THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
t^/^i 
 
 /./ J 
 
 ^^ 
 
 /',.*//^^.. /^O^^t^. 
 
 / / 
 
jl^jyAEa COLLECTION 
 
gStMERCOLLE^llSii 
 
CEDAR BROOK STORIES; 
 
 THE CLIFFOED CHILDEEN, 
 
 By a. S. M., 
 
 AUTHOR OF "OKLY A PAUPER," KTC. 
 
 FRANK GONE TO THE WAR 
 
 BOSTON: 
 GRAVES ANr> YOUNO, 
 
 24 COBKHILL. 
 
 NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY. 
 
 CINCINNATI: GEOKOE S. BLANCUARD. 
 1 S G J . 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, 
 
 Bv GRAVES & YOUNG, 
 
 la the Clfrk's Office of the District Court of the Dstrict of 
 Massachusetts. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TAOS 
 
 TOM KYAN 7 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 A VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY'S FATHER . 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 FRANK'S VISrr TO TOM RYAN 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WAR, AND FRANK'S DEPARTURE FOR 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 EDITH'S JOURNEY TO WASHINGTON ... 125 
 
 781191 
 
b CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PAOS 
 
 FRANK'S DEATH 141 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 CONCLUSION 168 
 
FRANK 
 
 GONE TO THE WAR. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 TOM RYAN. 
 
 " It is very singular," said Frank, 
 a short time after the family returned 
 to Cedar Brook, " that I have, not 
 found the least trace of Tom Ryan, 
 until to-day, since Bonnie's death. 
 I have made many inquiries at the 
 Point, vrhere Bennie said he was liv- 
 ing, but only ascertained that he 
 left a few days prior to Bennie's 
 death, — no one knowing whither he 
 
 went. I believe he was concerned 
 
 7 
 
8 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 in some theft, and ran away to es- 
 cape detection I have also watched 
 for him when in Boston, hoping to 
 meet him and deliver Bennie's Bible 
 and dying message. This evening, 
 at Mr. Scarrett's request, I had been 
 visiting a poor family at the Point ; 
 and on my way home was passing a 
 crowd of men standing near the door 
 of a German boarding-house, when 
 my attention was attracted by heal- 
 ing some one say, ' I'll bet you two 
 to one Tom Ryan knows all about 
 it.' 
 
 " I turned, and saw a short, thick- 
 set, savage-looking fellow elbowing 
 his way through the crowd, and im- 
 mediately recognized him as Tom; 
 though he was dressed in sailor's 
 
 m 
 
TOM RYAN. 9 
 
 clothes, and looked like a full-grown 
 man. He had not altered much in 
 appearance, except in looking older 
 than when I first met him m Essex 
 street ; and I also recognized him by 
 the deep scar across his forehead, 
 and bis coarse, matted hair, which 
 looked as if untouched by comb or 
 brush for the past three years 
 
 " I hesitated to approach, or speak 
 to him then, as I saw several of the 
 crowd had been drinking, and felt it 
 was not the time to speak. I stepped 
 into the doorway of a house close by, 
 and waited, hoping to gain some 
 knowledge by their conversation of " 
 his present home or haunts. Their 
 conversation was low and disgusting 
 in the extreme, interlarded as it was 
 
10 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 with oaths and curses ; and had I 
 not felt anxious to fulfil Bennie's re- 
 quest, should not have considered 
 myself justified in listening or re- 
 q^aining one moment. 
 
 " ' I don't know the first thing 
 about it,' said Ryan, in reply to 
 some question. ' I've been ofi" to sea, 
 I tell you, for over two years, and only 
 run ashore last night — and intend 
 to keep on dry land for the future. 
 I've had a hard time of it, I tell you, 
 boys ; and hang me if I'll ever go to 
 sea again, or think I was cut out for 
 an old salt. I'd rather break stones 
 on the highway/ 
 
 " ' Or pick locks for a living, and 
 board at the state's expense, said a 
 small, wiry-looking fellow, with a 
 
 RBC 
 NcU 
 
TOM RYAN. 11 
 
 dirty pipe in his mouth, slapping 
 Tom familiarly on the shoulder. 
 
 " ' You be hung for a drunken 
 babbler ! ' answered Tom, his face 
 dark with passion as he doubled his 
 fist in the man's face. ' Mind your 
 own business, and I'll take care of 
 mine.' 
 
 " The wiry man drew back and hid 
 among the crowd — the rest laugh 
 ing at his discomfited air. 
 
 " ' I'll tell you what, boys,' pursued 
 Tom, ' I've given up the sea for good, 
 and am going into business on my 
 own account. I've saved up a few 
 shiners, — enough to pay cash down 
 for stock in trade, — and mean to 
 start clear. I'm tired of fights, and 
 getting drunk, and sticky fingers — 
 
12 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 have marked out a clear track for 
 myself, and mean to be an honest 
 man.' 
 
 " ' Hip, hip, hurrah ! for Tom Ey 
 an ! ' ' Ryan an honest man ! ' ' Hon- 
 est Tom!' 'Parson Tom!' 'Tom 
 the Methodist ! ' ' Praying Tom ! ' 
 was shouted, in tones of scorn and 
 derision, from every man in the 
 crowd;; some taking off theii* hats in 
 mock homage, some pointing at and 
 hissing him, and some cursing. 
 
 "As the crowd shouted, Tom 
 roughly pushed those nearest him 
 aside, sprang up the steps, and stood 
 in the doorway, with folded arms, 
 gazing upon the scornful faces be- 
 low with a strange expression of 
 savage determination, and yet a pe- 
 
TOM RYAN. 13 
 
 culiar working of the muscles of his 
 face, as if an opposite feeling was 
 struggling in his breast, of a softer 
 nature. It seemed like what I have 
 read somewhere of the struggle be- 
 tween the powers of darkness and 
 the angel of light for the possession 
 of a man's soul. Now, evil triumphs, 
 and passions, fierce and strong, con- 
 vulse the whole frame ; the face is 
 darkened, and the eye glares in ma- 
 niac madness upon the beholder. 
 Again, goodness and purity have the 
 ascendant, and tenderness and love 
 relax the features, tears moisten the 
 eye, and prayer lingers upon the 
 lips. I thought of this as I looked 
 at Tom, upon whose face the gas 
 light opposite shone full, revealing 
 
14 cEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 every feature and expression dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 " For full ten minutes he stood there 
 motionless as a statue, — conflicting 
 feelings chasing each other across 
 his features, his lip curled in scorn, 
 his eye flashing, his brow knit in a 
 dark scowl which rendered hia coarse 
 features still more repulsive. Si- 
 lenced at last by hi^ silence, the 
 crowd waited for him to speak ; every 
 eye turned upon him. Seeing he 
 had their attention, he said, in a calm, 
 low voice, quite in contrast with his 
 usual loud, blustering tone : 
 
 '^ ' If youVe done with your mum- 
 mery, boys, rU put in a word or 
 two. You all know I'm not given 
 to speechifying ; I can fight better 
 
TOM RYAN. 15 
 
 than talk — hit a man in the ribs 
 better than argufy ; so you wont get 
 soft words or fine talk from me ; that 
 ain't my fashion. I shall come to 
 the "point, and hit the nail on the 
 head at once. I do mean to be an 
 honest man ; and you can laugh both 
 sides of your mouth, if you choose, 
 or split your throats yelling like a 
 parcel of wild Indians, — that's not 
 m^ lookout. I ain't a parson, a 
 Methodist, nor a prayer-maker. I 
 havn't got any religion, and, what's 
 more, never expect to have any ; but 
 I've got a mind of my own, and in- 
 tend to keep it. I told you just 
 now I'd been to sea for two years. 
 That was the truth ; and the ship I 
 went in had a pious captain and offi- 
 
16 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 cers or board, besides a praying set 
 among the crew. But I didn't catch 
 any religion from them ; for I swung 
 a wide berth from the whole kit, 
 and never spoke unless I had to. I 
 didn't mind theh' preaching, either, 
 but would swear when I chose, if I 
 did run the risk of the cat and being 
 cut short of my grub ; or, what was 
 worse, being talked to and prayed 
 over by the captain, — who, somehow, 
 seemed mighty concerned about my 
 soul ; though I told him if his'n was 
 safe, he needn't concern himself 
 about mine. 
 
 " 'Well, to make a long story short, 
 one night the biggest tempest I ever 
 saw came up, and all . hands were 
 stepping about lively, hard at work; 
 
TOM KYAN. 17 
 
 for we were running into the teeth 
 and eyes of the wind, which blew a 
 heavy gale — the rain poured in tor- 
 rents, the thunder roared, and the 
 lightning flashed as if the end of all 
 time had come. I had just been 
 aloft to reef the top-sail, when by 
 some chance my foot slipped, and a 
 plunge oi the vessel sent me over- 
 board. 
 
 " ' You never heard the cry, ' A man 
 overboard!" did youl If you had, 
 I reckon you would never forget it 
 to your dying day. The first time I 
 heard it, was when Sam Prentiss fell 
 from the mast-head in a storm ; and 
 I was one of the crew that manned 
 the life-boat to his rescue. We 
 
 picked him up, but he never spoke, 
 2 
 
18 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 — probably struck some part of the 
 vessel in falling, and never knew 
 what killed him. 
 
 " ' But, as I was saying about my- 
 self, I didn't strike anywheres, but 
 was washed clean overboard ; and 
 though a good swimmer, I tell you 
 I never had such a tug for my life 
 before ! — and never, too,' said Tom, 
 taking off his hat, and wiping the 
 moisture from his brow, as he strove 
 to hide his softened feelings, ' did I 
 look -my life square in the face till 
 •then. As the great, black, swashing 
 waves came rolling up, like moun- 
 tains, before me, I saw my whole 
 life writt«i in big letters on the face 
 of them, staring at me like a legion 
 of devils, or ghosts risen from the 
 
TOM RYAN. 19 
 
 grave to torment me. I didn't feel 
 much like sivearing theii ! I remember. 
 I believe I tried to pray, but couldn't 
 make it out ; — not a word would my 
 lips utter. I wasn't used to the 
 business, and didn't know how. But 
 one thing I did do, — I vowed to my- 
 self if I ever reached the ship alive, 
 not a drink, or an oath, should pass 
 my lips w^hile my name was Tom 
 Ryan ; neither would I take what 
 didn't belong to me, or help others 
 steal. Well, the upshot of the whole 
 is^ my strength gave way, I felt a 
 great rushing in my ears, and was 
 taking my last drink of just about 
 the saltest water I ever tasted, when 
 I was hauled aboard the life-boat; 
 and the next thing I knew, found 
 
20 CEDAR 13K00K STORIES. 
 
 myself stretched on the cabin floor, 
 with the captain and two sailors rub- 
 bing me down, as I've seen women 
 folks polish a mahogany table. I 
 don't know whether the rubbing, or 
 the hot drink they poured down my 
 throat, cured me ; but this I do know: 
 1 didn't make that promise for noth- 
 ing. I've kept my word pretty 
 straight ever since ; and not a drop 
 of liquor or an oath has run through 
 my teeth since that night, — and nev- 
 er shall, while I'm above ground, or 
 have my senses. Tin an honest mem 
 now, and always mean to be ! ' and 
 Tom drew himself up with a curi- 
 ous mixture of pride and defiance, as 
 he looked around upon his former 
 associates. 
 
TOM KVAN. 21 
 
 *' A suppressed groan was heard 
 from some one outside the crowd, 
 and a few hisses. Quick as light, 
 Tom turned in that direction, — his 
 eye flashed, and his face wore its 
 old look of a bull-dog just ready to 
 spring at his assailant. 
 
 " ' Mark me, boys, — I promised I 
 wouldn't drink, nor swear, nor steal ; 
 but I didn't promise I wouldn't fight ; 
 so if any of you have any accounts 
 to settle, I'm ready. Just come out, 
 man-fashion, and we'll go at it fair 
 and square. But let one of you dare 
 to hiss or groan at me again, and 
 I'll let more daylight into your brain 
 than you've bargained for;' and Tom 
 held up a fist like a sledge-hammer, 
 strong enough to fell an ox. 
 
22 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 " Awed by his manner and his 
 well-known strength, there was no 
 response ; and in a short time, one 
 by one, the throng dispersed, leaving 
 Tom alone on the step. 
 
 " Waiting till the last one disap 
 peared, he passed slowly down the 
 street, turning toward the road lead- 
 ing to Dorchester. 
 
 " Now, thought I, is my opportu- 
 nity ; so, stepping from the doorway, 
 I followed him quietly some dis- 
 tance, then quickening my steps, 
 gained his side. 
 
 " ' Good-evening, Mr. Ryan,' I said 
 speaking as indifferently as I could. 
 ' I am glad to meet you : I have been 
 on the look out for you for two years 
 past. Do you live in Roxbury ] ' 
 
TOM RYAN. 23 
 
 " ' Who the — I mean, who are 
 yoUj sir 1 — I never saw you before. 
 One of the police, hey 1 " 
 
 " ' Not quite,' I answered, lifting 
 my hat. ' I am Frank Clifford, — a 
 friend of a former acquaintance of 
 yours, and have a message I wish 
 to give you from him.' 
 
 " ' Clifford— Clifford," repeated 
 Tom, — ' I've heard that name some- 
 where. I remember your face and 
 hair, but not where I've run against 
 you. You say you're the friend of' 
 an acquaintance of mine ; — just 
 enlighten a fellow, will you "? Who 
 is he 1 — what's his name 1 ' 
 
 " ' Bennie Mead.' 
 
 "'Oh, ho! ho! — little Bennie 
 Mead ! I see through it all now. I 
 
24 CEDAR 13i;00K STORIES. 
 
 remember — he's living with you — 
 run away from Si Short, and followed 
 you home. " I'm living now with a 
 gentleman what sends me to the 
 Sabbath School ! " ' imitating Bennie's 
 voice and manner. ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 the little dog! How is the little 
 chit 1 Has he forgot how to fight ] 
 Can he pitch head-foremost into a 
 fellow's bread-basket, and floor him 
 before he has time to wink 1 Where 
 is he r ' 
 
 " ' Where the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and the weary are at rest,' 
 I could not help repeating ; though 
 I felt the words might aggravate, or 
 be thrown away upon a man like 
 him. He was not angry, however ; 
 but suddenly stook still, laid his 
 
TOM RYAN. 25 
 
 hand upon my shoulder, and turned 
 me toward a gas light we were just 
 passing, looking me steadily in the 
 face, — his own face wearing a softer, 
 more human expression than I had 
 ever seen upon it. 
 
 " ' Just say that again, if you dare ! 
 — perhaps I didn't understand you,' 
 he said, in a quick, nervous tone. 
 
 " I repeated the words, slowly, 
 looking him full in the fa«e; and 
 added, 'Bennie died in my arms, 
 Tom, and his last words were a mes- 
 sage of love and forgiveness to you/ 
 T then repeated Bonnie's dying words. 
 ' And here is his Bible, that I have 
 carried in my pocket daily ever since 
 his death, hoping to meet you and 
 give it into your own hands, Take 
 
26- CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 it, Tom ; and may Bennie's God bless 
 it to you. Read it for his sake, read 
 it for your own. As I heard you 
 say to-night that you promised God, 
 in the hour when you was so near 
 eternity, sinking alone in the dark, 
 deep ocean, that you would neither 
 drink, swear, nor steal, if he would 
 only spare your life, so now add one 
 more promise to those you say you 
 have f«thfully kept, and tell me you 
 will read this holy book ; and not 
 only read, but pray over it also, — 
 pray for strength to do right ; to be 
 made meet to join Bennie at last in 
 his heavenly home; and, till then 
 to serve God as faithfully and thor- 
 oughly as you have heretofore served 
 sin and Satan.' 
 
TOM RYAN. 27 
 
 " As I handed him the Bible, he 
 took it almost reverently, ojDened, 
 closed it, and then, without a word, 
 placed it carefully m his breast- 
 pocket, and buttoned his coat close 
 to his throat. Turning on his heel, 
 he walked rapidly forward, — wishing, 
 as I thought, to escape my company. 
 I was hesitating whether I should 
 leave him without saying good-night, 
 when he stopped suddenly, came 
 back, took me by the arm, and asked, 
 abruptly, ' Do you see that house 
 over there 1 ' " 
 
 " ' Yes,' I answered, a little star- 
 tled by the abruptness of his question 
 and manner. 
 
