with the teacher, and has been home from school now for three weeks, and his father won’t make him go back; says the teacher is a cross old hunks, and not fit for the place. And HOW lie goos idling about, spending liis time in the bar-room, or with the stableboys. He’ll go to ruin if something isn’t done.” Richard looked very grave. There was so little in common between him and his brother, that they had been for a long time getting farther and farther apart, and now rarely met. “The sooner this tavern-keeping is broken up, the better," he said, after a long silence. “I can’t help you now, Katy. But when tilings come to the worst I’ll do the best I can for you. If I had Jimmy all to myself, in the mill, lam sure I could make something out of him. But as things-are, there’s no-use talking akoutthat, Jacob wouldn’t give his consent.” Poor Katy want home hut little comforted ; and Richard had a weight of concern laid on his heart that was not to be shaken off. Later in the day, Richard was surprised again. This time by a visit from his brother, who had not been at the mill for over two years. Jacob wanted him to go on his note for three thousand dollars. “I shall he sold out by the sheriff if you don’t do it!” lie said, after a hurried statement of his affairs and the pressing need for money that was upon him. Richard was silent for a long time, trying to see wliat it was best for him to do. “Let the tav.ern go, Jacob,” he said, at length. “It has cursed you from the beginning, and will curse you tenfold in your boys, if you keep it. A sheriff’s sale, if it must come to that, will, in my opinion, lie the most fortunate thing that can happen to you. There are a hundred other ways to make a living. Let the tavern go, anu then I will help you in every way that I can. But I should do wrong and hurt you and yours if I put a single dollar into that wretched, soul-killing concern.” Jacob started up, all on fire with anger. He shook his clenched fist in his brother’s face, and cursed him for “a mean, selfish hound.” A sheriff’s sale did not take place. But Jacob gave up his inheritance in a compromise with his , sporting credit!as—gamblers—and went off to a new place, two or three hundred miles distant, and set up another tavern, but in a style far below that in which lie kept the “ Red Lion.” _ Years passed, and no certain news from his brother and family came to Richard. Once or twice he wrote to him, but got no -answer-.-- A-lonely-man,-working-on steadily and patiently ill his mill, the years crept over him, and vied with the dusty atmosphere in which he dwelt in sprinkling liis hair with gray. He was spoken of far and near as the kind old man at the ntill; and the gossips for once had the truth, when they told the story of his disappointed love," and the mistake of Katy. —Twenty years had gone by. since Jacob Cragan sold out the “Red Lion,” and moved away. One evening, latebin November, Richard sat in his solitary home, while the wind and rain sobbed and sighed without, feeling more lonely and disquieted than was usual with him. His thoughts had all gone out of his control, back through more than thirty years, and the image of Katy, for whom a tender feeding had never died out of his heart—the image of Katy, in all the freshness and sweetness of girlhood—stood smiling and happy before him. He was stirred with feelings that he had believed dead and buried long ago. Then lie thought of the fatal tavern which had been given up to liis brother, and how it had blighted all their lives. “If I iiad kept It-and- closed it,” he said in a kind of bitter self-accusation, “it might have been so different!” He started and listened. A voice had faintly touched his car. 11c rose up, and moved toward the door. The voice came to him again, aud then a low answering voice, lie threw the door wide open, and let the light stream out. Then he saw two women, closely wrapped up, coming in from the road through the little gate. “Richard! oh, Richard!” ope of them cried -faintly, and tried to- -ivurry forward, but stumbled and fell on the wet ground. In an instant she was lifted in his strong arms and carried into the house. The-voice—how like the old voice that had been for all these years the sound of music in his soul; hut the face, when lie' looked into it, alas! how changed. Old, shrunken, faded—even haggard! What a wreck! What a transformation! “I have come here to die, Richard. I have no right; hut —” Sobs choked the voice. “ Hush, Katy.” Then, “AVliere is Jacob?” “Dead.” , . “Dead?” “Yes,” in a steadier voice. “Dow long since?” “Not long; a month. This is Katy, my youngest child. You never saw her be-, fore.”—' . Richard looked into the girl's face, as the light fell upon it, and trembled. He was back again through thirty years, and Katy, in the sweet May-time of life, stood before him! “Dear child!" said Hie old man, as he took her irand and kissed it very-tenderly.-The story that Richard hoard that night was sad and sorrowful to the last degree. Both of his brother’s sons grew up to he miserable drunkards, and died inf the prime of manhood. His oldest daughter married their barkeeper, who broke her lieart and then deserted her. She was dead. Three children were left, and were uow with the husband's parents, who were low people, and not fit to have charge of them. “There is room here for all,” said Richard: Cragan, when the sad hißtory was told. He asked no particulars about his brother’s life and death, and Katy did not intrude them. A week later, and the last day of another mortal life was closed. Dark and stormy had been the years that preceded this dying day; but as the sun drew near the western hills, the clouds broke suddenly, and golden rays came flooding the earth and brightening all the air. All that Richard Cragan could do to soften

the pillow on which lay dying his early and only love, was done. “They shall be mine,” he said. “Your Katy shall be my Katy; and the children out West shall be my children.” And smiling in gratitude and calm content, the woman died—died with a single sweet draught from a cup that love had filled for her years, and years ago, but which she pushed aside for another that held only gall and wormwood. Richard Cragan kept his word to the dying one. Katy’s daughter and grandchildren were taken to his home. Their presence gave new life to the ojd mill, and a new grace and charm to his dwelling, that filled his soul with a sweetness once dreamed of, but never tasted before. It was a pleasant sight to see them all together, in the waning summer afternoons, gathered about the mill door, after -the great wheeLwas still, and the air no longer jarred by the rumble of machinery. There was peace and sweet content; and hope for the young lives over which, when their morning broke, dark clouds hung and threatened.— Arthur's Illustrated Home Magazine.