Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 14, Number 1, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 30 June 1883 — Page 6

THE? MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

THE FARMER'S WLPB.

The fanner came In from the field one day, His languid step and bis weary way, HI* bended brow and sinewy band. All showing the work for tbe food of the land aowing the work for the good

For he sows, And he hoes, And be mowit

All for the good of the land.

the kitchen lire stood his mtlent wife, ht of bis home and loy of his life, ,T .th face all Aglow Mid hnsy band, Preparing the meal for the husband's band

For the most boil,

Ajid she most broil, And she must toll

All for the sake of the home.

Ban shines bright when the farmer goes out, Birds sing sweet songs, lambs frisk about, The brook babbles softly In the glen

Blrds sing sweet SOB The brook babbles s».

While be works bravely for the good of men For be sows, And he hoes,

And he mows,

All for the good of the land.

xoe auoei 10 wi»n,.uu

How briskly the wife steps about within— The dishes to wash, and the milk to sklm,'

UHI U»«»

There are pies to make, There Is bread to bake, And steps to take,

All for the sake of home.

He takes his rest 'neath the old shade tree. From the labor of the land his thoughts are

Though he sows, And ne hoes, And he mows,

He rests from work of the land.

But the faithful wife, from sun to sun, Takes tbe burden up that Is never done There Is no rest, there Is no pay. For tbe household good she must work away

For to mend the frock, And to knit the sock, And the cradle to rock,

All for the good of the home.

When autumn is here, with chilly blast, The farmer gathers his flock at last, His barns are full, his fields are bare, For the good of the land be never bath care

While it blows, And it snows, Till the winter goes,

He rests from the work of the land.

But the willing wife till life's oloslngday, Is the children's, the husband's stay From day to day she has done her best, Until death alone can give her rest

For after the test Comes the rest, With the blest,

In the farmer's heavenly home.

Jane Newberry's Husband.

ROBKRT 0. METERS.

CHAPTER I.

First-day, as I came out of meeting, I found myself nigh a winning-faced woman, wno held out her hand to me. "I am glad to see tbee," she said "I hope thee will not miss Salem and thy kinsfolk overly much." "Thee knows," I hastened to say, "I am here because of the loss of my kinsfolk." "Truo," she said, more kindly yet, "and thee will forgive my lack of memory. Seems to me we grow forgetful of all save ourselves, betiraet*. I, too, have a calling from above I make tender visits to Fairhill—my children are buried there."

Then she left me, going up Fourth street in the sun. This was my meeting Jane Newberry. Thomas Newberry, her husband,had fallen in strange ways ho was scarcely circumspect as might be. His parouts had not been strictly orthodox to besure, but they were Friends all the same, and he had wandered from us all. Time ago, he had been a grain man, dealing in cereals and the like, and was prosperous. But his temptation had come and he bad not withstood. His business faculties sorely Impared, careless, and making of little account what bad bltberto meant much to him, depended now upon his wife, who had taken a small house and store, and opened the latter as a trimming place, whore she and Prlscllla attended.

"X^evervnoifSBB,

was

first made cognlamt of his manner when on one occasion. I went to Friond Jane's

Jeprecatory

for thread. She was duly careful to be exsct, and was withal so her poor array of spools that I One, and said: "Thee sees, this will answer admirably." **mee is unumiui,

was

must alleviate. I'turned around' and saw Thomas Newberry, end bis eyes were not so widely opened nor unconverted as might be. "Thee ia beaotted again, Jane," he said, nodding reprovingly at his wife "tbee knows tbee is besotted."

She looked at me with pain in ber faoa. "Nay,"she exclaimed, detaining me, refusing my sympathetic withdrawal, "this is my husband."