 " ' Well, I've got a room there. It's 
 a poor place, but respectable, — only 
 
28 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 an old man and his wife in the house 
 beside himself. I've bought a horse 
 and cart, and start to-morrow ped- 
 dling tin and wooden ware. I shall 
 be gone all the week, but be home 
 Saturday night, to stay over Sunday. 
 If you ain't too proud to come and 
 see me in my own room, drop in 
 next Saturday night, and I'll have a 
 talk with you. I can't do it now. 
 Answer yes or no. I don't want any 
 maybes, or perhapses. Come then, 
 or come never, — choose for your- 
 self.' 
 
 - " Again I marked upon his face 
 that mingled look of fierceness and 
 eagerness, as if the soul of the strange 
 man had braced itself to meet with 
 repulse and scorn, while his better 
 
TOM RYAN. 29 
 
 feelings were pleading for sympa- 
 thy and help. Conquering my feel- 
 ings of instinctive aversion, in the 
 hope of gaining a right influence over 
 him, I held out my hand, which 
 he instantly grasped in his, and 
 replied : 
 
 " ' Mr. Ryan, I will call at your 
 room next Saturday evening at eight 
 o'clock, if that hour will be agreea- 
 ble to you. I hope you will look 
 upon me as a friend, who has no 
 other object in cultivating your ac- 
 quaintance than a sincere desire to 
 benefit, — and, it may be, assist you in 
 carrying out your intention, so open- 
 ly and fearlessly expressed to-night, 
 of living henceforth as an honest man. 
 May every success attend you in 
 
30 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 the business you commence to-mor- 
 row ; and, believe me, I advise you 
 kindly when I caution you against 
 keeping company in future with the 
 evil set of men I saw you among to- 
 night.' 
 
 " ' Never fear for that, Mr. Clifford,' 
 Tom answered, giving my hand a 
 grip that made me cringe. ' I've 
 swung clear of the whole crew ; and 
 they know me too well to trouble 
 me, if I choose to drop theu* company. 
 Good-night, sir. I shall be on the 
 lookout for you next Saturday, — 
 come then, or come never ! ' — and 
 the rough man lifted his hat, and 
 crossed the street to his house." 
 
 " Do you think you can trust, or 
 influence such a bad man as he must 
 
TOM RYAN. 31 
 
 be ] " asked Lulu. " I am afraid he 
 will change his mind, refusing to see 
 you on Saturday. Perhaps he may 
 insult you, should he be in one of 
 his ugly moods." 
 
 "I have no fear of that ; though I 
 must say he is rather a hard subject 
 to attempt to benefit. His feelings 
 were somewhat softened to-night, to 
 be sure ; but I cannot expect such 
 feelings to last. His nature is so 
 rough, his whole life has been so 
 bad, not to say wicked, that the ef- 
 fort to reclaim' him, if not a hopeless 
 task, will at least be a long and dif- 
 ficult one. Men as bad, nay, worse 
 than he, have been" reclaimed ; and I 
 will not despair, but do what I can, 
 leaving the result with God. — know- 
 
32 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 ing that all power lies with him, 
 and he can bless my efforts if he 
 chooses." 
 
 " You are right, Frank," said Win- 
 nie. " Go on in your good w^ork ; 
 and even the hardened Tom Ryan 
 may become a changed man. Bennie 
 often talked to me respecting Tom ; 
 and I knew from what he said that 
 Tom was homeless and friendless, 
 like himself, and perhaps had never 
 experienced a kind word or look of 
 interest in his whole life. His home 
 was with thieves and drunkards ; his 
 education, that of the street ; his 
 employment, only street-fights and 
 brawls. He loved to torment Ben- 
 nie, and provoke him to fight, but 
 in reality bore him no malice ; for 
 
TOM RYAN. 83 
 
 Bennie told me, also, that Tom nursed 
 him, once, a whole week, when he was 
 sick ; and several times stood between 
 hiiii and his drunken master when 
 he found he was cruelly beating 
 Bennie for refusing to steal, or beg 
 for money, to supply him with rum." 
 " Bennie told me the same, auntie ; 
 and, from what I saw of Ryan to- 
 night, I feel sure there is some good 
 feeling in him still. I shall do my 
 best to carry out Bonnie's wishes, 
 hoping some good may be the result 
 in the end. One thing is certain, — I 
 have gained some hold upon him to- 
 night, and if I accomplish nothing 
 else, I may keep him from returning 
 to his old associates, and encourage 
 in trying to do well." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 ▲ VISIT FROM BlIKD LUCY'S PATHBB. 
 
 " What a singular-looking man 
 just passed up the carriage-road ! " 
 said Annie, the next afternoon, as 
 herself and Edith were busy with 
 their sewing, while Lulu read aloud 
 fi-om a newly-published work. " Did 
 you observe him, Edith] " 
 
 " No, I did not. Some straggler, 
 
 I suppose, asking for alms. Bridget 
 
 says they are getting plenty as crows 
 
 in a cornfield, of late. She don't 
 
 complain now, as she used to, that 
 
 'niver a bit of a poor craythur can 
 
 34 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY's FATHER. 35 
 
 she find to give the bits of cold mate 
 and praties to — the holy virgin have 
 mercy upon their hungry stomachs, 
 the poor things ! ' " answered Edith, 
 laughing, but without raising her 
 eyes from her work. 
 
 " But he did not look like a 
 beggar," persisted Annie. " He was 
 dressed well enough ; but appeared 
 so ungainly and awkward I could 
 not help noticing him. His beard 
 reached nearly to his w^aist, his eyes 
 were black as coals, and his eye- 
 brows almost met over his nose. 
 He had a valise in his hand, and 
 looked like a countryman seeking a 
 place to put up at for the night. 
 Hark ! — I really believe Bridget is 
 coming with him through the hall. 
 
3G CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 What can she be thinking of, to 
 bring him in here ! '* 
 
 Before Edith had time to reply, 
 the door was thrown open, and a 
 tall, sunburnt, rough-looking man, 
 stalked in, laid his valise and a stout 
 cane on a chair by the door, advanced 
 to the centre of the room, and looked 
 from one to the other as he rubbed 
 his hands together with an expres- 
 sion of immense satisfaction, while a 
 broad smile played over his features, 
 displaying a set of firm, white, even 
 teeth. 
 
 " Well, well, well ! — ain't forgot 
 old friends, have you 1 " he said, the 
 smile fading from his face as he 
 looked earnestly at Edith, who 
 evidently did not recognize him. 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY'S FATHER. 37 
 
 " Guess it's ' out of sight, out of 
 mind,' ain't it 1 Reckon you've never 
 been on the prairies, or heard tell of 
 Ned Johnson and his little blind gal 
 Lucy ! " 
 
 At that word Edith threw down 
 her work, sprang forward, and 
 clasped his great rough hand in hers, 
 — her whole face beaming with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " O, Mr. Johnson ! — how very, 
 very glad I am to see you ! I have not 
 forgotten you, — be assured I have 
 not, sir ; but having no thought of 
 seeing you here, of course I did not 
 recognize you at first. Let me in- 
 troduce you to my sisters, Annie and 
 Lulu, — you have heard me speak of 
 them. And here comes mother, — she 
 
38 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 will be glad to see you. Please take 
 this arm-chair, and make yourself at 
 home." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you ; this is 
 just as it should be," said Mr. John- 
 son, handing Edith his hat, and sink- 
 ing back in the arm-chau' with a sigh 
 of relief, as he drew a bright red 
 silk bandanna handkerchief from his 
 pocket and wiped the moisture from 
 his brow. " It would have about 
 killed me outright, if you hadn't 
 given me a welcome, or I'd really 
 thought you'd forgotten the old man. 
 Howsomever, you've given it now, 
 honest and true — bless your sweet 
 face ! and Ned Johnson ain't the fel- 
 low to be tickled with fine words if 
 the heart ain't in them, I tell you. 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY's FATHER. 39 
 
 You've got a pretty likely set of 
 daughters here, marm, " addressmg 
 Mrs. Clifford, — '^ mighty good-look- 
 ing too, all of them. But you'll excuse 
 me if I make the most of this one, 
 and say she is the biggest beauty of 
 the lot. You see we've met before, 
 and are on the footing of old friends. 
 Wont you kiss me ^ " he added, ab- 
 ruptly, turning his face towards 
 Edith, who still stood by his chair. 
 " 1 haint shaved to-day, to be sure ; 
 but I reckon my face is clean." 
 
 A merry laugh escaped Edith, and 
 the color mounted to her temples; 
 but she touched her lips, without 
 hesitation to his forehead, and then 
 resumed her seat by Annie. Mr. 
 Clifford and Frank soon came in, and, 
 
4U CEDAR EROOK STORIES. 
 
 after an introduction, entered into 
 conversation with Mr. Johnson, who 
 w^as now perfectly at ease, and 
 amused them all by his original 
 manner and strange way of express- 
 ing himself. Not an article of fur- 
 niture in the room escaped his notice; 
 neither had he the least hesitation 
 in asking the price of anything that 
 particularly took his fancy. 
 
 After supper, Mr. Cliiford invited 
 him to make his house his home 
 during his stay, — an invitation that 
 he accepted as frankly as he saw it 
 was given. 
 
 " You see, squire," he said to Mr. 
 Cliiford, at the same time taking 
 from his coat a mammoth pocket- 
 book, " I've got plenty of the need- 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY's FATHER. 41 
 
 ful with me to pay my own way ; 
 can afford to stop at any of your tip- 
 top hotels, and run the whole bill 
 of fare through, gimcracks and all, 
 when I've a good appetite. But I'm 
 more given to the enjoying a good, 
 social chat, than eating soups and 
 turkey-fixins. I'll be free with you, 
 squire : you all seem so of one mind 
 about my staying, I'll take you at 
 your word, and try to accommodate 
 you for a couple of days ; that is," 
 addressing Mrs. Clifford, " if I don't 
 discommode you, marm. You look 
 kinder peaked and sickly ; hope you 
 are not troubled with the shakes ] " 
 
 Frank bit his lips as he glanced 
 at Edith, who tried hard not to laugh 
 outright ; while Lulu was seized 
 
42 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 with such a sudden fit of coughing 
 as forced her to leave the room in 
 haste, much to the concern of Mr. 
 Johnson, who hoped she " hadn't 
 got a consumption, or was troubled 
 with weak lungs." 
 
 All this time Edith had not asked 
 for Lucy ; neither had he made any 
 allusion to her, except when he first 
 entered the room. Several times 
 she had attempted to speak of her ; 
 but a nameless dread checked the 
 inquiry, and she spoke of other 
 things. Feeling, at last, that Mr. 
 Johnson must think her silence very 
 strange, she ventured to say : 
 
 " You have not spoken of Lucy, 
 Mr. Johnson — is she well '? I should 
 so love to see her, again ! I have 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY'S FATHER. 43 
 
 never forgotten her, or the pleasant 
 visit I made at your house. Do tell 
 me of her." 
 
 Mr. Johnson instantly covered his 
 face with his handkerchief, great 
 sobs heaving his breast as he rocked 
 to and fro, without speaking, mak- 
 ing strong efforts to suppress his 
 tears. Edith at once comprehended 
 the whole sad truth, and with in- 
 stinctive delicacy drew her chair 
 close to him, and took his hand in 
 her own. A painful silence reigned 
 in the little circle, broken at last by 
 Mr. Johnson, as he uncovered his 
 face and replied : 
 
 " I've got no little Lucy now : my 
 little blind gal is sleeping soundly by 
 her mother's side, under the green 
 
44 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 grass and bright flowers of the prai- 
 rie. I dug their graves with my 
 owa hands, in that same lot where 
 you saw those two white steers and 
 the young colt. You remember how 
 Lucy fed the colt, and how the 
 young critter seemed to know she 
 was blind, — following her round thfi 
 field, and resting his Jiead on her 
 shoulder when she stopped, and 
 looking kinder sorrowful, as dumb 
 animals will sometimes ] " 
 
 " I remember it all, sir. How 
 long was Lucy sick 1 — what was the 
 cause of her death ] " 
 
 " Well, not anything in particular. 
 She kinder pined, and faded, and 
 grew weak, till there wasn't nothing 
 of her left. She looked for all the 
 
VISIT FROM lJLINi> LUCY's FATHER. 45 
 
 world like a white rose I've seen 
 hangiii": from a broken stem, — all 
 wilted, and drooping, and homesick. 
 But she never complained, never 
 said she was sick, never spoke of 
 herself. She would sit quiet all day 
 weaving her little baskets, or knit- 
 ting socks for me to sell in Alton, — 
 her little fingers looking like wax, 
 and her hands so thin you could 
 almost see through them. Some- 
 times she would sing softly to her- 
 self, or say over hymns she had 
 learned, or repeat verses from the 
 Bible as straight as a string, not miss- 
 ing a single word in a whole chapter ; 
 — I know that ; for I've taken the 
 Bible, when she asked me, and fol- 
 loAvcd her along to see if she said it 
 
46 CEDAR BllOOK STORIES. 
 
 right ; and I never knew her to fail 
 once. Every night, when I got 
 through my work, she used to come 
 and creep into my lap, lay her head 
 on my bosom, and talk to me about 
 heaven, till I'd be all melted down, 
 like a child. She seemed to know 
 all about the place, — how it looked, 
 and w^hat folks did when they got 
 there. She said the streets were all 
 gold, and there were gates made out 
 of big pearls, and trees full of fruit, 
 and nobody was sick, or sorry, or 
 blind ; but everybody was happy and 
 joyful, and full of praise and glory. 
 She explained it all so clear to me, 
 that I began to think considerable 
 about it myself ; and sometimes when 
 I was out working:, I'd stand stock- 
 
-17 
 
 still, and look right up to the sky, 
 and try to realize there was a heaven, 
 like what she told of, up above the 
 clouds, and that my poor blind Lucy 
 was going there, and I should be left 
 all alone. It was mighty hard to 
 feel this, I'm free to say ; but a good 
 deal harder to say I was willing to 
 give the child up ! I couldn't, some- 
 how, do that; neither could her 
 mother, for a long while. It ener- 
 most killed me to say, ' Thy will be 
 done,' as Lucy often made me repeat 
 after her when she talked of dying, — 
 or going home, as she called it ; just 
 as if she was here on a visit. Her 
 mother, who was a real good woman, 
 and joined the Methodists just after 
 you left that summer, got reconciled 
 
48 CEDAR BllOOK STORIES. 
 
 to the parting with Lucy before I 
 did, and tried to brace me up by say- 
 ing all the comforting words she 
 could, and trying to smile and look 
 cheerful. Would you believe it ] — 
 after our child was laid out, her 
 minister rode over to see us, and 
 talked and prayed with us both ; 
 and when he went away, my wife 
 said right out, as brave as could be, 
 though I knew she felt bad all the 
 time, ' The Lord gave, and the Lord 
 hath taken away : blessed be the 
 name of the Lord ! ' That hinder 
 staggered me. I knew I hadn't got 
 so far as to say that., though I didn't 
 dare to murmur against the Lord 
 for taking her, — that would never 
 do. I didn't want to find anv fault. 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY'S FATHER. 49 
 
 but I couldn't really bless the Lord 
 for taking my one, only pet lamb, 
 and leaving me childless and alone ) 
 It was a dreadful hard case, squire ' 
 turning to Mr. Clifford, whose mois- 
 tened eye evinced his sympathy with 
 the bereaved father. " If I'd only 
 had other children, as you have got, 
 they might have helped fill up the 
 gap in my heart, and I could have 
 held up my head, and kept on for 
 their sake. Trouble never comes 
 single, you know, sir ; — I've found 
 that true in my experience. One 
 year after I buried my Lucy, my 
 wife took sick, and died of bilious 
 fever ; and I was left stark alone — 
 not a wife, or child, or relative in the 
 whole world. I was a poor, lonC;, 
 
50 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 miserable man, you may guess, — 
 just like a tree cut down to the roots ; 
 branches and leaves all gone ; noth- 
 ing but the old stump remaining ; 
 not a twig or stem left for a bird to 
 sing or build a nest upon ! The old 
 place looked dreadful desolate and 
 dreary. I tu*ed of listening all day 
 for my blind child's voice, or my 
 wife's footsteps ; so I sold my farm, — 
 all but the little spot I've fenced 
 round their graves, — put part of my 
 money in the bank, and took the rest 
 and started off to see the world, and 
 visit my little miss here. My Lucy 
 loved her, and talked of her every 
 day while she lived." 
 
