Rensselaer Union, Volume 5, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 July 1873 — HOW THE MORTGAGE WAS REDEEMED. [ARTICLE]

HOW THE MORTGAGE WAS REDEEMED.

They were a grave looking group that gathered in Dean Lindsay’s best room that lovely June morning. First there was Dean Lindsay himself’, always a prominent figure anywhere, from his tall, muscular form, bold and resolute face. At his right, their elbows leaned on the table,- whereupon lay writing materials, with sundry folded and crossed papers, sat two men, one of them idly toying with a pen which he held in hie hand. He was a light, dark-skinned..man, wjth short, bushy hair and whiskers —the latter of the mutton-chop style—and both of them of the color denominated as pepper ami salt. He had a bright, alert face, and clear, bluish cits, and his name was Mark Seldon, and his calling attorney at law. The man at his side ottered, the strongest possible contrast. He was tall’and loosely built, with a stoop in his heavy shoulders. He had a florid complexion, with small, sleepy-looking, pale-bhie eyes, a beardless face, and long, lank, sandy. Imir, pushed behind his ears, said ears being modeled on a generous plan, as regarded size, and, if I may use the expression, placed in the most favorable possible light to show advantageously.. Andas he carried his head a little down, tliey gave him the appearance of listening covertly, without seeming interest. This man's name was Wilson —Amos Wilson, and, though you might not' think it from his dress or general appearance, a rich man. I mean, of course, rich for his locality. He might not have been for New York, but for Dalton, a small Western township, he was n perfect Croesus. Besides those, there was a small colony of young Lindsays, in assorted sizes, the largest of whom, pretty Della Lindsay, stood behind her mother’s chair, her arm thrown over her shoulder in a pretty, protecting way. Mrs. Lindsay had been an invalid since Harry’s birth, four years, and Della was practically at the head of the household. It wasr moreover, no light thing to be at the head of that household. There was, besides herself, sevep children, which, with her father and mother and Paul Leicester, who had been with her father for the summer, made just eleven in the family. Added to this was the car# of a dozen cows, and added to this the fact that the state of their finances would not admit of their keeping a servant. And this question of finance brings me to the real subject of my story. ‘f You’ll excuse me, Wilson, for being a little down-hearted about this thing,” Mr. Lindsay said, with a faint, deprecating smile. “Itseems like signing away my heart’s blood to give a stranger a claim on the old homestead.” A slow red burned itself through Mr. Wilson’s cheek. “I wish you wouldn’t speak of me as a stranger,” he said hesitatingly, with an involuntary glance at Della, which no one but Paul Leicester saw. “ I meant any’ one not a relative; Mr. Wilson," replied Lindsay soberly.’ “ You know I had hope of-hclp from my cousin in New Orleans. I mentioned it to you.” Mr. Wilson listened and nodded thoughtfully. “Well, the fact that I have applied to you shows that hope has failed me, an J so we’ll say nothing more about it. Perhaps you had Better write the deed now Mr. Seldon." ■ Mr, Seldo’n bowed pleasantly, dipped his pen in the ink, and for awhile the faint scratch of the pen on the paper, and tile loud ticking of the kitchen clock, were the only sounds in the house. Mr. Lindsay leaned his face on his hand and looked steadily on the floor, the slight twitching of the muscles about the mouth being the only sign.,of emotion one could discover. Mrs. Lindsay, white and still as a statue, her face a little dropping, sat a few feet at the left of her husband, while Della retained her old position by her mother’s chair, a troubled shadow in her soft, brown eyes, and over theswectyoung face. Harry, awed and perplexed, liid his face in the folds of her dress, while in a group at the open window, were gathered the rest of the children. How unnaturally still it was. How in contrast to the freshness and brightness of the sky and airl Looking from the open window, one saw long reaches of softly undulating prairie bathed in golden light, while away to the right, a blue, sparkling river, sentineled with cottonwoods and sycamores, and overhung with pale, translucent mists, flashed anti rippled between its velvety banks. No wonder Dean Lindsay shrank from the thought of his fair heritage being —compromised; but there was no help’ for it, and he had got to make up his mind to think of it as no longer really his, but subject to Amos Wilson’s authority. He , could hardly keep from groaning aloud as he ran over in his mind the half score or more of fine farms which belonged to Wilson, all of which had first been mortgaged to him, as his was being now, to raise the necessary money to keep them from being given up altogether. And then, one after, another, they had been given up, and Amos Wilson was the possessor. Would his go in the same way? Would there be a few years of struggle with ill-luck—blight, and drouth, and mildew—and then his wife and children lie homeless? He started with a nervous shudder and glanced up; Amos Wilson wasHeaning- a little forward, lookfngsteadily at Deila, yrith a strange Are lighting his sleepy eye.. “The deed is ready for your signature,