Friend Newberry acknowledged me. "Thee is from Salem," he said, "and a flue place it Is—as Jersey goes. Very

temperate place.too—as temperate places go. And yet,Met no man judge you in meat or dnng.' Temperateness consists of the mind, not of the condition of the body." 1 was in a hurry to go, seeing that Friend Jane busied herself at tbe counter, yet all tbe while held a yard-meas-ure cleverly out so that ber husband might not fall back too far, for his feet a re "Don't go," be said, "dont go! It la as refreshing as dew to the lips of lambs —and tbee la no longer lamb—to see a stranger. I am sorry forthoe. stranger, in the gates though tbee be—I am worry for tbee. I fear tbee also ip besotted,that Jane baa led theeastray. I must urge it upon ber to be more moderate—'let your moderation be known unto all men.' Don't poke me with thy vard-measure, Jane tbee pokes where Adam's rib waa removed for

Kve—another

•iHiiunjtdiflMftw)* nifci'ifi twir"" n~i

aocofttomed ones of the earth. Tban I am old, thee knows, and change in ageis irksome. I go to IWrbill often,though I have much peace in viewing three little mounds I— we have there." 801 met her at FairhiJL—for I had gone to the store and found Friend Newberry alone there, lugubrious and fraught with sights, and as I found was often the case after he had been mow militant than usual. He was behind the counter, and looked np from a book he had in his hand, his eyes holding pained expression. I asked for Jane.

Priscilla came home to-day," be said.

"They are at Fairhill." "Thank tbee," I said, "I will go there, too." "Stop!" he called,and held oat a book It waa die Rules of Discipline. "I am a iSk

heathen man and a puSlican, am I, because I would not listen to the committee T" he said. He threw the book to the floor. "What do

I care

net on the groun

For dear ones at home her heart Is kept stout glad I bad come." (pv.«« niM tn mRk#. "Doee tbee know," ghe said, some-

for tbee, or all

the people If a Friend is not to be trusted with himself, who is be to be trusted with Jane alone is good to me."

I left him with his head on the counter. When I reached Fairhill it was nearly sundown. From afar off I saw Jane Newbei her face turn

times, when I am here, I seem to feel the press of children's fingers upon my face and bosom. See!" She pointed to three little mounds. "My little ones," she

When the day is over and the evening has come, tairi, "They are above, I am here in ^ec^tu^are fed and the milking lsdone ... th h||ve not knoW

n,"

iths which they have not known," looking down upon the mounds and flecking a dry leaf from the least of the three. "Don't tbee think tbe dead makes us love the living more? Perchance, I speak unadvisedly. Tbee naver married, thee scarcely knows that a dead child can bid its mother love its father more?" She wiped ber eyes upon her sbawl, looking around, covertly. "I would not have Priscilla see me so," she said. "Ob, did tbee know Priscilla is at home?" "Yea," I answered: "I stopped at thy house. Thy husband told me."

She looked at me eagerly. "Thomas was very good," she said. Then her face grew, as one might say, luminous. "Look 1" she said, "Priscilla J"

Over against tbe red sunset, standing a little apart from everything, the girl was like a silhouette. "Pardon me," said Fried Jane,"I have been so selfish. Thee is kind to come here to me. Tbee did, did thee not "Yes, thy husband told me." "Thomas is kind. Thee—" she hesitated. "thee knows Thomas is very kind —betimes. Indeed, I fear me thee sees him only as the world and flesh make him. Try to see him as 1 do as I sit by the graves of our children, a man who hath three fair souls with God. See— Priscilla. as thee views her now is only a as a shadow of that within. When thee comes to know ber she will be another soul of Thomas and me."

Together we went over to Priscilla,who placed ber arm about ber mother while we said a few words. Friend Jane had tbe most peaceful of faces, and her danghter looked like her, with a quickening of all that was lifeless in her mother. Her eyes were shot through with the red of the sunset, until, gray, as they were, they seemed to carry in them the flame of the opal. She was altogether comely, tall and pretty slender.

So we went home. When we reached the store, Friend Newberry arose with alecrity as he metPriscllla's glance. He turned to his daughter instead of to his wife, saying: "Customers were chary of coming. A

routh

*was desirous to know 'Quaker, Quaker, how art thee?' I told him with the point of tbe yard-stick."

She went in and removed her mother's and her own bonnet and prepared tea, of which I partook. As we three sat there —for Friond Newberry persisted In tending store, Priscilla found occasion to whisper tome, while her mother went to replenish tbe tea-pot. "Mother has told me of thee. I am lad of thv pleasure in mother here, for here are few who know her aa I do and as thee must."

She excused herself, after a bit, and followed by the eyes of her mother, went Into the store. We were so quiet in the back room, and Priscllla's voice had such a deep quality in it. that I could not help but hear nearly all that passed. "Father," said Priscilla, in the store, ravlivr| Will J. iioviKOf IU vuv awviOf will thee please hand me tbe money?"

careful to be «i told thee there were no customers," of he answered, quickly. bat I picked up "I should much llki

Priscilla.