 " And I have never forgotten her,' 
 said Edith, wiping away her tears. 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY's FATHER. 51 
 
 " It is from my visit that day to 
 Lucy, that I date my first serious 
 determination to become a Christian ; 
 and whenever I feel indifferent or 
 conscious of being remiss in duty, her 
 sweet, sightless face rises before me, 
 and I see her slender finger pointing 
 upwards, and hear her soft voice say- 
 ing, ' We will meet there, wont we ? '" 
 
 " Th^i she told you she shouldn't 
 live '? " said Mr. Johnson, quickly. 
 
 " Not exactly in so many words ; 
 though I understood her meaning, 
 as she spoke so solemnly of our 
 meeting ' there ; ' and I judged she 
 was anxious, at the time, not to pain 
 you by referring to the subject in 
 your presence." 
 
 While Edith was speaking, Mr. 
 
52 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 Johnson drew out his pocket-book, 
 and took from it a little package 
 which he handed to her, saying : 
 
 " When you said good-by to Lucy, 
 you remember you put a gold ring 
 upon her finger] Well, that ring 
 never left her finger till she died. 
 Her poor hand grew so thin that it 
 became a world too large for her ; so 
 she asked her mother to tie a bit of 
 thread to it and fasten it round her 
 finger, so it should not slip off and 
 be lost. \Vhen she died I took it 
 from her finger, and cut off a lock of 
 her hair, — thinking maybe I might 
 see you again, and you'd set by it. 
 seeing it was Lucy's." 
 
 " I shall value it beyond price, 
 sir," said Edith, unfolding the^papei 
 
VISIT FKUM LLINL> LUCV's FATnEll. 53 
 
 and taking from it a long lock of soft, 
 glossy hail", and also the ring, which 
 she placed upon her own finger, 
 with the resolve it should never be 
 taken off during her life. 
 
 Edith had many questions to ask 
 respecting Lucy, and Mr. Johnson 
 dwelt long upon the last hours and 
 words of his lost child, — his lonely 
 heart finding relief in the unfeigned 
 sympathy of Edith and her whole 
 family. 
 
 At the hour of retiring, he shook 
 hands warmly with each one, thanked 
 them for their kindness, and added, 
 in his homely, but expressive way : 
 
 " You've done me a heap of good 
 in listening to my troubles, and let- 
 ting me talk so free of them that's 
 
54 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 dead and gone. If any of you ever 
 come to sorrow, you may reckon 
 there is one heart in this world that 
 will be the heavier for your grief. 
 To-morrow I shall be myself again ; 
 and not rile you all up with my 
 troubles, but leave my wife and 
 child in their quiet graves upon the 
 prairie, to rest till I'm laid by them." 
 
 The next morning Edith accom- 
 panied Mr. Johnson to Boston, as he 
 expressed at the breakfast-table a 
 desire to see the city, but seemed 
 rather fearful of getting lost in the 
 " snarl " of its crooked, narrow 
 streets, should he venture to find 
 his way alone. 
 
 " I can track my way, miles and 
 miles, across a prairie, and bring up 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY'S FATHER. 55 
 
 standing just where 1 choose," he 
 said ; ' but you city folks have such 
 a fashion of making your shops and 
 houses all alike, and running your 
 streets here, there, and everywhere, 
 like the criss-cross lines in a spider's 
 web, that 111 be toasted if it don't 
 take a cuter brain than a lawyer's 
 to know what part of creation you 
 are in! Yesterday I inquired my 
 way three times. The last time, the 
 fellow behind the counter snickered 
 right in my face, and said, ' Look 
 here, stranger, — I guess you're given 
 to travelling in cii'cles ; for this is the 
 third time within an hour you've 
 been in here, and asked the same 
 question I If you'll justkeep straight 
 ahead, as I told you to the first 
 
56 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 time, and not turn either to the right 
 hand or the left, you'll find Rox- 
 bury before sundown." I felt kinder 
 cheap, and gave a good look round 
 the store ; and I vow it did look 
 considerable natural ; so I reckon the 
 fellow was right, and I had turned 
 up some plaguy street or other, and 
 come back three times to the place 
 I started from ! " 
 
 " Why didn't you take an omni- 
 bus, or the horse-cars," said Edith, 
 laughing, " there are plenty of them 
 running to Roxbury, every half-hour 
 during the day. The driver would 
 have left you ^vithin a mile of our 
 house, and given you directions how 
 to find it." 
 
 " Oh, confound your cars and 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY's FATHER. 57 
 
 coaches ! — I had enough of them 
 commg oil here. My feet were ijiade 
 to use, and so were my boots. When 
 I'm on my feet I know where I am ; 
 but when I'm on a boat or the cars, 
 I'm likely to find myself nowheres ! 
 Bilers and injines have an ugly 
 habit of busting up, just as you've 
 got yourself fixed to your mind, and 
 sending a fellow further than he 
 bargained for in starting, — and no 
 extra charge for damages ! Give me 
 a good pair of calf-skins, built like 
 these, and they can be depended upon, 
 — even if you do travel far enough 
 to need two soles to one upper ! " 
 
 Edith smiled as she looked at the 
 stout pedal coverings of the old man, 
 and thought they were indeed "built'* 
 
58 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 for service rather than beauty — re- 
 qiiiiing the strength of a hardy back- 
 woodsman to wear without fatigue. 
 
 As he seemed to have no particu- 
 lar business to transact, excepting 
 the purchase of some shirt-collars and 
 a plaid silk neck-tie, but appeared 
 rather anxious to see the " shows " 
 he had heard people talk about 
 who came from the East, Edith went 
 with him to the Athenaeum and the 
 Museum. He was quite delighted 
 with both places; rather preferring 
 the Museum, — particularly interest- 
 ed in the zoological and ornithological 
 departments, many species in each 
 being familiar to him. The shells 
 and minerals, he said, were pretty 
 enough, but he liked the animals 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LUCY'S FATHER. 59 
 
 better, — all except the giraffe : 
 " that," he said, " was too unnatural 
 for anything ; — the Lord nevel 
 stretched a poor, dumb beast's neck 
 that length, he knew ! It wasn't in 
 the nature of things for a critter's 
 head to grow six feet beyond his 
 stomach, unless he was intended for 
 a walking lighthouse for all other 
 beasts to steer clear of Boston 
 folks might be up to some things, 
 but they missed their mark when 
 they fixed up that critter to impose 
 on strangers ! " 
 
 " Are you fond of music % " asked 
 Edith, after they had dined. " There 
 is a rehearsal at the Academy of 
 Music, this afternoon, and if you 
 like, we will go there ; perhaps, as 
 
60 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 the music is all instrumental, you 
 might enjoy it." 
 
 " Well — no — not exactly. I do 
 like to hear a good, rousing sing at 
 a camp-meeting ; but I don't incline 
 much to your tooting horns and fid- 
 dles, — they always make me head- 
 achy, and down at the heel." 
 
 " Suppose, then, we take a walk 
 round the Common, and you look at 
 some of the fine houses on Beacon 
 street, — old-fashioned, to be sure, 
 many of them are, but still, the resi- 
 dences of some of our merchant- 
 princes, and looked upon with pride 
 by many Bostonians." 
 
 Walking slowly through the sev- 
 eral malls, Mr. Johnson amused 
 Edith, and sometimes passers-by. 
 
VISIT FROM BLIiND LUCY'S FATHER. 61 
 
 with his characteristic remarks and 
 undisguised admiration. 
 
 " Now this is what I call sensi- 
 ble ! " he exclaimed, as he stood still 
 in one of the broad avenues, and 
 looked up to the great, interlacing 
 branches of the noble elms on either 
 side, and then acrooss the smooth, 
 green plats of grass, intersected by 
 neatly kept gravel-walks, crowded 
 with a living panorama of men, wo- 
 men, and joyous, trooping children, 
 "Then you have got one place in 
 town where you can draw a long 
 breath without swallowing a whole 
 block of bricks and mortar 1 I 
 should think some of your rich men 
 would want to step in and buy the 
 middle lot there, close by that duck- 
 
62 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 pond, and put up a house, if it wasn't 
 for nothing else than to see how a 
 house would look standing alone, 
 without a whole eternity of windows 
 and doors each side of it. I'd do it 
 the first thing, if I thought of set- 
 tling here any time." 
 
 Well satisfied with his view of 
 the city and its ^' lions," Mr. Johnson 
 returned to Cedar Brook for another 
 night. Early the next morning, with 
 a hearty grasp of the hand, that 
 almost brought tears to the eyes of 
 the children, he bade them all good- 
 by, promising to call again should 
 he ever come that way. 
 
 " It ain't much likely I shall come 
 this way very soon ; — there's too 
 many houses, and considerable more 
 
VISIT FROM BLIND LICY'S FATHER. G8 
 
 people here than suits my taste. I 
 feel all cornered up and pinched for 
 room ; I want more sky, and a big- 
 ger patch of green earth than you've 
 got in these parts. I've heard tell 
 of Pike's Peak, and think strong of 
 making a call in that region, before 
 I settle down again. Maybe I'll 
 bring up at Californy. They do say 
 that's a taking place^ and perhaps I 
 shall try that a spell. At any rate, 
 when I make up my mind, Fll get 
 you word somehow ; then if any of 
 you should have a travelling fit, 
 you'll find me at home and glad to 
 see you. If I only knew any safe 
 hand coming on this way, I'd send 
 you on that colt, miss. Nobody has 
 ever rid on him yet, and he is rather 
 
64 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 wild ; but you might tame him, after 
 a while. I've no use for him ; but I 
 hate to sell the poor dumb critter, 
 seeing I was training him for Lucy. 
 I'd rather you should have him, and 
 maybe I'll send him on." 
 
FRANKS VISIT TO TOM KYAN. — E- 
 
CHAPTER in. 
 
 prank's visit to TOM RYAN. 
 
 " I MUST fulfil my promise to Tom," 
 said Frank to his mother, as he fin- 
 ished cutting a bunch of flowers and 
 laid them upon the rustic seat beside 
 her. " It is fifteen minutes past 
 seven, and I promised to be at his 
 room by eight. I wish to be punc- 
 tual to the time appointed ; for there 
 was that in his looks and decided 
 tone as he repeated, ' Come then, or 
 come never,' that assured me he 
 would brook no excuse for delay." 
 
 A brisk walk soon brought Frank 
 6 65 
 
66 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 in sight of the house pointed out to 
 him by Ryan as his present home. 
 He scanned the building closely as 
 he drew near, and was glad to see, 
 that, though old and out of repair, 
 it looked, as Tom said, respectable ; 
 the premises being much neater in 
 appearance than that of others in 
 the vicinity. Knocking at the door, 
 it was opened by a neat, pleasant- 
 looking woman of some sixty years 
 old, who, in reply to Franks ques- 
 tion, " Does Mr. Ryan live here 1 " 
 said, kindly : 
 
 " Yes, young master ; please walk 
 up stau's. You'll find him in his 
 room, — the first door to the right." 
 
 Following her directions, Frank 
 ascended the uncarpeted stairs, and 
 
Frank's visit to tom uyan. 67 
 
 found Tom standing at his door, his 
 looks expressive of pleasure at the 
 sight of Frank, though he merely 
 said,- in his usual abrupt tone : 
 
 " Come in, sir. I thought you 
 would come. It's just on the stroke 
 of eight. Take a chair here by the 
 windovr ; the night is warm." 
 
 As Frank entered, an ugly-look- 
 ing mastiff stood in the middle of 
 the room, growling and showing his 
 teeth, with the evident intention of 
 disputing his right of crossing his 
 master's threshold. Tom immedi- 
 ately gave him a kick that sent him 
 howling under the table. 
 
 " Take that for your manners, 
 sir ! Don't you know friends from 
 foes? Wait, next time, till I tell 
 
68 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 you to show your teeth, or I'll bieak 
 every bone in your body. Good dog 
 that, su'," he added, by way of apol- 
 ogy, as Frank uttered a protest 
 against his brutality. " Worth his 
 weight in gold for a watch-dog, — 
 always takes care of my cart when 
 I'm busy — is about the best friend 
 I've got. But dogs are dogs, and 
 like you all the better for giving 'em 
 a good kick now and then : they 
 expect it, and always carry a hang- 
 dog look if they don't know who's 
 master." 
 
 As Tom spoke, Frank glanced 
 round the room. It was of good 
 size, the floor bare, but clean ; its 
 two windows shaded by dark blue 
 calico curtains. The cot-bed in the 
 
Frank's visit to tom hyan. 69 
 
 corner, covered with a patchwork 
 spread, a painted pine table, two 
 chairs, a sailor's chest, and a rude 
 model of a schooner upon a small 
 light-stand, constituted the furniture. 
 A faint attempt at decoration was 
 shown in some cheap, colored prints, 
 without frames, pasted upon the 
 walls, and two large conch shells 
 on the hearth in front of the fire- 
 board. 
 
 Tom noticed Frank's hasty glance, 
 and said, with an air of pride, as he 
 pushed back his coarse, ill-kept hair 
 from his brow : 
 
 "Hope you like the looks of 
 things 1 You see I've gone into the 
 housekeeping business quite nat'ral 
 like ; — own all the traps you see ; 
 
70 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 bought them all with honest money ; 
 got no fear of the police on my track. 
 The old woman down stau's cooks 
 the vittles, and I fork over the solid, 
 every Saturday night, for room-rent 
 and board. It's an awful pity Ben- 
 nie run aground before I was settled ; 
 for I was calculating strong, all my 
 voyage home, on taking the boy and 
 bringing him up myself I could 
 have made him useful in my busi- 
 ness ; and, when he got a little big 
 ger we'd have gone shares in profits 
 and stock in trade, — maybe set up 
 two carts, and doubled our circuit." 
 " Very likely ; but he is better pro- 
 vided for now, Tom ; though 1 am 
 glad to understand by what you say 
 that you really felt no ill-will toward 
 
71 
 
 him. **He was a bright, affectionate 
 little fellow. We all became much 
 attached to him, and mourned his 
 death deeply." 
 
 " Yes, yes, — I know you did. He 
 told, himself, about your taking to 
 him ; and I was glad you didn't send 
 him adrift, as. many a one would 
 have done in your place. I did like 
 to punch him when I had a chance, 
 or dare him to fight ; for I liked the 
 fun of getting him mad, and seeing 
 him spunk up when I called him 
 names ! But it's holy truth, sir, I 
 really did set by that boy, and 
 wouldn't have cared to hurt . him 
 much; though I liked to keep my 
 hand in, by flooring a fellow when- 
 ever I had a chance, and somehow 
 
72 CEDAR BKOOK STORIES. 
 
 run against him pretty often. After 
 he lived with you he was meeker 
 than Moses, and I couldn't get him 
 up to the mark nohow ; so I give him 
 a chance to rest ; for I begun to feel 
 streaked having the fun all to my- 
 self, seeing I couldn't rile him up 
 noways. What sickness did he die 
 of? " he asked, abruptly, after a mo- 
 ment's silence. " I'd like to know 
 all -the particulars." 
 
 In as few words as possible Frank 
 related all the circumstances connect- 
 ed with Bennie's accident, sufferings, 
 and death, — dwelling particularly 
 upon his peaceful state of mind, and 
 his last message and care for Tom, 
 As he repeated Bennie's words, the 
 rough man leaned his head upon the 
 
table, and hid his face in his hands. 
 He neither spoke or moved when 
 Frank ceased speaking, but remained 
 motionless as a statue. 
 
 Hardly knowing whether it was 
 best to add any advice or comments 
 of his own, Frank also remained si- 
 lent, until his eye rested on Bennie's 
 Bible lying upon the window-sill neai 
 Tom. He reached over his shouldei 
 for it, opened it and slowly read 
 passages from the Old Testament, the 
 Psalms and the gospels, — words of 
 exhortation and entreaty to sinners ; 
 promises for the penitent ; assuran- 
 ces of God's love and mercy ; and 
 the account of Christ's sufferings and 
 death for man's redemption. 
 
 Tom evidently gave strict attention. 
 