Mr. Lindsay,” Seldon said briskly, “yours and Mrs. Lindsay’s.” His voice broke the weird spell which had seemed tohold them, and Paqj Leicester got up from his seat by the kitchen door, and came and stood by the table while the deed was signed and the money, seven hundred dollars, counted and given to Mr. Lindsay, who in turn handed over the mortgage of the homestead to Mr. Wilson. Then he turned abruptly and went out. Mr. Seldon looked after him with his quick, bright eyes, but no one else appeared to notice ft as being anything unusual that a hired man should intrude his presence upon such an occasion. And now the business is over, I will take ..the. opportunity of saying a word about this same Paul Leicester. First, he was a stranger in Dalton; that is, he had been there but little over two months, having come early in April. He had seemed so anxious for employment, and offered to work so cheaply withal, and upon such easy terms—notasking for payment until Christmas—that Mr. Lindsay had thought it best to take him. He could not work the large farm’ alone, and was specialty anxious to do a good deal this season, to try to recover himself. Mr. Leicester was not very much used to farm-work, it was quite evident, but he was so ready to learn, and so quiet and persistent about everything he undertook, that Mr. Lindsay was delighted with his bargain. He was extremely reticent at first, but by degrees he had grown more free, and once or twice supplied them with such a genial flow of wit and spirits that Mr. Lindsay had declared himself unable to see what sent him there, a man of his abilities. „ And now a word in regard to Mr. Lindsay’s embarrassments. For three consecutive seasons the harvests had been extremely light in this section, scarcely paying for the outlaying of money anil labor, to say nothing of profit. Then the expense of living was considerable, for ten persons required no small amount of food, to make no mention of garments that will wax old. Added to this was a long and severe illness, lasting all winter, and running him behind to such an extent, that he saw no other way to go on with his work than to hire money. This it was next to impossible to do, and after some pretty severe struggles with his pride, lie so far overcame it as to write to Julian Richardson, a second cousin, living in New Orleans, and reputed very wealthy. He had never seen him, but had heard that he was unmarried and somewhat eccentric. And so, in this strait, lie ventured to appeal to him. He wrote the first letter in February, but it was unanswered. After waiting in a state of nervous anxiety and suspense for two or three weeks, he wrote again. This time ■ his letter was returned, after being opened, but without a line or word in answer. He struggled along a month or two more, and then he went to see Amos Wilson, with the final result I have heretofore described. * The days slipped away like golden sands and the summer grew in beauty and brightness to Della Y>indsay. The sunshine fell into her heart as softly as it capped the green, blossomy hills. The daily drudgery of toil became suddenly lightened and illuminated by this same golden glow, and the world grew dear, and life 1 ooked only a jwee landbeauti fid dream. Into this supreme atmosphere, one day, a sudden cloud broke. It had been no larger than a man’s hand; for weeks she had not discovered it, and was therefore totally unprepared for the great darkness that, came upon her. She had returned from a long ramble over the prairie, her hands loaded with blossoms, and stood by the door describing their names and habits to Paul Leicester, whose grave face was softened into a rare, tender smile, whenever the pretty brown eyes and wild-rose cheeks were lifted to his face. “Della, my dear, I want you a moment,” her coming out of the entry. » Without’a worn she followed him in, the blossoms still in her hands, and some of them dropped to the floor as she walked. • “Come in this way, my child," Mr. Lindsay said, passing before her and opening the door into the parlor, where, sharply outlined against the sunset sky, stood Amos Wilson, his back to the window,and his great, ungainly form showing in bold relief against the light. Somehow the feeling of depression which had so weighed her down on the day the homestead was mortgaged came upon her again, and she felt her face grow white and rigid. Mr. Lindsay closed the door carefully, and came forward to his daughter’s side. “Della,” he said, struggling to-appear calm, “Mr. Wilson has done me the honor It; ask permission to pay his court to my daughter. I have told him my girl is free to answer for herself—what shall it be, Della?” Della cast one quick glance into her father’s face, and saw all its eager hope and anxiety. Then she turned to Amos Wilson, who had taken a step forward aiid was looking at her sharply from under his low brows, his pale face burning with’ faint opaline tints. Involuntarily she shuddered and drew back. “ I do not love Mr.WilsOn, father,” she said faintly. “But you can learn to love him, Della?” he asked quickly, his lips twitching nervously. • “No, father, I cannot,” she answered, this time firmly. “I thank Mr. Wilson for she honor he has done me, but I do not love him, and you do not ask me to marry a man I do not love, father?” “No, my child, I do not ask that,” he said gently, but with a chord of sadness and disappointment in his voice. Poor Della! how suddenly the cloud had descended and ' enveloped, her. With heavy heart she crept softly out, and left the two men together. She knew what, her refusarhad meant to her father. She knew the load which chafed and fretted him so might have been lifted with a simple movement Of her lips, and yet she had not given it—shecould hot give it! Dropping her blossoms as she went, she hurried out to a little arbor of old vines in the garden, and there, alope with the pitying twilight and the stars, she sobbed out the first bitterness of her regret, and pain. She heard Mr. Wilson come out and* go away, and then, a little later, heard a step in the garden—a step that sent the blood in a.fierce, sudden torrent to her heart, and then to lief cheeks. C/L “You are not repent ing so soon, Dena?” and Paul Leicester came and took the wet, flushed face between his cool palms, tenderly. “Oh,"I couldn’t many that man ; why should he ever think of such a thing?" Della asked, pitifully. “And father—” ■ She stopped abruptly, but he feU how hot her cheeks grew against his hands, and knew what she would have said. “He is rich, little Della.”