"Nay," abe replied, "It la scarcely of er*s word, thee would keep me from my the precise shade." ... rightfully own 1 Does thee know a man

win «-wo »*, is no mail it aii9 uaim no u»ve uvuv

Nevertheless, I will take it," I said, is no man at all, unless he have a little

"Thee will take it on thy say-ao, not money in his keeping? Does tbee know on my say-ao," ale rejoined. And then anything more abject than a man withlooked up, and without knowing what out a cent about him?" abe saw, 1 perceived a new expression 'i desire the money," persisted Priscome to ber face, as though something cilia.

in her sight which was dreadful to ••Priscilla," he said, firmly, "thy ber, and yet which she refused to see as mother is too good a parent for thee. All dreadful, and only as something she th« tima thM «u awav thv mother

she

Immoderate

woman." a I left them and felt warm. I was on tbe step, when I heard my name called, and there abe waa. "Tbee will come again,** abe said. I wlah tbee would. Yet If tt pains thee, think mora of that than me. Tbee sees how it i*.H

After many such sceoee* as this, and which I do not perceive tbe necessity of chronicling at length, I: came to be a frequent visitor at the boose. Prbdlla was at this time visiting at Harerford, for her health, ber mother explained, seeing that she waa a trifle overdooe at timea. I marveled tf a change might not do lane good, too." "Nay, Friend," aba said, "I am of the

ce the money," said

"Thee is outrageous!" be complained tbee is unditiful, tbee doubta thy fath-

TUEE QUUUM Iuy

the time tbee waa away thy mother never did aa thee ia doing now. Thee reprobates me!" "The money!" still said she. "Priscilla,''he said, "it la either of two things: I have told thee there was no paying customer now thee will either not persist in the call tor tbe money, or will thee make me prevaricate?" "Father, I want tbe money. It la all we have to depend upon. There was a bill to bepaid us to-day—I have kept tbe ran of affairs." "Ah," be cried, "thee has such a bead for business. To be pure! The bill was paid, and I receipted for it—'Thomaa Newberry and family.' I wrote on the receipt, because tbe bill waa so trifling and a receipt is such stupendous acknowledgement. Yea, 'Thomas Newberry and family." Here ia the money —though I insist tbere was no customer but the inquiring boy.** "I heard the rustling of money. The other pocket," she said. "I am done," he murmured, dejectedly, "when my own child, aided and abetted by tbe carnal mind of the world sets her wit upon the gaining of money, and robe—yea, robs ber aging parent who— not that pocket, Priscilla, that a where I keep my memoranda. Ob, well, then, if tbee will, take the few pence tberin."

Friend Jane groaned a little. Priscilla came in quietly and said not a word of what bad taken place. Now that Priscilla had come home, I scarcely saw tbe feasibility of going so often to tbe place —although I went frequently enough to purchase those many little odds and end* in the sewirg line which moat men delight in getting in email quantities, when in all probability it would be far more convenient to lay in a sufficiently large stock over against tbe time of need, not to say economical. If thee is a man, thee must not doubt tbere Is a pleasant exhilaration In saying to thyself, some evening, "My! I am oat of thread." or, "I most have tbe cotton batting to-mor-row," and, making a memoranda of it, go on tbe morrow and purchase some needles, and tape, and a BttJe edgf— and quita overlook the thread, or batting, aa the case may be. Aa It v_, tbe store bald me often eoough, though I saw less of Friend Newberry now that