74 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 though he gave no outward signs ex- 
 cept occasionally drawing a heavy 
 sigh, sometimes uttering almost a 
 groan. As Frank closed the book, 
 Tom raised his head, and reached 
 out his hand for the Bible, and care- 
 fully placed it in his vest as he had 
 done a few evenings before. It 
 seemed to Frank as if he looked 
 upon it more as a kind of talisman 
 that would convey some good by the 
 touch alone, than as a fountain of 
 life, from which he could draw heal- 
 ing to his soul, or as a guide to teach 
 him the right path to heaven. 
 
 " Do you read yourself in Bennie's 
 Bible, Tom 1 " Frank ventured to 
 ask, as Tom still showed no disposi- 
 
Frank's visit to tom ryan. 75 
 
 tion to speak. " It was his request 
 that you should." 
 
 " Aye, aye, — you've told me that 
 already, sn*. I've not looked into it 
 much yet, but intend to some rainy 
 Sunday. I'm no great reader, was 
 never much given to learning, and 
 am too old to fret much about it 
 now." 
 
 " Would you object to join a class 
 in the Sabbath school 1 There is one 
 established here at the Point, and I 
 should be very glad if you would at- 
 tend. I am acquainted with some of 
 the teachers and, if you say so, will 
 call for you to-morrow^ and introduce 
 you to a gentleman that I think you 
 will like as a teacher." 
 
 "Couldn't do it, su\ I'm nine- 
 
76 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 teen years old, but look as if I was 
 twenty-five, and don't fancy being 
 made a laughing-stock by a parcel 
 of young 'uns. I cry quits for any 
 game like that ! " 
 
 " But the scholars are not all 
 children, Tom : the school is for all 
 who will come, old and young. You 
 will find plenty there of your own 
 age to keep you company, and need 
 have no fear of ridicule, — at least, 
 from those who attend the school ; 
 they are too much interested them- 
 selves for that. As to any of your 
 former associates, I should judge, 
 by the decided stand you took the 
 other night, that you cared very 
 little for their opinion. I hope they 
 would not hinder you." 
 
Frank's visit to tom ryan. 77 
 
 " No, sir ; it's little I'd care for the 
 mind of that thieving, drunken set. 
 I know them like a book, and nary 
 a soul of them v^ould dare wag his 
 tongue against Tom Ryan, if he 
 chose to bid them be silent. It's not 
 them I'm caring for, nor the laugh- 
 ing, nor the school ; but I'll tell 
 you the plain truth now, I don't 
 incline much to religion. I can get 
 along very well without it, for I'm 
 an honest man, sir ! — I have been 
 ever since I took that midnight bath 
 in the salt water over twelve months 
 ago. Some folks are born to be re- 
 ligious. Bennie was, — kinder took 
 to it in the natural way ; and I'm 
 glad he did, seeing the Lord didn't 
 intend to have him grow up. When 
 
78 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 folks are ordained to die little shav- 
 ers, like him, it's rather a consoling 
 thing to have religion — especially if 
 they get their legs broke, as he did : 
 it makes them think less of their 
 pains and aches, and keeps them on 
 the lookout for a fair haven, and a 
 new rig for the old hulk when the 
 storm is over. You'll excuse me, 
 sir; but I've studied this thing all 
 out since I saw you, and when I'm 
 ready to be a serious-minded man, 
 and jine the church, I'll let you know; 
 but you needn't spoil your eyes in 
 keeping much of a lookout for that 
 at present ! The land isn't in sight 
 yet where I shall cast anchor and 
 cultivate piety for a living ! I'm in 
 
 -.^ 
 
Frank's visit to tom uyan. 79 
 
 the peddling business, and mean to 
 stick to that." 
 
 Frank could not suppress a smile 
 at Tom's homely bluntness, while he 
 felt it would be of no use to pursue 
 the subject further at present. With a 
 character and disposition like Tom's, 
 he must act cautiously, striving, first 
 of all, to gain his confidence by evinc- 
 ing a friendly interest in his daily 
 occupation and welfare — hoping, in 
 time, to exert an influence over him 
 for better things. 
 
 As he rose to go, he held out his 
 hand, saying : 
 
 " Well, Tom, I have felt gratified 
 with my visit here this evening, 
 and, if you will allow me, shall call 
 again before long. I wish to assure 
 
80 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 you of my interest in your welfare — 
 not only for Bennie's sake, but also 
 for your own. If I can be of service 
 to you, in any way, let me know. 
 If you feel disposed to call upon me 
 in my own home, I shall give you a 
 welcome as kind as you have extended 
 to me to-night." 
 
 " Thank you, su\ Come any Sat- 
 urday or Sunday, and you'll be wel- 
 come. I'm not given to visiting 
 gentle folks, nor stepping round in 
 fine houses. He and water wont 
 mix, and Tom Ryan and soft carpets 
 wouldn't know each other, — one or 
 t'other of 'em would come off the 
 worse for the acquaintance ; so I 
 guess I shall steer clear of all fool- 
 ery, and stay at home. You can. 
 
Frank's visit to tom ryan. 83 
 
 come here, and not be hurt by the 
 mixmg. I'll keep to my own house, 
 and you'll find an open door and 
 hearty welcome whenever you choose 
 to come." 
 
 As we may only refer to Tom 
 Ryan again, we will say now, that 
 Frank continued his visits to Tom, 
 at short intervals, for several years, — 
 always welcomed with gruff hearti- 
 ness, and always listened to with 
 respect by Tom, even when he urged 
 upon him the duty of repentance 
 and prayer, or expressed his earnest 
 wish to see him a Christian. 
 
 But Tom still held to the belief 
 that " honesty " was all that he re- 
 quired to " pass him along," as he 
 expressed it, through this world, or 
 
82 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 to fit him for the next. " ReligioI^ 
 is well enough for some folks," he 
 said, " but I don't need it — at least 
 while I'm in the tin and wooden 
 ware trade. When I give that up, 
 and retire into private life, I'll look 
 into the thing and see what is to be 
 made of it ; and if I think it suit? 
 my case, I'll try a little of it, just t< 
 see how it works ! " 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WAR, AND FRANK'S DEPARTURE FOR 
 WASHINGTON. 
 
 Ten years have passed since our 
 first call at Cedar Brook, when we 
 introduced our young friends, the 
 Cliffords, to our readers. Come with 
 me to-day, and we will see if any 
 changes have taken place in their 
 home. 
 
 It is the last of June, 1861, and 
 Cedar Brook is somewhat altered in 
 appearance. The house has been 
 enlarged by a wing upon the south- 
 ern side, and a broad piazza extends 
 
 83 
 
84 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 across the front. The prairie-rose 
 is replaced by a luxuriant woodbine, 
 that nearly covers the end of the 
 wing, and is trained across the pi- 
 azza, hanging in graceful festoons 
 its entire length. The grounds are 
 unaltered, except by the growth and 
 denser foliage of the trees and 
 shrubs. 
 
 Entering the front gate, we miss 
 our little Pep : he died three years 
 ago, and was buried by Peter, at 
 Edith's request, in one corner of the 
 grounds. Passing over the lawn, 
 and stepping upon the piazza, we 
 find in his place a large Newfound- 
 land, lying by the front door. He 
 watches us closely as we approach, 
 but does not move until we stoop to 
 
FRANK JOINS IHE ARMY. 85 
 
 pat his head ; he then rises and 
 stands by our side, rubbing his great 
 head against our hand, as if giving 
 us a welcome as guests of his mas- 
 ter. 
 
 We find all the family in the sit- 
 ting-room, as before, with the addition 
 of Elliot Wentworth and our old 
 friend Mr. Scarrett. Mrs. Clifford re- 
 clines in the arm-chair — pale, thin, 
 and evidently in a confirmed con- 
 sumption. The last year has greatly 
 altered her in appearance ; but her 
 face is lovely still, her smile sweeter 
 than ever. Beside her sits Lulu — her 
 head resting on her mother's shoul- 
 der, her eyes fixed upon Frank, who 
 is seated at the piano playing one 
 of Beethoven's symphonies. Lulu is 
 
86 CEDAR BROOK- STORIES. 
 
 Still the pet of the family — cheerful, 
 happy, loving, — still reminding one 
 of a beautiful rosebud, with her fair 
 complexion, and rich full tint upon 
 cheek and lip. We can hardly real- 
 ize that she is nearly fourteen years 
 old. 
 
 Beside Frank stands Edith, Elliot, 
 and Annie — all somewhat changed, 
 but easily recognized. Edith has 
 altered the least. She is still petite 
 in form, but more slender than when 
 a child ; wears her hair in its short, 
 natural curls, without confinement 
 by comb or net; is still quick, ner- 
 vous, full of fun, but not thought- 
 less or heedless as of old. Annie is 
 more quiet, if possible, than ever — 
 as thoughtful and painstaking. Her 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 87 
 
 mother's health has rendered it ne 
 cessary for her to assume the office of 
 housekeeper, — an office that accords 
 well with her own tastes, and which 
 she fills with satisfaction to all. She 
 is never idle ; and even now, as she 
 stands by Frank, is mending a pair 
 of gloves for her father. 
 
 Mr. Clifford sits by Winnie at the 
 window, a paper in his hands. But 
 he is not reading : his eyes are 
 closed, and a look of sadness is on 
 his face we have never seen there 
 before. Mr. Scarrett looks very old 
 and feeble ; his hair is white, his 
 form bent and trembling. His 
 clasped hands rest upon the head of 
 his cane ; his face is turned toward 
 Frank ; his eyes are dim with tears. 
 
88 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 Why is there such unwonted sad- 
 ness resting upon all the faces of 
 that little group] 
 
 There are none missmg from their 
 circle. All are in health, excepting 
 the dear mother — and she, they 
 had long known, was passing gently, 
 but surely, to the land of rest. But 
 none of them have ever suffered 
 that thought to shade their brows, 
 or cloud their faces in her presence. 
 They have all striven to be cheerful 
 and hopful when with her, — talking 
 freely, when she desired it, of her 
 nearness to her heavenly home, and 
 communing together of that heritage 
 of light, that glorious abode beyond 
 the tomb, where mists, and clouds, 
 and doubt will be withdrawn forever. 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 89 
 
 Why, then, are they all so sad to- 
 night '? — all but Frank, upon whose 
 face there rests an expression of 
 happiness and peace, almost of in- 
 spiration, as, with a master-hand, he 
 plays the soul-thrilling chords of the 
 great composer. 
 
 Ah ! it is from the same cause 
 
 • 
 
 that has sent sadness and sorrow 
 into thousands of happy homes 
 throughout our land ! Civil war, with 
 all its horrors, had burst upon us. 
 The startling news of the attack on 
 Fort Sumter had called forth the 
 noble, generous, most cherished sons 
 of our country, to defend her rights 
 upon the battle-field. The call of the 
 President, on the fifteenth of April, 
 1861, for seventy-five thousand volun- 
 
90 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 teers for three months' service, was 
 fully responded to ; and, with his 
 father's consent, Frank immediately 
 joined a drill company. This company 
 was accepted, united to a Massachu- 
 setts regiment, and on the following, 
 morning Frank expected to leave 
 Cedar Brook for the seat of war. 
 What wonder, then, that there were 
 heavy hearts and tearful eyes in that 
 Jaome-circle 1 
 
 The only son, the only brother, 
 would leave them on the morrow 
 for scenes of bloodshed, strife, and 
 death. Would he return again to 
 that peaceful home? Hoiv would 
 come ] — with the free, bounding step 
 of health and strength, or wounded, 
 maimed, lifeless 1 No wonder that his 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 91 
 
 gentle mother wept silent, bitter tears 
 as she asked herself the question. 
 Her days were indeed numbered. 
 Could she endure the thought that he 
 would not be by to close her eyes, or 
 comfort his father and sisters when she 
 was gone 1 His father — how could 
 he spare the son upon whom he had 
 hoped to learn in his declining years I 
 That son might be sleeping in death, 
 when he should be still hale and vig- 
 orous. His sisters, all loving him 
 with a depth of affection that only 
 a noble-hearted, affectionate brother 
 like him could inspire — how could 
 they live without him ? — how go 
 forth into the world if he was not 
 by to encourage and strengthen ? 
 Even Mr. Scarrett felt that death 
 
92 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 would be divested of half its terrors, 
 could that boy's bright face be near 
 him in the last dread conflict. Win- 
 nie bowed her head upon her hands, 
 and prayed that the dearest of all 
 her sister's childi-en, next to Edith, 
 might l^e spared to return unharmed 
 to them all. Oh ! it was a hard, 
 bitter struggle with each one ! Yet, 
 with the" true, noble heroism of the 
 mothers and sisters of our loved 
 country, they never thought of dis- 
 suading Frank from his purpose — 
 never pleaded their own love, of de- 
 pendence upon him, as a reason for 
 his remaining at home. From the 
 very flrst announcement of his inten- 
 tion to join the army, they had not 
 held him back, but bade him ' god- 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 93 
 
 speed* and blessed him, — his father 
 only cautioning him against deciding 
 upon his course too hastily, he being 
 yet a minor, and of course exempt 
 from duty if he chose to remain at 
 home. " If you feel that God and 
 your country call you, my soit," said 
 Mr. Clifford, " I will not discourage 
 or prevent your enlisting, or with- 
 hold my consent because you are 
 under age. Seek to know your 
 duty, prayerfully ; and if you feel 
 there is need of your 'services, go — 
 and the God of battles go with, pro- 
 tect, and bless you." 
 
 " Come, Edie, darling — let us sing 
 
 once more our favorite song," said 
 
 Frank, as he reached a piece of 
 
 music from the stand beside him. 
 
 ( 
 
94 CEDAR BllOOK STORIES. 
 
 " It will be sometliing to cheer me 
 to-morrow, when I'm away, if I re- 
 call your sweet voice and the words 
 of the song we have sung so often. 
 Will you try ] " 
 
 Edith involuntarily covered her 
 face wifH her hands, and a half-sup- 
 pressed cry of pain escaped her lips. 
 Annie turned very pale, but she 
 gently placed her aim round Edith's 
 waist, and whispered : 
 
 " Control yourself, for his sake, 
 dear Edie. Sing if you can." 
 
 Edith immediately raised her head, 
 though her lips quivered, and her 
 whole frame trembled like an aspen- 
 leaf Frank appeared not to notice 
 her agitation ; though his fingers 
 trembled, as he ran them over the 
 
FKANK JOINS THE ARMY. 95 
 
 keys for several minutes in prelude, 
 giving her time to become calm and 
 self-possessed ere they commenced. 
 
 The song was an old one, and is 
 familiar to most persons — has un- 
 doubtedly been sung by many lov- 
 ing, aching hearts on the eve of 
 separation ; and, in sadness and tears, 
 they too have asked the question, 
 " When shall we meet again ? " 
 
 A glance at Edith told Frank she 
 was now equal to the elFort ; and, 
 striking a few chords, they sang — 
 
 " When shall we two meet again ? I am going 
 Far from the home where my loved ones remain. 
 
 Like those pale lights down tlie Nile gently flowing, 
 I, too, rr.ny fade and return not again ! 
 
 But though broad realms and the ocean divide ua, 
 Shall we not ever be present in thought ? 
 
 And when the sweet voice of friendship's denied us, 
 
96 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 With dreams of the past shall our memories he 
 fraught ? 
 Distance may part us, but nothing can sever 
 Hearts, that, like ours, are united forever! 
 Ever in absence we'll constant remain : 
 Sister and friend, when shall we meet again ^ 
 When shall we two meet again 1 
 
 " Who will now tend to ray birds and my flowers ' 
 
 Sing me at evening some sweet olden rhyme ? 
 Never again will diose once happy hours 
 
 When we two wandered together, be mine : 
 Yet we shall meet though, it may be in spirit, 
 
 When cold is this hand that I'm clasping in thine ; 
 For we know there's a land that the pure may inherit, 
 And I, in my vigils, still pray may be mine. 
 Distance may part us, but nothing can sever 
 Hearts, that like ours, are united forever ! 
 Ever in absence we'll constant remain : 
 Sister and friend, when shall we meet again ? 
 When shall we two meet again ? " 
 
 As the last sound of their voices 
 died away, Mrs. Clifford, whose 
 strength was not equal to the con- 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 97 
 
 trol she had placed upon her feelings 
 thus far, sank famting in the arms 
 of Lulu, and was carried by Mr. 
 Clifford and Frank to her chamber. 
 " Do not remain, my son," said Mr. 
 Clifford ; " it will be better for you 
 to take leave of your mother now : 
 another fainting-fit like this would 
 be of serious consequence to her. 
 She is recovering slowly ; shorten 
 the pang of parting, and do not agi- 
 tate her if you can avoid it." 
 