“I know it,” said Della, with a little choking sob. “And I am only your father’s laborer, and yet I have dared to love the same lady. What do you suppose he will say to my presumption, if she refuses this rich man so cavalierly?” “You ? O—o, Mr. Leicester I Don’t mock me!” She broke down in another flood of tears, and Mr. Leicester comforted her with a great many fond words, which would not look half so delightful and charming in print as they realty were, from the fact that certaiii things are universally pronounced silly, unless one happens to be of the dramatis persona— then they are better and more to be desired Ilian the Wisdom of Solomon. By and by it grew chilly, and the damp mists came up from the river, and Mr. Leicester said Della must go in, though she, foolish child, would have tarried there gladly, nor thought of damp or chill, if it had been January instead of August, Tf-dte was only there. “1 want to see your father, too, Della,” he said; and so they went in. Mr. Lindsay sat by the kitchen table, his arms crossed and leaning on it, and before him, scattered about, sundry bills, papers, etc. He looked up, then made a motion to gather them up. Mr. Leicester drew Della’s arm through his, and came quickly forward. “Mr. Lindsay, I love your daughter and she loves me,” he said, in a steady, assured voice. “I know Mr. Wilson would be more Acceptable to you, but I think you gre too much of a gentleman to object to me on property grounds. I think we can manage to live—Della andT 3 - somehow. What do you say to us?” Mr. Lindsay glanced from the radiant, blushing face of his daughter, to the strong, quiet one beside her, and, though it cost him a little effort, he said, cheerfully : “I will add my blessing, if that is what you ask. God knows that my child’s happiness is more to me than money—a thousand times.” Paul Leicester’s face softened into a rare smile. “You are a brave man, Dean Lindsay,” he said, warmly, his eyes kindling, “and you shall never be sorry for having trusted me.” Mr. Leicester begged for an early wedding day,’and soon won Della to. his side by his eloquence and persistence. “It was as well, perhaps, now as at any time,” Mr. Lindsay thought, and also yielded. Mrs. Lindsay had too long leaned upon and deferred to Della to think of objecting to anything she asked; and so it was arranged for the last week in September. Two weeks before the appointed time Mr. Leicester said it would be necessary for him to be away a week, and, without mentioning his destination, took his departure. The week passed, and then ten days, and he neither came nor wrote to them. And then it lacked but one of the day fixed for the wedding, and Della grew nervous and Mr. Lindsay angry. But the afternoon brought the truant, who, with a bright smile, said he was delayed by business. “ By the way,” he added, taking a folded paper from his pocket, and tossing it to Mr. Lindsay, “ I saw Mr. Wilson as I came along.” “ The mortgage deed I” exclaimed Lindsay, looking perplexed. “Yes, it’s no more than fair I should make you some present when you have so generously given me this dear girl,” putting his arm about Della. “But I don’t understand. I—I—” “Thought I was a poor fellow," finished Leicester, smiling. “I know you did, and I will add that I have been to considerable trouble to give you that impression—learning farming, for instance! Do you remember that, Dean?” he asked abruptly, tossing a letter he had written to his cousin in New Orleans. Mr. Lindsay his feet white and trembling. “Yoirare not he—you arc not Julian Richardson?" he gasped. “I am very thucli afraid l am that eccentric personage,” he replied, laughing. I believe I was christened Julian Paul Richardson. When I received your letter I conceived the idea of visiting you incog. Your second letter determined me, and. I must confess I am charmed at the success of my experiment,” he said with a bright smile upon Della, who clung to his arm, pale with wonder and excitement. “You see, Dean, I desired to know if you were worth helping—it’g a foolish hobby ol mine, always—and] there was no other practicable, way. . I think we’ll not trouble Mr. Wilson again, my good cousin! For, as I told you once before, I think we can manage to live some way—Della and I—can we not—my darling?” And for answer Della hid her face on his shoulder, and cried woman-fashion.