Prieoilla waa at how. Once, Friend Jane and bar daughter -ware perturbed over a freah outbreak on Ida part, Priacilla waa loud in her condemnation of hie fault. "We all have faults," said Friend Jane. "Yea, mother, I know, but leas of our making than tbe world's," answered Priacilla, hotly. "No faults are of our own making, or aU are," aaid her mother, "and only thy youth makea tbee cavil at the world." "I father's fault tbe world's?" "It ia thine own, child, for tbee makea capital out of it." "And I cavil at the world became of my youth?" cried Priscilla, shrilly, "and why ebould I not, if that youth Is made barah and Utter before ita time? Mother, I am not meek, aa thee is—I hope I never shall be. But thee knows to what father has brought us tbee knows how hard we atrlve, and trying not to oomplain, suffer much. Tbe very sight of thee makea me more combative than anything else." "Tbe sight of me!" hAii* S "Yes," she went on, the fire of the opal in ber eyes, "when I see tbee so patient, when tbere 1b such cause for complaint, I fly at what is ignorantly called called Fate, and ask, 'why should this be—why must this be, and I no power to stay it?'" "Priscilla! and a stranger here!" "Stranger, or no stranger, does she not see for herself Does she not know that we are looked upon, not as Thomas Newberry's honored wife end child, but as tbe very property of a drunkard? Does she not know that I cannot face people of my own age, because of my stigma but rather, day after day in my cbrysalid state, until such time comes when I can bear it no longer, and I must away from thee for awhile to gain a renewal of tissue and fibre, to me for further struggle? Do not call it pride, call it humanity Inhuman from too much humanity. I am tired of it all, I am sick of it all if it were not for thee, mother, I should "What should thee do?" asked her

foing

to her and placing her hand on er snoulder. Priscilla hel down upon chair.

lplessly sunk

Just tnen some one came into tbe store. "Let me wait on thy customer," I said, and was glad to go, although my customer was a most gay-looking woman, who could not make up ber mind what she wanted. When I went back to the room, Priscilla was beside her mother, but frowning.

Now, one day, as I entered tbe back room, I noticed that Jane was overly oppressed and nervous. Priscilla was cold, and said little. Once, when her mother had left tbe room, I looked up, Inquiringly. "Father," whispered Priscilla, "he nas not been home since yesterday." She had not time to say more, for her mother was in the room again.

Friend Newberry never came all day. Toward night, and before the lamp was lit we fell into a quiet way, ana Jane dropped off into a slumber. Then Priscilla came to me, whispering and picking at her finger. "What does thee think could have come of father?" she asked worriedly. "Has be never stayed away before?" asked I. "Ob, yes. But thee knows in some cases, tbe more frequent the occurrence, tbe more apt is apprehension."

All at once I heard some one enter the store. There was Friend Newberry supported by a stranger. Priscilla came in, closing tbe door leading into the back room. "This man is a Samaritan—he Yound me grievous last night, and he bad me tobfehome," adventured Friend Newberry. The stranger not a word. "Father," said Priscilla, "will thee go to thy room?" "No," he said, "I want mother." "She is asleep she was awake all night," said she. "So was I," be muttered, doggedly.

By our united persuations we got him up-stalrs. Leaving Priscilla with him, 1 came down. The stranger lingered for awhile, and then placed a card on the counter. "That is my name," he said. "I live opposite here. And I really could not help bringing him home he would have come last night, but be was scarcely In the condition to do so. I was so busied with him I neglected to send word here. I see you are not a member of tbe family, so I tell you all this." "Stop!'' said Priscilla, and sbe was with us, "is thee a companion of my father?"

He reddened at the question and at tbe tone. Then he repeated what be bad said to me. "Thee has seen him often in his present condition, I suppose?" said Priscilla, harshly. Tbere was no reply. "May I ask tbee by what authority thee worried my mother?" abe asked. "Worried your mother?" "Tbee kept my father away all night. No doubt, as tbee sees so much, being our opposite neighbor, tbee saw my mother up all night." 3^ "I thought I was doing beat for all concerned," he said "had I come last night and apprised you, no doubt you would have thought me very cruel and vulgar." "Aa It is, tbee brought my father home—was there no cruelty ana vulgarity in that?" She asked It so boldly, so out of keepiog with her mother's precepts, that I was shocked. His face flushed again. "Your father would come," he said, "and I—you saw how difficult it was to get bim to bis room." He stopped. There in tbe doorway of the back room stood Friend Jane and tbere in tbe opposite doorway leading to the stairs, was Friend Newberry, regsrdlng her. She went happily to her husband, while Priscilla crossed over to her. Tbe stranger also went to Thomas, speaking lowly, but most firmly, and again persuaded him to go to his room. "If you want me to, I shall remain," he said to Jane. "It is my place, ia it not?" sbe asked. "I think not," be replied. "Tbee ia very kind," abe mid, "and tbee Is a stianger."