 AVith tears streaming down his 
 face, Frank bent over his mother, 
 pressed his lips to her pale lips and 
 cheek and brow, murmuring, " O ! 
 my precious mother ! God keep you 
 till my return, and grant that we 
 mav meet airain. I cannot sav fare- 
 
y» CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 well ! Bless me, mother ! — let your 
 lips once more bless your only son." 
 
 With a gentle sigh, Mrs. Clifford 
 opened her eyes, and drew Frank's 
 head to her bosom, — her feeble 
 hands smoothing his curls and ca- 
 ressing his face, as, years ago, she 
 had done when he lay a helpless 
 babe upon her breast. 
 
 " Yes, my son ; T do bless you, again 
 and again. May God keep you in 
 the day of battle ; be a shield be- 
 tween you and danger ; let not your 
 enemies triumph over you ; save you 
 to be the light of your boyhood's home 
 once more ; the comforter of your 
 father, the protector of your sisters, 
 when I am gone — 'But nevertheless, 
 not my will, but thine, O Lord, be 
 
FKANK JOINS THE ARMY. 99 
 
 done ! ' If you should be called 
 home to God first, Frank, I feel you 
 will not watch long for me. I am 
 even now close by the shore of eter- 
 nity, — can almost hear the plashing 
 of its waves as they come nearer and 
 nearer around my feet. There seems 
 but a step between me and death ; 
 and oh that you could be here to 
 comfort me in that last hour ! But 
 no ! no ! — not my will ! Kiss me, my 
 child, my son, my darling boy ! Re- 
 ceive your mother's blessing, and 
 may the God of Israel guard, guide 
 protect you." 
 
 One long, silent embrace, and 
 Frank rose from his knees beside 
 his mother, and hurried from the 
 room. He did not return to the sit- 
 
100 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 ting-room till he was calm again, 
 and all traces of tears eiFaced. Here 
 another parting, from Mr. Scarrett 
 and Elliot, sorely tried his manliness, 
 and forced Annie and Edith to leave 
 the room to hide their feelings. 
 
 Once more alone, the little circle 
 drew closer together, — Edith and 
 Annie each side of Frank, and Lulu 
 at his feet, while Mr. Clifford opened 
 the sacred volume, and read from 
 its holy pages words of comfort, 
 faith, and hope. Gradually its sooth- 
 ing promises fell like healing balm 
 upon their troubled hearts ; and 
 when he closet}, the volume, and they 
 all knelt with him in prayer, a sense 
 of repose, of resignation to God's 
 will, of a renewed power of endur- 
 
FRANK JOINS THE AllMY. 101 
 
 ance, took the place of anguish and 
 sorrow, and enabled each one to join 
 audibly with Frank, as his father 
 closed his petitions, in repeating the 
 Lord's prayer, in clear, firm, unfal- 
 tering tones. 
 
 As they rose from their knees, Mr. 
 Clifford took both of Frank's hands 
 in his own, and, with streaming eyes 
 and faltering lips, blessed and bade 
 him good-by. One more silent em- 
 brace, one earnest look into each 
 other's faces, one strong grasp of the 
 hand, and father and son separated, 
 to meet — where 1 
 
 It was Frank's request that all 
 should take their leave of him that 
 evening — that none should accom- 
 l^any him in town the next morning. 
 
102 CEDAR 131100K STORIES. 
 
 when he was to join his regiment. 
 " I cannot say good-by at the depot," 
 he said. " I must not feel unmanned 
 at startmg. Let all the sad scene 
 of parting be within my own home. 
 I wish no eyes to look upon my 
 grief in the hour of separation from 
 those I love. I must weep on my 
 mother's bosom ; must kneel for my 
 father's blessing ; must clasp in my 
 arms my darling sisters, — and I wish 
 no eye but God's to look upon me 
 then." 
 
 Winnie followed Mr. Clifford, af- 
 ter a few words expressive of her 
 love and grief at parting, leaving 
 Frank alone with his sisters. Lulu 
 and Annie each clung, weeping, to 
 their brother's neck, too much di^- 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. lOS 
 
 tressed to utter one word. Frank 
 soothed and encouraged them, prom- 
 to write often, and bidding them 
 control their grief that they might 
 the better comfort his father and 
 mother. 
 
 " To you, Annie, especially, I com- 
 mit my precious mother. I know I 
 need not urge you to comfort and 
 encourage her when I am gone. You 
 are a careful nurse, a devoted child, 
 a darling sister ; and all, everything, 
 that a thoughtful mind or loving 
 heart can do, or devise, I know you 
 will perform. If I never return " — 
 Frank's voice faltered — "yow will 
 comfort her in the last hour, will 
 close her dying eyes, will receive her 
 last whispered words. Take my 
 
101 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 place, then, Annie, — kiss her for me, 
 repeat my name to her, and tell her 
 how I loved her. If I should live to 
 come back again, you will remember 
 and repeat to me her last words for 
 her absent boy, won't you, Annie 1 " 
 
 " O Frank ! Frank ! May you live 
 to return and receive them your- 
 self ! How can we part from mother 
 and you not be here to sustain us 1 
 You must come home before she 
 dies ; I could not live through it, if 
 you were not' here in that dreadful 
 hour," cried Annie, her whole frame 
 shaking with anguish as she tried in 
 vain to regain her calmness. 
 
 Lulu's sobs WTre heart-rending as 
 she clung to her brother's neck and 
 repeated " Brother ! brother ! " Gent- 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 105 
 
 ly loosening her clasp, Frank kissed 
 her fondly, and then embracing An 
 nie, whispered : 
 
 " Go to your room now, Annie, 
 and take Lulu with you. She will 
 be sick to-morrow if she gives way 
 to her grief so violently. Be careful 
 of her, as well as of yourself, for our 
 dear mother's sake. One more kiss, 
 sweet sisters, but not another word." 
 
 With reluctant steps the weeping 
 sisters left the room for their own 
 chamber, and sobbed themselves to 
 sleep in each other's arms. 
 
 But where was Edith'? As the 
 door closed after Annie, a stifled sob 
 met Frank's ear, and he turned to 
 ascertain from whence it came. At 
 the further side of the room, crouched 
 
106 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 upon the floor, the heavy drapery 
 curtain drawn close around her, her 
 head buried in the cushion of the 
 window-seat, was Edith, seeking in 
 vain to suppress the low moans of 
 anguish that ever and anon escaped 
 her lips. Frank was beside her in an 
 instant. With tender words he lifted 
 her bowed head, took her in his arms, 
 and seated himself in the arm-chair, 
 holding her close to his bosom. 
 
 For several moments neither of 
 them uttered a word — even Frank 
 not attempting to restrain his own 
 tears, that dropped fast on Edith's 
 face, as she sought, by an almost su- 
 perhuman effort, to control her grief 
 Gradually her sobs became less fre- 
 quent, her tears ceased, and her ner- 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 107 
 
 vous hands relaxed their tight grasp 
 on his. As she became more quiet, 
 Frank spoke of his departure on the 
 morrow calmly, freely — unburden- 
 ing his whole heart, with all its 
 hopes, fears, aspirations. 
 
 " Look at it calmly, dear Edie. 
 There are many chances for my safe 
 return home against one of my be- 
 ing killed, or even wounded. I am 
 young and strong, and, for your sake, 
 shall guard my health, and not run 
 into unnecessary danger. There is 
 One only, who can tell what may be 
 in the future for any of us. To His 
 kind care I commit myself; and 
 while I am ready and willing to lay 
 down my life for the good of my 
 country, I can cheerfully trust that 
 
108 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 life in His hands, knowing that no 
 harm can come to me only as He 
 wills. Life and death are in His 
 hands, and I leave it all with Him. 
 You must do the same. I may be 
 sick or wounded ; I may meet death 
 on the battle-field ; I may return un- 
 scathed, to lead, once more, a quite 
 life at Cedar Brook. In either case 
 I can truly say, ' Let it be as God 
 wills.' I hope I am prepared for 
 even a sudden death ; am ready at 
 any moment to yield into His hands 
 the life He gave. There is but one 
 thing, my darling sister, you can do 
 for me, and that is more than aught 
 else — 'pray for me. I shall need your 
 prayers in the camp, on the field ; 
 in life, and in death. Upheld by 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 109 
 
 prayer, I shall be nerved for duty, 
 come in what shape it may. Oh 1 
 what a comfort it will be to me to 
 remember I have Christian parents 
 and sisters who are ever bearing me 
 on their hearts before the mercy-seat 1 
 Do you remember, Edie, it will be 
 just one year next Sabbath since you 
 and Annie were baptized '? " 
 
 " Yes, Erank, I remember it ; and 
 also how bright and beautiful the 
 whole world seemed to me then. The 
 sun never shone so bright, the trees 
 and flowers never wore such brilliant 
 hues, or such a living green, as then ; 
 the sky never looked so clear and 
 unclouded ; and all nature seemed 
 uniting in one vast anthem of praise 
 to God. But to-day, to-night, how 
 
110 CEDAR BROOK STORltiS. 
 
 dark, how gloomy, how sad, is all 
 and everything ! A black pall is 
 spread over the whole universe to 
 me now ; a heavy, leaden weight 
 presses on my soul, and I can scarcely 
 refrain from hiding my face in terror, 
 as if I was looking, even now, upon 
 the face of the dead or dying." 
 
 " You must not indulge such feel- 
 ings, Edith ; but keep a brave heart, 
 and remember you are a soldier's 
 sister now. Think of the pride with 
 which you will welcome me home ; 
 of the interest you will feel in listen- 
 ing to my account of hard-fought 
 battles, of victories, or of hair-breadth 
 escapes ! When I come back to 
 Cedar Brook I shall have much to 
 say that will interest you all, and, I 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. Ill 
 
 hope, repay you for our short sep- 
 aration. Three months will pass 
 quickly, Edith. Do you remembei 
 how sad you felt when mother went 
 to Europe, and how sure you were 
 she would never return 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Frank. But God was bet- 
 ter to me than my fears ; and you 
 were by me to encourage me then." 
 
 " And cannot you trust Him now 1 
 May He not be better than your 
 fears again 1 " 
 
 " I know He may ; still, I cannot 
 look beyond the present. There is 
 no rift in the cloud now ; not one 
 beam of light, look which way I will. 
 It is dark, all dark ! O, Frank ! " 
 and Edith suddenly threw her arms 
 around his neck, " something tells 
 
112 CEDAK BROOK STORIES. 
 
 me you will never return — never 
 look upon Cedar Brook — never join 
 our home-circle again. Forgive me 
 for prophesying evil ; but I cannot re- 
 frain from speaking all my thoughts 
 to you. I have done wrong in say- 
 ing this, I know ; for I should en- 
 courage, not depress — strengthen, 
 not unman you.'' 
 
 " Say all you think, Edith ; I am 
 glad you have spoken freely. It gives 
 me courage to speak of feelings I 
 have not yet dared to express — 
 hardly to acknowledge, to myself I 
 feel that there is a great uncertainty 
 respectmg my return. Of course 
 every one, in going to war, must real- 
 ize that, in one sense, it is taking 
 his life in his hand and marching to 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 113 
 
 his death. I cannot disguise from 
 myself, I will not hide it from you, 
 that I have a strong impression I 
 shall look upon our happy home 
 here for the last time to-morrow. 
 Do not feel so distressed, Edith," 
 feeling her whole frame shiver in 
 his arms. " This impression may be 
 only what every one experiences in 
 leaving home at the present time, — a 
 natural depression of spirits at the 
 thought of parting. You know I 
 have hardly been out of sight of 
 Cedar Brook since we moved here. 
 I have never travelled further than 
 New York ; and, of course, in the 
 thought of a separation from you all, 
 my feelings of excitement, and un- 
 certainty with regard to the future. 
 
114 CEDAR BROOK ST0RI1*S. 
 
 must cause unwonted emotions, that 
 I probably mistake for presentiments. 
 Still, as we have referred to these 
 things, let me speak freely, as I can 
 to no one living but yourself, and 
 leave with you a few directions in 
 case I should not return." 
 
 Edith hid her face in Frank's 
 bosom — moving not, nor speaking, 
 as he, infew words, gave her du*ections 
 respecting some letters and papers 
 in his desk, and the disposal of a few 
 articles of value, as keepsakes to his 
 family and Elliot Wentworth, in the 
 event of his death. Every word 
 sank into her heart, every half-ut- 
 tered wish was registered in her soul ; 
 and when he ceased speaking, she 
 replied only by a mute caress. 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 115 
 
 The hour of midnight struck, and 
 Edith was still in her brother's arms, 
 but in a heavy sleep from grief and 
 exhaustion. Carefully placing her 
 upon the sofa, and covering her with 
 a shawl, he kept watch beside her till 
 early dawn — too busy with his own 
 crowding thoughts to seek rest in 
 his own room. 
 
 At five o'clock, Peter passed the 
 door to awaken his young master, 
 whom he supposed was in bed. 
 Frank stepped lightly to the door, 
 and pointed to Edith, placing hi^ 
 finger upon his lips. Peter under- 
 stood him, and turned away his face 
 to hide his tears, when Frank knelt 
 for a moment beside his favorite 
 sister, gently kissed her pale cheek, 
 
116 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 and then softly lifted a curl from hei 
 temple, severed it from its fellows, 
 and placed it next his bosom. Loos- 
 ing the heavy drapery over the 
 windows, he carefully darkened the 
 room, looked earnestly at the pic- 
 tures, the open piano, the books, and 
 work scattered around, as if daguer- 
 reo typing the room and every article 
 it contained upon his memory ; and 
 then, with quivering lip and tearful 
 eyes, followed Peter to the carriage. 
 Bridget was at the gate, her hon- 
 est face deluged with tears, as she 
 held out her hand to bid him good- 
 by. Pointing toward the house as a 
 sign to prevent any outburst of grief, 
 he thanked her for all her kindness 
 to him and faithfulness to his mother, 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 117 
 
 telling her he hoped she would re- 
 main at Cedar Brook till he returned. 
 
 " We cannot do without you, 
 Bridget; your services are invalua- 
 ble to mother, and we all appreciate 
 them fully. Look in my room, after 
 breakfast, and you will find a little 
 package, on my dressing-table, di- 
 rected to you. Keep it for my sake, 
 and be assured that, wherever I am, 
 I shall remember your kindness to 
 me and fidelity to my dear mother. 
 God bless ]^ou. Good-by." 
 
 Bridget seized Frank's extended 
 hand, and kissed it ; — watched the 
 carriage as long as it was in sight, 
 then ran into the barn, climbed the 
 ladder to the loft, threw herself upon 
 the hay, and cried till she was tired. 
 
118 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 " Och ! and it's the last time I've 
 looked upon the handsome lad, I'm 
 shure, this day. The blessed Virgin 
 rest his sowl if he's killed in battle 
 with them cursed seceshi oners — the 
 bloody, black-hearted murthurers ! 
 Let them fight their own nagurs, 
 and not be sending after master 
 Frank, with his handsome face and 
 curly hair, to shoot and kill and 
 murther. Oh, the miserable planta- 
 tioners, with their bloody hounds, 
 and chains, and whips ! — :- may Saint 
 Peter and Paul, and all the holy 
 fathers, fry them all in purgatory, 
 with not a mass to save their souls ! 
 Faith ! and was I the pope I'd ex- 
 communicate them all in a hape — 
 the thieving, bloody, craven set I 
 
FRANK JOINS THE ARMY. 119 
 
 May the blessed Mary dance them 
 on hot coals till their feet are blis- 
 tered and they ax pardon, on their 
 knees, for tooting war all oyer the 
 land ! I know what the craven sowls 
 will do to master Frank, — they'll 
 set him up like a target, and shoot 
 at him till his brains are split, and 
 he have no sense left to come home 
 again. O, mavourneen ! mavour- 
 neen ! — that I should live to see the 
 day he wasn't a President, but only 
 a cowld corpse with a cannon-ball 
 though his head ! Saint Patrick and 
 Saint Nicholas defend the boy, and 
 bring him home with the stars and 
 stripes flying all around him, and 
 the band playing Erin-go-bragh and 
 Yankee Doodle ! " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 "It is a fortnight to-day sir.ce 
 Frank wrote us he expected to leave 
 Washington for Virginia," said 
 Edith to Annie, as they sat together 
 in theu' mother's room, while Mrs. 
 CliiFord lay asleep, after one of her 
 exhausting spells of coughing. " Is 
 it not strange that he has not writ- 
 ten again ? My heart beats painfully 
 at the sound of every step upon the 
 piazza. I long, yet fear, to hear 
 from him. Can it be that he was at 
 
 Centreville, and wounded or taken 
 
 120 
 
Edith's jouknei' to Washington. 121 
 
 prisoner in that terrible battle at 
 Bull Run ? My very soul is sick as 
 I think of it." 
 