So after a few more words, we left Friend Newberry with his Samaritan, and Prisdlla, frowning, said: "It is shameful, it la shameful!" "O child," aaid her mother, rather be thankful thy father is with us again, than to call him a ahame." "1 am thinking of tbe other man, tbe stranger." sbe add. "That ia bis name," said I, handing the card to ber. Sbe put it aside, an noticing it, and went into the back room, wbere we followed. They were more talkative, now that Friend Newberry was In the boosa again, even easy and ful form a spadee of comfort. I 'd farewell, and Priacilla followed me out Into the store. "Friend Tteey," sbe whispered, "baa thee a very bad opinion of me?" "I think tbee la wid. "Doea tbee think be think* aof**

rather impulsive, I

"Tbe man—wbere ta hia card?" Sbe took it from the counter when ft lay— "Faltx Feodmrch." she rsad stood. "I think thy toating overcame thy dl»-

»-orw

TERRE HAUTE SATOM AY JBJVUN'il^Q- MATT.

oration," I said. 8he walked to tbe door with me. "What ought I to do?" abe aaked "I do not mean to be unjust, harassed though I am. But think of everything, and then tell me what I should do." "Thy mother can tell thee beat," I aaid. "No," she rejoined, coldly "mother ia too—too patiwit. Did thee ever feel angry at offense, and oould tbee afterwardown that use waa in the wrong?" "Not often at thy age but afterward, oh, yes." "I shall be old before my time," abe aaid. "I shall ask this man to forgive my outbreak." And left me on the

Verily," I said. "He is so kind," she went on "so unobtrusive and thoughtful." "Mother is prone to be generous, "said Prisdlla. "He quite refused to hear Prisdlla excuse her former harshness bethought be was to blame," said her mother "he said be only meant for tbe best."

I could restrain myself no longer. "Did thy husband say that?" I asked. "Nay, nay," said she, *'I am notspeaking of Thomas now, though thee is klnc) to take all I have said as his characteristics and tbey are—betimes. I refer to bis friend, Felix Fencburcb." "Verily." I said, "and tbee has found a friend* in Felix Fenchurch, and he quite young to have tbe forethought of age." "He is not so very young," said sbe. "I should say forty-hve." "O mother, does thee think he is so old broke in Prisdlla. Then added, "Though as for that, I never gave it a thought." "Yes," said Jane, "I should say that, even a year or two' more. Perhaps age seems lighter to unmarried folk than to married, but he looks to me forty-five."

Now a few days after this I went down to Salem, for a spell, and stayed fully a month—thee knows how thee longs for old familiar places thee has lived in, and breathed thy youth away In. When I came back I sought Friend Newberry's. Jane was wonderfully picked up, and Priscilla was even happy. "Well," said Friend Newberry, com ing in, "I think it is time for us to go for our walk in the Park. Prisdlla." "Prisdlla is studying botany," ventured Jane, "and she gets piles of illsmelling weeds in the house everyday." "Thee'd best not let Felix Fenchuroh bear thee say so," laughed Prisdlla. "I'll not hear thee, either, Jane," said Friend Newberry. "I am surprised at thee—yea, surprised." "Humph," said I. And they left the house. "Thee sees a wondrous change, does the not said Jane "and there is more yet—and it all seems so sudden. Thee is going to meeting on First-day Walt until then."

As we sat there, an hour or so after, Felix Fenchuroh came in as though he were well acquainted there. He was, as Friend Jane had said, no longer a young man. and there was about him that settled look aud manner which places elderly women, not overly Intimate out of their own sex, at ease in no time. "I missed them," be said. He went into the store and sat there reading. "He has done so much good, said Jane "he is so kind to Priscilla. too: he told me she was morbid and advising me not to mention It to her, he determined to make her mind healthier, as well as her father's. Hence the botany."

He put in his head. "I shall go out to meet them," be said. He bad been gone but a few minutes when Priscilla and her father came In ladeu with fern-fronds, and full of explanation about pollen, cross-generation, and the like. Beseems me, both Prlsdllia and her father were overly sorry at Felix Fenchurch's absence. On Slxtb-

I dropped in for a spell. ,/e have a secret from tbee," said Priscilla, "thee is to find out on First-day in meeting." "Oh, yes, thy mother has said something about It. Can I guess it In thy happy look Is a name to be called in meeting I said, seeing it all now. "Perhaps," she said, gently.