 " You distress yourself needlessly, 
 Edith; and, I fear, trouble mother 
 by your constant anxiety. I know, 
 dear, you cannot help being very 
 anxious," added Annie, observing that 
 Edith's eyes filled with tears, and 
 her fingers trembled so she could 
 hardly hold her needle ; " but you 
 must try to feel more hopeful. Your 
 anxiety for Frank has robbed you 
 of all your elasticity ; your eyes are 
 heavy, your cheeks are pale, and you 
 really look as if you had been sick. 
 I observed mother gazing at you this 
 morning, till her eyes filled with 
 tears, and her face wore such an ex- 
 
122 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 pressioii of anguish that I could 
 hardly bear to look at her. She 
 understands your anxiety, and the 
 knowledge of your suffering only 
 adds to her own, causing her thoughts 
 to rest more constantly on Frank, 
 and the sad probability that they 
 have parted forever. On her ac- 
 count, endeavor — at least in her 
 presence — to appear at ease, and 
 converse as much as possible on 
 subjects foreign to Frank and the 
 war." 
 
 " You are right, Annie. I must 
 control my feelings, and try to hope 
 for the best ; at any rate, keep all 
 my fears within my own breast 
 when I am with dear mother. Just 
 see how pale she is ! — how almost 
 
EDITH'S JOURNEY TO WASHINGTON. 123 
 
 transparent her delicate hand looks 
 as it rests on the counterpane ! She 
 surely cannot be with us long ; and 
 selfish indeed it would be in me to 
 add one drop of sorrow to her cup. 
 No ! — I will look cheerful, and 
 strive to feel so"; and Edith pressed 
 back her hair from her throbbing 
 temples, and tried to smile. But it 
 was a sad, sad smile, lingering only 
 around the lips, leaving the eyes 
 heavy and dull, and causing Annie's 
 lip to quiver, as she looked at her 
 sister, and understood fully the depth 
 of filial and sisterly love so strongly 
 contending in that young heart for 
 the mastery. She however gave no 
 outward sign of sympathy save by 
 
124 CEDAR LllOOK STOUIES. 
 
 a more tender tone of voice, as ske 
 replied : 
 
 " That is like your own sweet 
 self, Edie ; — you have too unselfish 
 a spirit to cause mother, or any one 
 else, a moment's needless sufi'ering. 
 Forgive me if 1 seemed to reprove 
 you. I did not intend to ; but my 
 heart ached to see you look so sor- 
 rowful, and know that mother di- 
 vined the cause. I feared it might 
 prove injurious to her. But hark ! 
 Is not that Peter's step in the hall ? 
 Perhaps he has a letter. I will go 
 and ask him." 
 
 " No, no ! " whispered Edith, 
 pressing Annie back in her chair as 
 she attempted to rise ; "let me go — 
 you stay with motlicr. I will call 
 
EDITH'S JOURNEY TO WASHINGTON. 125 
 
 you if there is any news. I should 
 lose all control if I was kept in sus- 
 pense five minutes longer." 
 
 With hurried, but noiseless steps, 
 Edith left the room, and met Peter 
 at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " A letter from Frank ] " she in- 
 quired, as she observed he held one 
 in his hand. " Is it for meV 
 
 " No, miss ; it's directed to your 
 father — postmarked Washington. I 
 reckon it is from the young master 
 by that ; " and Peter's honest face 
 glowed with pleasure as he handed 
 her the letter. 
 
 Hastily glancing at the super- 
 scription, she saw it was not Frank's 
 handwriting ; and her heart sank 
 within her, as she almost sprang 
 
126 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 into the library, and laid it upon the 
 table before her father. Mr. Clif- 
 ford's countenance changed as he 
 glanced at the direction, and quickly 
 tore open the envelope. 
 
 Edith, trembling from head to 
 foot, sank into a chair opposite her 
 father, and, with clasped hands and 
 a face from which every particle of 
 color had fled, watched him as he 
 read. A spasm of pain contracted 
 his features, and he leaned his head 
 upon the table as, without a word, 
 he handed Edith the letter. Her eye 
 ran over the page, seeming to take 
 in the whole contents at a glance ; 
 and yet she forced herself to read 
 it slowly through the second time 
 before she spoke or moved. We 
 
FRANK WOUNDED AT lU'I.L KFN — E. 
 
EDITH'S JOURNEY TO WASHINGTON. 127 
 
 Avill look over her shoulder as she 
 reads : 
 
 " Mr. Clifford — Dear Sir : — I 
 write to inform you that your son, 
 Frank Clifford, wa« wounded in the 
 late battle of Bull Run. Early in 
 the engagement, his left arm was 
 badly shattered as he was fighting 
 bravely, shouting, ' Down with the 
 rebels ! For God and my country ! ' 
 He had scarcely spoken the words, 
 when he was struck the second time, 
 and probably fainting, sank to the 
 ground. My brother was near him 
 when he fell, and with some difficul- 
 ty bore him from the ranks, and laid 
 him outside the lines. After the 
 battle, my brother found him living, 
 but very weak from pain and loss of 
 
128 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 blood. He was conveyed with others 
 of the wounded to Washington, and, 
 by my brother's request, to my house 
 — knowing my husband and myself 
 would pay him every attention. We 
 immediately sent for a surgeon, who 
 considered it necessary to amputate 
 his arm. He bore the amputation 
 without a groan, and until yesterday 
 the physician considered he was do- 
 ing well. Since then a change has 
 taken place, — fever has set in, — and 
 we deem it necessary to send for your- 
 self, or some member of his family, 
 thinking, in the event of his death, 
 it will be a satisfaction to you if you 
 can be with him in his last hours. 
 
 "May He who holds the lives of all 
 men in his hands, spare your noble 
 
• Edith's journey to Washington. 129 
 
 boy to yet be the stay and comfort 
 of your declining years ! 
 
 " With the truest sympathy of one 
 who has two brothers and an only 
 son in the army, and can therefore 
 well understand the anxiety and sor- 
 row of Mr. Clifford's parents and 
 sisters, I remain 
 
 Yours, most truly, 
 
 Mrs. L. a. Atherton. 
 Washington, July 29th, 1861." 
 
 Carefully folding the letter, Edith 
 placed it in the envelope, laid it 
 upon the table, and then, with totter- 
 ing steps, turned toward the door. 
 A heavy fall aroused Mr. Clifford, 
 and he sprang toward his child, who 
 had fainted and fallen across the 
 
 threshold. Eaising her in his arms, 
 9 
 
l30 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. ' 
 
 he bore her to the sofa, and rang the 
 bell. Tt \^'as immediately answered 
 by Annie, who had heard the fall 
 and ran down stairs, half divining 
 the cause. 
 
 " Go up stau's . to mother," said 
 Annie to Lulu, who had just come 
 in from a walk. *' If she is awake 
 do not alarm her : merely say Edith 
 is not well, and I will be up stairs 
 in a short time. No ! no ! — ask no 
 questions now, Lulu. Edith has 
 overtasked herself, but will be better 
 soon. Be very careful not to agitate 
 mother in the least. Keep calm ; 
 and, if she did not hear Edith fall, 
 do not speak of her fainting. I can 
 trust you ; — you will control your- 
 self]" 
 
Edith's journey to Washington. 131 
 
 " You may depend upon that," 
 answered Lulu, who had much of 
 Annie's quiet self-possession, and 
 was not so easily excited as Edith. 
 
 Applying the usual restoratives, 
 Mr. Clifford and Annie had the sat- 
 isfaction of seeing Edith soon un- 
 close her eyes, and, though pale and 
 weak, able in a short time to sit up, 
 and even read the letter again with 
 composure, and consult with her 
 father as to what was best to be 
 done. 
 
 " You will go to Washington di- 
 rectly, father, wont you 1 Had not 
 Annie better accompany you — she 
 is such a good nurse, she will be 
 more useful than any one else ? " in- 
 quired Edith, in a dry, husky voice, 
 
132 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 cold chills passing over her, and 
 making her shiver like an ague-fit. 
 
 "How can I leave mother?" 
 pleaded Annie. " She is too feeble 
 for me to leave now. I would gladly 
 go ; but ought 1 1 Would you not 
 be willing to go in my stead ? " she 
 added, passing her arm around 
 Edith's waist, and taking her cold 
 hand in hers. 
 
 "J/ — mai/ I go ] Will you let me ? 
 Willing ! — O Annie ! It almost killed 
 me to even propose your going, I 
 longed so to go myself; but I dared 
 not ask to go. I thought you would 
 never consent ; would think me too 
 nervous, too weak, too good-for-noth- 
 ing. May I go, father] Can you 
 trust me 1 " and Edith gazed in her 
 
EDITH'S JOURNEY TO WASHINGTON. 133 
 
 fathers face in almost speechless 
 agony. 
 
 " Yes, my dear child ; you shall go. 
 I can trust you. Now the first shock 
 is past, I know you will have all the 
 calmness and self-control necessary 
 for whatever duty or trial you may 
 be called upon to meet. Lie down 
 awhile ; — I must go and break the 
 sad news to your mother. Annie, 
 come with me. I will send Lulu to 
 sit by Edith." 
 
 Kissing the still pale lips of his 
 darling child, Mr. Clifford left her 
 and went up stau's, with Annie, to 
 his wife's room. She was sitting up, 
 looking somewhat refreshed by her 
 quiet sleep ; but her quick eye de- 
 tected something unusual in her hus- 
 
134 CEDAK BROOK STORIES. 
 
 band's manner, as he drew a cliaii 
 beside her, notwithstandmghis efforts 
 to appear composed. 
 
 "What has happened] " she asked, 
 not replying to her husband's re- 
 marks upon her unusually bright 
 looks. " Have you heard from 
 Frank 1 — is he well ] " 
 
 With a powerful effort, Mr. Clif- 
 ford compelled himself to answer 
 calmly, in his usual tone, " Yes ; I 
 have received a letter to-night. He 
 was in the last battle, and received a 
 severe wound in his left arm. He 
 was conveyed to the house of the 
 sister of a fellow-soldier, in Wash- 
 ington, where he is well cared for, 
 and receives every attention he could 
 have in his own home. I have been 
 
135 
 
 thinking that it might be your Arish, 
 and a gratification to him, if I should 
 go to Washington myself to-morrow, 
 and see how he is, — perhaps take 
 Edith with me ; she might be of 
 some assistance to Mrs. Atherton in 
 nursing him ; at any rate, I know 
 Frank would like to see her. What 
 do you say ? " 
 
 For a brief moment Mrs. Clifford 
 did not answer, but leaned forward, 
 looking into her husband's eyes as 
 though she would read his very soul. 
 He could hardly bear that searching 
 look ; but he endeavored to meet 
 her gaze calmly, without betraying 
 his own anxious feelings. 
 
 A mother cannot be deceived. An 
 invisible but never-broken tie unites 
 
136 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 her ever to the child of her bosom ; 
 a responsive chord echoes the pres- 
 sure of any heavy pain or sorro^^ 
 resting upon that child, though 
 oceans intervene, or continents di- 
 vide. So with Mrs. CHiford. Her 
 mother-heart told her Frank was in 
 danger, perhaps dying ; and, with 
 quivering lips, she uttered, slowly : 
 
 " Tell me the worst, now, — I can 
 bear it. Is he — dead 1 " 
 
 " No, my dear wife ; our boy is 
 living still, but may not be long. 
 He is dangerously ill ; and this let- 
 ter from Mrs. Atherton will explain 
 it all to you. Can you spare Edith 
 and myself for a few days, that we 
 may go to him ] " 
 
 " Yes ; — go, go ! Do not delay one 
 
Edith's joukney to Washington. 137 
 
 hour ! Give not one thought to 
 me. Annie and Lulu will be here. 
 I shall require nothing that they can- 
 not perform. Go now, Annie dear, 
 and pack Edith's trunk. Put in 
 wine, jellies, — everything that you 
 can think of that will be of service 
 or comfort to Frank. Lulu will ar- 
 range a valise for your father ; and 
 they can take the early morning train 
 for New York." 
 
 Quickly, but quietly, every prep- 
 aration was made for then* departure ; 
 and early on the morrow Mr. Clif- 
 ford and daughter were on their way. 
 
 How different everything appeared 
 to Edith, now, from the same scenery 
 upon which she looked with so much 
 pleasure, for the first time, as she 
 
138 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 journeyed with her Aunt Wmnie to 
 New York, on her way to Illinois. 
 Then, the cars seemed to fly over 
 the ground with incredible speed ; 
 her whole attention was absorbed in 
 watching the constantly changing 
 panorama of wood and plain, rivers 
 and towns — her quick eye noting 
 every object as they swiftly appeared 
 and disappeared on their rapid course. 
 Now, how wearily the cars dragged 
 their slow length along ! how much, 
 to her impatient spirit, their revolv- 
 ing wheels seemed like the dull, 
 laggard pace of a funeral procession ! 
 Then, the beautiful scenery charmed 
 her eye, and called forth constant ex- 
 clamations of delight. Now, every- 
 thing jarred upon her feelings, and 
 
EDITH'S JOURNEY TO WASHINGTON. 139 
 
 she wept because the sun shone, the 
 flowers bloomed, the birds sang. 
 How could all nature look so gay 
 when Frank was suffering — per- 
 chance dying ! Better would it ac- 
 cord with her feelings, if the heavens 
 were hung in black, and the earth 
 dressed in mourning. 
 
 A little child near her laughed 
 and clapped his hands as something 
 attracted his childish fancy ; but 
 Edith shuddered involuntarily, and 
 covered her face. A careless remark 
 of a passenger respecting the last 
 battle, almost forced a scream from 
 her lips. Indeed, all she heard, 
 everything she looked upon, seemed 
 only to add to her misery. But 
 Edith would allow herself no expres- 
 
140 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 sion of such feelings. One look at 
 her father's troubled face nerved her 
 to conceal her own sorrow, and seek 
 to comfort him. Long before they 
 reached New York, she was endeavor- 
 ing to divert his thoughts by point- 
 ing out objects of interest, or asking 
 questions respecting the different 
 places they passed. 
 
 They made no stay on the way 
 longer than was required for change 
 of cars, and on the afternoon of the 
 second day arrived in Washington. 
 Taking a carriage, they drove imme- 
 diately to Mrs. Atherton's, and were 
 ushered by the servant into the 
 drawing-room, while he went to 
 announce their arrival to his mis- 
 tress. 
 
CHAPTER VL 
 
 PEANX*S DEATH. 
 
 Throwing aside her veil, Edith 
 cast a nervous glance around the 
 room ; and, even in that moment of 
 anxiety, could not refrain from no- 
 ticing the air of refinement and cul- 
 tivated taste pervading the whole 
 apartment. Pictures, statuary, arti- 
 cles of virtu, books, engravings, a 
 piano, harp, and flute, all bespoke 
 the owner's tastes ; while rich vases 
 on the mantel and pier-tables, filled 
 with flowers exquisitely arranged, 
 perfumed the air with their fragrance. 
 
 141 
 
142 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 Edith had hardly completed her 
 survey, when the door opened, and 
 a tall, queenly-looking lady entered 
 She extended a hand of cordial wel- 
 come to Mr. Clifford, and kissed 
 Edith with a mother's tenderness. — 
 saying : 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, sir ; 
 and you too, my sweet child. You 
 have not come one hour too soon. 
 Your son is impatiently awaiting 
 your arrival : every hour has seemed 
 a day since I wrote. Lay aside your 
 hat and shawl, my dear, and rest on 
 the sofa while I show your father to 
 Mr. Clifford's room. I cannot allow 
 you both to visit him at once ; his 
 strength would not be equal to the 
 excitement. He is very weak, and 
 
FRANK^S DEATH. 143 
 
 I fear you will find him greatly 
 changed; though the doctor thinks 
 he may continue several days yet." 
 