"f Vv -O W -H Si j* ,*

CHAPTER II. i'r it

18tayed away for a week, for I thought that in Friend Newberry's case there might be scenes of contribution which no stranger should witness. When I went,I found Friend Jane more peaceful. Tbe change in Priscilla was particularly apparent. "Thomas is much improved be is out wi

lpro

walking with his friend," said Jane.

"And who is it, Priscilla?1' I asked as kindly as I could, for young women on such occasions so love a kindly voice. "I do not understand thee," abe said. "Thy lover—who is be

Sbe burst into unrestrained laughter. Friend Jame smiled, too. "Thee never thought it waa that?"she said. "Why, Felix Fencburcb has something to do with First-day." ," said I, "I thought it might bea lo*er—perhape Felix—" "Tbee ia a poor guesser," cried Priscilla, In confusion. "Felix Fencburcb is never going to be taken in meeting?"I asked.

This time Jaue laughed a little, but Prisdlla waa bent over her work, quiet. "Oh, no," replied Jane, "thee knows that is hardly compatible." "He is not exactly one of tbe world's people," said Prisdlla, as sbe sewed. "His mother was a Friend—and tbee knows father's father waa not predaely a Friend to himself." "How does tbee know about Felix Fenchurch's mother?" aaked Jaae. "He toldjaoe." "Surely, mother," ahe said, "thee attaches importance to it." And Priscilla was not so pleased. "No," wid Jane, turning to me, "tbee muat let me keep the secret. But Felix Fenchuroh has much to do with it and us." "Surely," I said, and looked over to Prisdlla, and wonaered how ber mother eould be so blind.

First-day came. Meeting seemed very peaceful that day. It was warm outside, and June had come, and sparrows were much emboldened and flitted in and out at tbe open windows. Friend Ely roee to turn them away he had to fleck hia handkerchief several times before tbey would go. I may have dosed a little. When Elden Hutch ins aroee and said that tbe sbeep that bad been lost and waa found was of more account than the many that bad remained in the fold, tbe secret was known to me. Tbe woman beside me shivered a little, and pretty eoon ber hand found its way under ber shawl and pressed my fingenu It waa Jane. After meeting, Friend Newberry talked with some men in tbe yard. He came up to me. "Iam glad to see tbee in tbee meeting, Tacy Jones," he aaid severely. "I have not seen the here before,"—aa though it were I, and not be, who bad mlsawl attendance. Jane was beside me. "This is what Felix Fencburcb did," die aaid "be went to our friends and— oh, I cannot tell It fitly, I am so weak. Thomaa la with ua again/and waited for falm happily.

Now whether it was his joy. or that be braved the whole proceeding, the very next day aa I want to Friend SnarpImr lor a lawn for my neck, I saw Thomaa Newberry, red and

^Why ia tbee not botanislng I asked.

faI

have been," he answered. "Where? In a doae room amongat the rye?" aaked I.

He looked at me atartled. Then said: "I did not perceive tbee there, and to think that thee waa there. My! my! Tacy! and at thy age. too!" "Where la Fnadlla I aaked. "I ahall certainly tell ber."

He dropped hia light manner. "If tbee tells Prisdlla, I will tell Jane," he replied, "and thee would not worry tbe poor, woman, would thee

I made him walk about with me, even into Friend Sharplesa* establishment, where he inaisted upon purchasing a kerchief like mine for Jane, and not having tbe money to pay for it, I was necessitated advancing it. We went home and he handed the kerohief to Jane. "Oh, that tbee, Thomas," she said, gratefully. "It is so kind of thee it ia so like old times.

Friend Newberry told us he had missed Prisdlla aud Felix Fenchurch. waited—Friend Newberry becoming much engrossed In the Intelligencer. But never once would he stir from where we two women were. When Jane lead me to the kitchen to see her strawberry preserves, be came in. "Why, father, what's thee doing here?" asked Jane. "I am cold," returned he. "i hope thee took no chill yesterday." she sala, anxiously "thee is scarcely used tbe meeting-house yard. "Humph J" sdd I.

He followed

into the back room.

"If thee's cold, the kitchen's the place for tbee," said bis wife. "Iam hot, now," he replied. "Let me feel tbv bead," said she if tbee has a fever, I shall make thee a bowl of ginger-tea against bedtime. That is good, don't thee think so, Tacy

Felix Fenoburch and Prisdlla came iu. "Father, thee ran away from us," said Prisdlla, merrily. "I saw thee and Friend Fenchurch so engrossed, and I remembered me of a— trilling matter in—in the grain trade, I [had to attend to," he answered, looking over toward me gradually.

Prisdlls and Felix Fenchurch had been engrossed Oh! to have seen how red Prisdlla's face was—surely her mother was blind. I still had my bonnet and shawl on. "Thee will stay," said Priscilla, when she saw me regarding her. "Thy bonnet must be very close this warm day." "It is warm," said ber mother "any one would see it was warm out by tby flushed face, Prisdlla." "No," I said, "1 will not stay. I should like Felix Fenchurch to instruct me a little in his craft. I wish to speak to him about it now. We will leave together."

So when he arose I accompanied him, to the wonder of all. "Thee held thy secret from me," I said. "Now it is my turn." "Friend Fenchurch," said Friend Newberry, "I desire to speak to thee about that new temperance society," and went with bim Into the store. "Mother," said Priscilla, "do I smell the preserves burning?" "I hope not," cried her mother,and ran to the kitchen.

Then Prisdlla came to me flutteringly. "Friond," sbe said, "I know whattnee means when thee says thee has thy secret thy secret is mine—thee has guessed it." "I guessed it ere this," I said, "but tbee said I guessed wrong, and laughed." "I did not know It then thee put it in my mind that day—thee made me think of his name and mine called In meeting. But—and he is a Friend by birthright—were tbee to guess now, as tbee did then, I should not laugh." "And Felix Fenchurch has somewhat to do with It?" "All," she said.

i-:,v.

*3-.

•W:

"But why will thee not tell thy mother Prisdlla? I see that is what thee mean." "Motherwould tell father, and I fear —oh, thee knows I have not great faith In poor father yet. And I suppose I am wicked in not having such. But mother will tell him everything, and if be knows that Fe—Friend Fenchurch 1B—Is Intimate,BO to speak,with me, be will not nearly so readily obey tbe authority exerted over him."

And ber mother was here. When 1 got out with Felix Fencburcb.I told him of Friend Newberry's fresh dereliction. He feared as much he hoped for a radical cure be bad a theory. "I shall not mention tbe subject of reform for some time," he said, "letting him tbink all vigilauoe relaxed. You evidently this a fandful theory. Yet It la the same Idea which physicians work out when they create a new wound to cure an old one. When tbe likiag for liquor is satisfied by deeppotatlons, tbe hatred of it will come." He said much more, ending by saying, "But you will not aay a word to Prisdlla, or hia wife —though I might count on Priseilla a little, too." "Tnee evidently oounta on Prisdlla considerably," I said. "She has made much clear to me—abe wants thee to retain tby influence over ber father, which tbee would not have were he told her secret. Thee beard mention the secret tbey all bad from me "You mean relative to hia re-adml»-sion into meeting?" "And tbee beard me say that now I had a secret from them It is Prisdlla's —and thine."

He took my band and thanked me, and told me more of what he meant to do.

CHAPTER III.

I could not but be nervoua and out looking now. Priscilla waa so in estlmably sweat that I wondered I had never before noticed tbe power of tbe human affections. To be sure, sbe bad also tbe satisfaction of aeeing ber father no longer at variance with reasonable demeanor and tbere was tbe happy thought that her troublee were vested in one whose firmness with ber father argued so well —and who was that one Sbe bovered about ber mother, doing little, unneoeasary things for ber comfort, and in so doing, I oould see that abe tried to make some amends for beeping tbe blissful secret from ber. Sbe even aeemed to cliog more to ber father, maybe arguing that but for bie fault^he would not have been thus happy.

Again, It was strange to me bow Friend Jane could so quickly forget ber years of trial and apparently aeUle down to rest and eaae. Everything had token a sudden torn here. But tbere was change for all near at band. Once, wben Friend Newberry came home flushed and smiling, Prisdlla looked up startled and I frowned over to her not to make any outcry. She came to me drearily, as 1 was leaving.

Omtitmed on Seventh Page.

I-r iaems l&poarible that a remedy made of common, simple plants as Hons, Bocbu, Mandrake, Dandelion, should make so many and audi great curee aa Hop Bitten do but whan old and yonng, rich and poor, jpaetor and doctor, lawyer and editor, afl teetify to having been cured by them, joa must believe and try them yourself, and doubt no longer.

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