 " Then there is no hope ? " said 
 Mr. Clifford, in a constrained tone, — 
 a cold sweat starting like heads on 
 his forehead, in his effort to appear 
 calm. 
 
 " The doctor says there is none. 
 But, my dear sir, death has no terrors 
 for your noble boy. He knows his 
 situation, and has but one wish, one 
 prayer now, and that is to see you 
 and his sister Edith before he dies. 
 Is not this that darling sister? I 
 should know her by his description. 
 Hush, my child ! " said Mrs. Ather- 
 ton, as Edith burst into tears. " You 
 must, you will be calm, for his sake. 
 
144 CEDAE BROOK STORIES. • ^ 
 
 His very life depends upon perfect 
 quiet and freedom from all agitation. 
 Weep freely here, if you will — 
 tears will relieve your over-burdened 
 heart; but when you meet your 
 brother, it must be with at least out 
 ward calmness, and without tears." 
 
 Tenderly placing a cushion be- 
 neath Edith's head, and whispering, 
 *' Weep freely now ; you shall be un- 
 disturbed for a while," Mrs. Atherton 
 led the way across the wide hall, up 
 the -front stairs, to Frank's room. 
 Pointing to the bed, Mrs. Atherton 
 closed the door, and left the father 
 and son alone. 
 
 In half an hour she returned to 
 the drawing-room, and took a seat 
 upon the sofa beside Edith. With- 
 
^/L' FRANK'S DEATH. 145 
 
 out a word she raised her tenderly, 
 drew her head upon her bosom, and 
 lifted the damp hair from her throb- 
 bhig brow, turning her soft curls 
 around her finger. 
 
 Gradually Edith wept less vio- 
 lently, her agitation ceased, and in a 
 short time she lay perfectly still. 
 Thinking she had wept herself 
 asleep, Mrs. Atherton remained mo- 
 tionless, hoping she would awake re- 
 freshed. But Edith was not asleep : 
 she was thinking of Frank ; trying 
 to comprehend the whole, dreadful 
 meaning of those few words, " there 
 is no hope;" trying to accustom 
 herself to the agonizing reality that 
 she must part with Frank, — must 
 
 henceforth live without him. 
 10 
 
146 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. % 
 
 Suddenly passing lier arm around 
 Mrs. Atherton's neck, she whispered, 
 " Tell me all about hhn, — what he 
 has suffered ; what he has said ; how 
 he feels about dying, — all, every- 
 thing your own heart tells you, I 
 can wish to know. I can bear it 
 now.' 
 
 Complying with her request, Mrs. 
 Atherton gave a minute account of 
 his arrival at her house, after a pain- 
 ful journey from Centreville ; of the 
 unflinching courage with which he 
 bore the amputation of his arm, 
 which was too badly shattered to be 
 set ; and also of the suffering caused 
 by a bullet- wound in his side — the 
 ball too deeply embedded to allow 
 of extraction in his weak state. 
 
FRANK'S DEATH. 147 
 
 She repeated his conversation with 
 her respecting his parents and sis- 
 ters, — especially of his favorite sister 
 Edith, of whom he never tired of 
 speaking ; going back, in his menif 
 ory, to their childish days, when 
 they hunted squirrels together, built 
 wharves and storehouses by the 
 " basin," or gathered flowers and 
 berries in the fields and woods. 
 Then he spoke of his strong presen- 
 timents of death before he left home ; 
 of his certainty that he had looked 
 for the last time upon Cedar Brook ; 
 had taken his final leave of his 
 mother, Annie, and Lulu, but that 
 he still clung to the belief he should 
 see his father and Edith once more. 
 " * I can die peacefully,' he said, 
 
148 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 * if I can be permitted to see my 
 own dear Edie again, — can know 
 her hand will close my eyes, her 
 voice commend my departing soul 
 to God. I have no fear of death : 
 for me to die is gain. My peace is 
 made with God. I gave myself to 
 him, without reserve, nearly seven 
 years ago, and have not known a day 
 since when I have not renewedly 
 consecrated myself to him. Jesus 
 is all-in-all to me ; and I know he is 
 able to keep that which I have com- 
 mitted to him, until the last, great 
 day. I have not a doubt or a fear, 
 but am ready and willing to go when 
 he calls. I have but one earthly 
 wish, and that is to see my father 
 and sister; but in that, as in all 
 
149 
 
 things else, 'not my will, O God, 
 but thine be done.' 
 
 "Surely, my child," continued Mrs. 
 Atherton, " you have much to com- 
 fort you in this devoted affection of 
 your dear brother. Few sisters ex- 
 perience such pure, unselfish love 
 as Frank evinces toward you. His 
 touching allusions to you iu our 
 many conversations have made me 
 weep like a child, and I know how 
 fondly you are cherished, and how 
 close is the bond that unites you to 
 him. The day after his arrival here, 
 he requested me to hand him a little 
 paper sowed into the breast of his 
 flannel shirt. At his request I 
 opened it for him, and took out a 
 curl of soft, dark hair, like your 
 
150 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 own. He looked at it tearfully, then 
 pressed it to his lips, murmuring, 
 ' Dear, precious Edie ! I cut this 
 from her temples just as I was leav- 
 ing home. She cried herself to sleep 
 in my arms, and I sat by her till day- 
 light, when I was forced to go. I 
 cut off this lock without waking her, 
 and have worn it in my bosom ever 
 since. If I should never see her 
 again, lay it on my breast when I 
 am buried, and tell her how I longed 
 to see her before I died.' 
 
 " I promised him I would. But 
 now he will see you himself, and 
 tell you all that I cannot." 
 
 Nearly two hours elapsed before 
 Mr. Clifford returned to the draw- 
 ing-room. His face bore traces of 
 
Frank's death. 151 
 
 tears, but he was calm, almost cheer- 
 ful. '' I left Frank asleep," he said, 
 in answer to Edith's look of inquiry. 
 " He is very weak, and cannot bear 
 any excitement. The nurse is with 
 him, and has promised to call you 
 when he wakes, if he is able to see 
 you. I met Mr. Atherton in cross- 
 ing the hall, and he insists upon our 
 making his house our home while 
 we remain. I will order our trunks 
 to be sent here from the hotel, and 
 then be ready, any moment, to assist 
 you in the care of Frank." 
 
 Mr. Atherton came in, and greeted 
 Edith as cordially as his wife had 
 done. She no longer felt as if among 
 strangers ; for the quiet, unpretend- 
 ing kindness of Mr. Atherton and 
 
152 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 his noble wife removed all feeliug 
 of restraint, and she soon felt per- 
 fectly at home. After supper, as 
 Frank was still asleep, Mrs. Ather- 
 ton returned with ]fidith and her 
 father to the drawing-room. 
 
 " Are you fond of music 1 " she 
 asked, as Edith approached the harp 
 and touched her fingers to the 
 strings. 
 
 " Yes, very. Can you play upon 
 the harp ] Would it wake, or dis- 
 turb Frank, if you should let me 
 hear a few notes? I have seen a 
 harp, but never heard one played 
 upon." 
 
 ''It will not disturb him in the 
 least. His room is over the library, 
 on the opposite side of the hall, and, 
 
153 
 
 if you will close the door, he cannot 
 hear a sound." 
 
 Drawing the harp toward her, Mrs. 
 Atherton swept her fingers across 
 its strings in a short but thrilling 
 prelude, and then, in a sweet, sub- 
 dued voice, sang song, after song, 
 with a power and pathos that seemed 
 to express the very thoughts and 
 hidden emotions of Edith's soul. 
 Soothed, calmed, strengthened by 
 that sweet music, Edith felt prepared 
 to follow the nurse, with steady step 
 and perfect outward tranquillity, to 
 her brother's room. 
 
 Hesitating but one moment, on 
 the threshold, to accustom her sight 
 to the darkened room, she closed the 
 door, and with noiseless step ap- 
 
154 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 pioached the bed. One kiss,, one 
 pressure of her cheek to his, one 
 grasp of his thin, feverish hand, one 
 word only — " Frank ! " — and Edith 
 knelt beside her brother, astonished 
 at her own calmness, wondering at 
 her own power of self-control. 
 
 For a long time she knelt there, 
 her face close to his, her hand 
 smoothing back his thick curls, her 
 ear listening to his short, quick res- 
 piration, not one word uttered by 
 either — every thought, every wish, 
 for the time being merged in the 
 one happy consciousness that they 
 were once more together. 
 
 Beautiful, touching, such love as 
 this between a brother and a sister ! 
 
PRANK^S DEATH. 165 
 
 Earth nor heaven knows no affection 
 holier or purer ! 
 
 " Draw aside the curtain," said 
 Frank, at last. " I want to look at 
 your face, dear Edie. Oh, how hun- 
 gry I have been to see you once more, 
 to hear your voice, to know you 
 were beside me! God has granted 
 my prayer at last, blessed be his 
 holy name ! " 
 
 Edith lifted the heavy drapery, 
 and stood beside her brother. Ah ! 
 what an eager gaze the sick boy bent 
 upon the sweet face before him ! 
 — how earnestly he scanned every 
 well-known feature ! — how quickly 
 marked the traces of mental anguish 
 she had suffered in the few past 
 weeks and days, so plainly visible 
 
156 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 in her pale lip and cheek, and heavy 
 eyes ! 
 
 And Edith, — how painfully her 
 heart beat and her limbs trembled, 
 as she looked upon the wasted fea- 
 tures, the burning cheek, the glis- 
 tening eyes, the broad, marble-white 
 brow of her idolized brother, — all 
 telling so surely of intense suffering 
 and approaching death ! 
 
 " Come nearer, Edith. Let me take 
 my fill in gazing upon your sweet 
 face. I told you I was hungry for 
 the sight of you, — yes, hungry, starv- 
 ing ! No other words can express the 
 intense longing I have had, as night 
 after night, day after day, I have laid 
 here, with but one thought, one 
 wish, one prayer ever in my soul 
 
Frank's death. 157 
 
 and on my lips, — ' Father in heaven ! 
 spare me till Edie comes, that I may 
 die in her arms.' I knew you would 
 come. I took my final leave of all 
 the rest that last night at home, 
 knowing we should meet no more 
 this side of heaven. But I never 
 relinquished the thought of see- 
 ing i/ou. Something told me we 
 should meet again. You are here ! 
 and now I shall die content. Kiss 
 me, sister ! Now drop the curtain, 
 and sit close beside me. I have much 
 to say and must talk about while I 
 have strength." 
 
 Wetting his parched lips, Edith 
 closed the curtain, and, with his 
 hand in hers, listened in silence as 
 he gave her renewed messages of 
 
158 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 love to his mother, sisters, Elliot, 
 and Gracie Wentworth. He also' 
 sent an earnest request to Tom Ryan 
 that he would attend the Sabbath 
 school, and seek religion for himself. 
 " I think he has changed for the 
 better since Bennie's death ; but he 
 is still far from living as he ought. 
 He still thinks that ' honesty ' is 
 better than religion, and sees no 
 necessity of any other preparation for 
 eternity. Interest yourself in his 
 behalf, and ask Elliot to call upon 
 him with you. There is but little 
 to encourage you, I know ; but do 
 not give him up : you may be the 
 means of leading him at last in the 
 right path. Coarse, uneducated, un- 
 prepossessing as he is, I have some 
 
159 
 
 how felt a deep interest in him ; and I 
 bequeath to you that care of his spir- 
 itual interest that I am called upon 
 now to relinquish. Be faithful, and 
 he may yet be added to those who 
 will be stars in your crown of rejoic- 
 ing in the day when God shall judge 
 the world. In that great day we 
 shall find many souls washed and 
 made white m the blood of the Lamb 
 who have been taken from among 
 the poor, the outcast, the most de- 
 graded ; and they will stand, per- 
 haps, nearer the throne, than those 
 wo have accounted as shining lights 
 in the world, or have held high rank 
 even in the church of Christ below.'* 
 " I have no doubt of it, Frank ; 
 and if possible will fulfil your wishes 
 
160 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 Ill regard to Tom Ryan. If I feel 
 discouraged, I will recall your words 
 at this hour, and seek for renewed 
 strength to persevere. But you must 
 converse no more at present. I am 
 your nurse, and shall watch with you 
 to-night ; and, in virtue of my office, 
 shall lay my commands upon you, 
 and prohibit, your speaking again 
 for an hour. By-and-by I will read 
 you a few verses, if you are able to 
 listen ; but for the present, quiet and 
 rest will be the best medicine. Let 
 me smooth your pillow, and then you 
 must try to sleep." 
 
 Exhausted from talking, Frank 
 closed his eyes, and soon sank into 
 an unquiet slumber, — often starting 
 and looking earnestly at Edith, as 
 
161 
 
 if fearful it was the nurse, and not 
 lier, by his side, or that his memory 
 of her presence was but the unreal 
 phantom of a feverish dream. At 
 such times Edith would press her 
 lips to his forehead, and grasp his 
 hand more firmly in hers, till, reas- 
 sured, he would close his eyes with 
 a sigh of relief, murmuring, " Edie ! 
 Edie ! " 
 
 The nurse and Mrs. Atherton each 
 looked into the room, and urged 
 Edith, by signs, to seek some rest, 
 and allow them to take her place ; 
 but she only shook her head, and 
 motioned to be left alone. 
 
 Two hours past midnight; and 
 
 Frank still slept, but more quietly. 
 
 Edith watched every feature, trying 
 11 
 
162 CEDAR BROOK STORIES, 
 
 to read some signs of hope in his 
 sunken face. The fever flush had 
 passed away, and a deathly paleness 
 lay upon cheek and brow ; but still 
 he slept. Would he wake refreshed? 
 Was this change a token of good, or 
 ill 1 Edith could not tell. She had 
 never witnessed death, except in Ben- 
 nie's case ; and with him the change 
 was only from paroxysms of extreme 
 agony to long fainting-fits — in one 
 of which he passed away. 
 
 Three, four o'clock. Edith now 
 became alarmed ; for the hand rest- 
 ing in hers was cold, his forehead 
 damp with moisture, his breath slow 
 and labored. Softly loosing his hand, 
 she raised the gas, and bent over 
 him. She could not be mistaken ; — 
 
163 
 
 Frank was sinking fast ! With hur- 
 ried step she crossed the entry, and 
 opened the door of her father's room. 
 Mr. Clifford was not in bed, but 
 dressed and sitting by the window, 
 his head resting against the frame. 
 
 He had fallen into a light slum- 
 ber ; but Edith's hurried whisper, 
 " Father ! come ! — Frank is dying ! " 
 aroused him in an instant ; and draw- 
 ing her arm within his, he hastened 
 to his child. 
 
 Frank opened his eyes as they en- 
 tered, and held out his hand. 
 
 " Father ! — Edith ! I'm going 
 home. Kiss mother for me. Say 
 to her, death had no terrors for her 
 boy ; all is joy, — joy unspeakable 
 and full of glory ! Hark ! — listen 
 
164 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 to that heavenly music ! — see those 
 glorious forms ! Yes, even so, come, 
 Lord Jesus, come ! " 
 
 After a brief silence he added, 
 " Raise me, Edie. Lay my head on 
 your bosom, and bend your face 
 close to mine. Let me look at you 
 once more. Light ! — more light ! — 
 1 cannot see you Edie ! " and the 
 glazed eyes of the dying boy vainly 
 sought to look once more upon his 
 sister's face. 
 
 " Lay him back upon the pillow, 
 my dear Edie," said Mr. Clifford, his 
 tears dropping upon the face of his 
 dead child. " Frank is at rest : our 
 tears cannot disturb him now. Come 
 to my arms, Edith, and let us weep 
 together ; but not in nmrmuxing, not 
 
Frank's death. 165 
 
 in bitterness ; for it is a Father's 
 voice ihat has called him home, a 
 Father's hand that has removed him 
 from us. He can come no more 
 to us, but we shall go to him. 
 ' Blessed are the dead who die in 
 the Lord; for they rest from theii 
 labors, and their works do follow 
 them.' ' All our appointed time 
 will we wait, till our change comes.' 
 May we, then, be as ready and wil- 
 ling to depart as was our darling 
 Frank, — as willing to lay aside this 
 our earthly tabernacle, ' knowing 
 we have a building of God, an house 
 not made with hands, eternal in the 
 heavens.' Go to your room now 
 my child, for an hour's rest, while I 
 call the nurse and Mrs. Atherton to 
 
166 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 assist me in performing the last sad 
 office for your brother. We will 
 make every arrangement to depart 
 with his remains in the first train, 
 for home." 
 
 Another sad, weeping journey for 
 Edith, — another wearisome counting 
 of the slow, tedious hours ! How 
 many, many journeys like this have 
 been taken by the wives, mothers, 
 and sisters of our land, with weeping 
 eyes and bleeding hearts, as they 
 have borne to their darkened homes 
 the sacred remains of those whose 
 lives have been sacrificed in this the 
 most dreadful, heart-sickening war 
 of brother with brother that ever 
 devastated the face of the earth ! 
 When will the time come when wars 
 
Frank's death. 167 
 
 shall cease, — when man shall love his 
 fellow-man, — when all, living and 
 acting as the children of one com- 
 mon Father, shall learn war no more; 
 but " Peace shall fold her wings o'er 
 hill and valley," and songs and 
 praise shall take the place of sorrow, 
 sighing, and discord 1 
 
 How expressive are the words of 
 that old Hebrew dirge : " Mourn for 
 the mourners, and not go for the 
 dead ; for they are at rest, but we in 
 tears ! " 
 
 'Tis even so in this our country's 
 hour of trial. Our tears flow, our 
 soulb sink within us, as we receive, 
 almost daily, tidings of those who 
 h^ve fallen on the battle-field. But 
 still we weep far bitterer tears over 
 
168 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 our disappointed hopes, our crushed 
 hearts, our desolate homes. Thou- 
 sands of strong arms, and brave, 
 noble hearts are lying powerless 
 and still, while wakeful, watching 
 eyes are keeping sad virgils in the 
 homes that will know them no more 
 forever ; and thousands more will go 
 forth to suffer, bleed, and die, ere this 
 cruel strife shall end, and the dark 
 shadow of war be lifted from our 
 midst. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 It was a bleak, cold day in Janu- 
 ary. Closely wrapped in cloak and 
 furs, Edith was just entering a store 
 in Washington street, when she 
 heard a quick step behind her, and 
 a familiar voice exclaim : 
 
 " Edith ! — this must be Edith Clif- 
 ford ! Surely I am not mistaken. I 
 should know that face anywhere ! " 
 
 Turning quickly, Edith in an in- 
 stant recognized her Uncle John, 
 who grasped her extended hand with 
 
 hearty warmth as he repeated, " I 
 
 169 
 
170 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 am not mistaken, then] I knew 1 
 could not be. I caught a glimpse 
 of your face as you threw aside your 
 veil, and felt assm'ed it must be you, 
 notwithstanding you were a mere 
 child when I saw you last. How are 
 you all at home 1 Your mother — is 
 she living still 1 " 
 
 " Yes, uncle ; but she is very 
 feeble. This cold weather has in- 
 creased her cough, and she is only 
 able to sit up an hour or two during 
 the day. Annie never leaves her, 
 and I only go from home when it is 
 absolutely necessary. I have but one 
 errand to attend to for Lulu, and if 
 you will wait for me we will return 
 home immediately. Mother was say- 
 ing, only yesterday, that she feared 
 
CONCLUSION. 171 
 
 you had not received Aunt Winnie's 
 letter, or we should have heard from 
 you before this." 
 
 " I did receive it, but felt so anx- 
 ious to see your mother once more, 
 that I concluded to come myself, in- 
 stead of writing." 
 
 Seated in the car, Edith made 
 many inquiries after her aunt and 
 cousins, and also of their pleasant 
 prairie home. 
 
 " Does the farm look as it did 
 when I was there, — have you made 
 any alterations ] " 
 
 " Our house looks about the same, 
 except in being somewhat improved 
 by a few coats of paint and a new 
 set of blinds. But the old sheds are 
 removed, and I have two large barns 
 
172 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 built in their place. A broad av- 
 enue has been made from the house 
 to the road, and bordered on both 
 sides by thrifty trees. The flower- 
 garden has been enlarged to about 
 twice its original size, and is fenced 
 in by a thick hedge of Osage orange. 
 My two oldest boys are married, and 
 settled on farms of their own. Ma- 
 ry is engaged to a merchant in St. 
 Louis, and Willie and Sue will soon 
 be the only children left at home. 
 They are all anxious to see you, and 
 sent many messages of love and ur- 
 gent requests that you would visit 
 them again soon." 
 
 " I should like to do so, but can- 
 not think of leaving home at pres- 
 ent. Mother is so feeble that I feel 
 
CONCLUSION. 173 
 
 uneasy if I am obliged to be away 
 from her for only a few hours." 
 
 Uncle John was greatly overcome 
 by the change in Mrs. Clifford's looks, 
 and felt, with Edith, that she would 
 not live to see another spring. He 
 remained at Cedar Brook nearly a 
 week,— his presence a source of com- 
 fort and support to them all, espe- 
 cially to Mr. Clifford, who appeared 
 much broken since Frank's death, 
 and, added to this, his anxiety re- 
 specting the failing health of his 
 wife. 
 
 Elliot was a constant visitor, and 
 so was Grade, who was almost in- 
 separable from Lulu, — hardly a day 
 passing without their seeing each 
 other. Mr. Wentworth and his wife 
 
174 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 often came in of an evening, and 
 helped divert the thoughts of Mr. 
 Clifford from dwelling too much 
 upon his loss. 
 
 Mr. Scarrett did not long survive 
 his " boy," as he always called Frank. 
 When his summons came, it was 
 sudden and without pain. He was 
 sitting by the window, watching his 
 wife as she arranged some plants 
 upon a flower-stand near him. She 
 asked him some question respecting 
 one of the plants, but he made her 
 no reply. She repeated her question, 
 but still he did not answer. Some- 
 what surprised at his inattention, 
 she turned to ascertain the cause, 
 when she saw that his eyes were 
 fixed, his features rigid, and his fore- 
 
CONCLUSION. 175 
 
 head white and colorless as the thin 
 locks that rested upon it ! Gently, 
 without a sigh or a groan, the old 
 man had passed to his rest. 
 
 A few days after Uncle John left 
 Cedar Brook, Winnie was sitting in 
 her own room, her thoughts busy 
 with the changes that had taken 
 place in her sister's family within a 
 few months, when a knock at the 
 door aroused her from her reverie. 
 Answering her call, " Come in ! " 
 Edith entered, closed the door, and 
 drawing a low foot-stool close to 
 Winnie, laid her head upon her 
 lap. 
 
 "What is it, Edie ?" Winnie 
 asked, as she stooped to kiss Edith's 
 flushed cheek, — " are you troubled ? 
 
176 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 — has anything occurred to annoy 
 you 1 You look sad." 
 
 " I feel sad, auntie ; for I have just 
 returned from witnessing a scene I 
 shall not soon forget. I have been 
 with Elliot this afternoon to call 
 upon Tom Ryan, who sent me word 
 this morning that he was very anx- 
 ious to see Elliot and myself. After 
 dinner we started for the Point, and 
 found Tom at home, pacing up and 
 down his room, evidently much dis- 
 turbed and impatient for our arrival. 
 In answer to Elliot's inquiry if he 
 were sick or in trouble, he replied : 
 
 "'It's not for myself that I'm want- 
 ing you, — I'm well enough, and 
 above-board — likely to keep my head 
 out of water for some time yet ; — 
 
CONCLUSION. 177 
 
 but I want your help for a poor, mis- 
 erable fellow that, to all appearance, 
 is near his end, and is scared to 
 death at the idea of his ropes being 
 cut, and wants some one to pray with 
 him. I'm no hand at such business, 
 and he says he wont have none of 
 your ministers; so I made bold to 
 send for you — thinking maybe you'd 
 be willing to say the right word to 
 the poor soul, and ease him off a 
 little in his last hour.' 
 
 " ' Who is he, Tom ? and where is 
 he '? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' His name is Si Short — Bennie 
 
 Mead's old master; and he is in an 
 
 old shanty of an house in the next 
 
 street. I ran foul of him last night, 
 
 and picked him up out of a cellar 
 12 
 
178 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 he had tumbled mto. He struck 
 his back in falling, and I reckon he 
 broke it, for he's not been able to 
 move since. I lifted him in my arms 
 and carried him to a house near by, 
 and then went for a doctor. But he 
 didn't stay long. He said he could 
 do nothing for him, — the fellow 
 must die ; 'twarnt in man to save him. 
 So he left him some quieting-drops, 
 and went home again. I stayed 
 with the old reprobate all night, 
 and did what I could to ease him. 
 But he screeched and screamed and 
 swore till I was most crazed, and 
 couldn't stand it any longer ; then 
 I sent for you. He's considerable 
 quieter now ; but I judge from his 
 looks that he wont weather it long.* 
 
CONCLUSION. 179 
 
 " Rather reluctantly I followed 
 Tom and Elliot to a miserable look- 
 ing dwelling, filled with untidy, 
 coarse-featured women, and noisy, 
 dirty children. Passing by three or 
 four rooms, occupied by as many 
 different families, we followed Tom 
 up a dark, broken stairway, through 
 a narrow entry, to a low, back cham- 
 ber over the woodshed. In one cor- 
 ner, on a dirty straw bed, covered 
 with a ragged patch-quilt, lay the 
 most hideous looking object that I 
 ever saw. His face seemed scarred 
 and defaced by the traces left of 
 every evil passion, bloated with ha- 
 bitual drunkenness, and distorted by 
 fierce bodily and mental agony. 
 
 " Involuntarily I turned away, 
 
180 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 hardly able to endure the sight. 
 Tom approached the bed, and said : 
 
 " ' Look here, Si, — I've brought you 
 some one at last ^vho can pray with 
 you. You'd better take my advice, 
 and make the most of your time. 
 You'd better, too, be quiet as possi- 
 ble ; for if you screech and swear as 
 you did last night, this gentleman, 
 wont stand any such gammon, but 
 will leave you to make your own 
 prayers and die alone. Here, — take 
 some of these quieting-drops ; and 
 then make a clean breast, and tell 
 the gentleman what you want.' 
 
 " Stepping back, Tom placed a bro- 
 ken chair for Elliot beside the bed, 
 handed me one, and then took his 
 station bv the door. 
 
CONCLUSION. 181 
 
 " Elliot questioned the man a little 
 respecting his past life, and then 
 endeavored to ascertain what was 
 his present state of mind. At first 
 he refused to speak; but upon Elliot's 
 asking, ' What can I do for you '? * 
 he almost screamed : 
 
 " 'Do / do ! — why, do everi/thing ! 
 Cure me ; save me from dying ; pray 
 to the Lord for me, — tell him I must 
 live ! I'll promise anything, every- 
 thing, if he'll only let me ! I'll go to 
 church, I'll pray, I'll read the Bible, 
 I'll give up drink, if he'll make me 
 live. Just tell me that Til live, and 
 I'll crawl on my knees to thank you, 
 
 — I'll be your servant, your slave ; 
 for I tell you Pm not ready to die, 
 
 — I wont die I ' 
 
182 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 " ' I cannot deceive you, sir,' said 
 Elliot, in a firm tone. ' Your hours 
 are numbered ; and I pray you use 
 the little time allotted to you in 
 making your peace with God. Seek 
 pardon through Jesus Christ ; for he 
 is ready and willing to save to the 
 uttermost all that come unto God by 
 him. He will pardon you if you are 
 penitent, and seek in sincerity for 
 forgiveness of your past sins. His 
 blood alone can cleanse you and 
 wipe out all your guilt.' 
 
 " ' I can't pray, sir ; — I can't ask 
 pardon ! I only want to live, — I don't 
 care for anything else ! Say some- 
 thing to encourage me.' 
 
 " ' Let me repeat a few passages 
 from the Bible as an encouragement 
 
CONCLUSION. 183 
 
 for you to pray, — words of encourage- 
 ment to the vilest sinner, if he will 
 only give right heed to them,' said 
 Elliot, repeating many precious prom- 
 ises ; though constantly interrupted 
 by exclamations of impatience and 
 distress from the wretched man, who 
 seemed perfectly dead to every 
 thought and wish but the one desire 
 to live, even though that life might 
 be one of constant suffering. 
 
 "After repeating many texts, Elliot 
 asked, ^ Shall I pray with you 1 ' 
 
 " ' Yes, you may pray,' he an- 
 swered, impatiently ; ' but don't pray 
 for anything else only that the Lord 
 will spare my life. I can't die ! — I 
 wont die ! ' 
 
 " I shuddered at the fierceness with 
 
184 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 which he uttered these words, and 
 involuntarily exclaimed, ' Hush ! sir. 
 Your life is in God's hands, and 
 you must soon yield it up to him. 
 Do not waste your few precious 
 moments in such vain, rebellious 
 words ; but try to fly to Christ for 
 pardon while there is life and hope.' 
 
 " He only glared at me and ground 
 his teeth, and said, ' Don't talk to 
 me, — my tongue's my own. I must 
 live, and I will live ! ' 
 
 " Elliot kneeled on the bare floor, 
 and prayed fervently for the wretched, 
 dying man ; beseeching God to have 
 mercy on his soul, and even in the 
 eleventh hour to show his pardoning 
 
CONCLUSION. 185 
 
 mercy in the salvation of that poor, 
 unhappy sinner. 
 
 " I heard low sobs from Tom as 
 he stood near me, with his hat cov- 
 ered over his face, and my tears fell 
 fast as, in heart, I united with Elliot 
 in his supplications. 
 
 " "We remained but a short time 
 longer, for we could do him no good. 
 He bade us leave him, saying our 
 presence was only torture to him — 
 that he wished to be alone ; and if he 
 must die, would not have us there to 
 mock him. or rejoice over his agony. 
 
 " Tom went down stau*s to the 
 front door with us, shook us each by 
 the hand, thanked us warmly for 
 our kindness, and then returned to 
 
18!' CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 the dying man to watch by him 
 while he lived. It was a fearful 
 scene, auntie ; and I cannot help con- 
 trasting it with Bonnie's last hours 
 of bodily suffering, but most peaceful 
 death, and our dear Frank's happy 
 and triumphant one." 
 
 " I do not wonder at it, Edith. 
 It must be a fearful thing to die 
 and have nought to look back upon 
 but a sinful life unrepented of, — 
 with no Saviour to lean upon, no hope 
 for the future, no light beyond the 
 grave. And how fearful the retri- 
 bution that often overtakes one, even 
 in this world, for a life of disobe- 
 dience and sin ! Si Short's cruel 
 treatment of a poor orphan child 
 like Bennie, has no doubt met with 
 
CONCLUSION. 187 
 
 a righteous punishment in his own 
 bodily agonies ; and his violations of 
 the laws of God, in the still greater 
 agonies of his soul in the prospect 
 of death and an eternity beyond." 
 
 " And yet, auntie, I cannot help 
 asking myself, ' Who hath made me 
 to differ ? Why was not J born 
 in poverty, brought up in ignorance, 
 suffered to lead a life of crime and 
 degradation like him 1 AVhy have 
 I had Christian parents, who early 
 taught me to read and love the Bible, 
 to pray, to seek the Saviour, to pre- 
 pare for eternity '? ' Such thoughts 
 make me solemn, — make me feel 
 more earnest to live as I ought. May 
 the scene I have witnessed to-night 
 be a lesson to me to be up and 
 
188 CEDAR BROOK STORIES. 
 
 doing, to work while the day lasts, 
 and to diligently sow that good seed 
 which shall spring up and bear fruit 
 to life eternal." 
 
 With such purposes, and such 
 wishes for a life of piety and useful- 
 ness, we will now take our leave of 
 Edith and the rest of our young 
 friends at Cedar Brook. May the 
 same love of doing good, the same 
 simple, unobtrusive piety, that we 
 trust has been shown in the life of 
 Frank and his sisters Annie and 
 Edith, be experienced in the heart 
 and exhibited in the lives of all the 
 young readers of this series. And 
 may the same precious Saviour who 
 was the trust and stay of Bennie 
 and Frank in their last hours, be 
 
CONCLUSION. 189 
 
 also with each one to support and 
 strengthen them in their passage 
 through the darksome valley ; while 
 angels wait around to convey their 
 departing spirits to their heavenly 
 home. Then, in the sweet words of 
 Bonner, may we sing : 
 
 " None wanting yonder, — 
 
 Bought by the Lamb ! 
 All gathered under 
 
 The evergreen palm : 
 Loud as night's thunder 
 
 Ascends the glad psalm." 
 
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