On Picket Duty, and Other Tales | Page 7

almost killed me; but I managed to bear it, for I knew
most of the fault was mine; but it was awful bitter to think I hadn't
saved her, after all."
"Oh, Thorn! what did you do?"
"Went straight after her; found her dancing in Philadelphia, with paint
on her cheeks, trinkets on her neck and arms, looking prettier than ever;
but the innocent eyes were gone, and I couldn't see my little girl in the
bold, handsome woman twirling there before the [**] She saw me,
looked scared at first, then smiled, and danced on with her eyes upon
me, as if she said,--
"'See! I'm happy now; go away and let me be.'
"I couldn't stand that, and got out somehow. People thought me mad, or

drunk; I didn't care, I only wanted to see her once in quiet and try to get
her home. I couldn't do it then nor afterwards by fair means, and I
wouldn't try force. I wrote to her, promised to forgive her, begged her
to come back, or let me keep her honestly somewhere away from me.
But she never answered, never came, and I have never tried again."
"She wasn't worthy of you, Thorn; you jest forgit her."
"I wish I could! I wish I could!" in his voice quivered an almost
passionate regret, and a great sob heaved his chest, as he turned his face
away to hide the love and longing, still so tender and so strong.
"Don't say that, Dick; such fidelity should make us charitable for its
own sake. There is always time for penitence, always a certainty of
pardon. Take heart, Thorn, you may not wait in vain, and she may yet
return to you."
"I know she will! I've dreamed of it, I've prayed for it; every battle I
come out of safe makes me surer that I was kept for that, and when I've
borne enough to atone for my part of the fault, I'll be repaid for all my
patience, all my pain, by finding her again. She knows how well I love
her still, and if there comes a time when she is sick and poor and all
alone again, then she'll remember her old John, then she'll come home
and let me take her in."
Hope shone in Thorn's melancholy eyes, and long-suffering
all-forgiving love beautified the rough, brown face, as he folded his
arms and bent his gray head on his breast, as if the wanderer were
already come.
The emotion which Dick scorned to show on his own account was
freely manifested for another, as he sniffed audibly, and, boy-like, drew
his sleeve across his eyes. But Phil, with the delicate perception of a
finer nature, felt that the truest kindness he could show his friend was
to distract his thoughts from himself, to spare him any comments, and
lessen the embarrassment which would surely follow such unwonted
confidence.

"Now I'll relieve Flint, and he will give you a laugh. Come on Hiram
and tell us about your Beulah."
The gentleman addressed had performed his duty, by sitting on a fence
and "righting up" his pockets, to beguile the tedium of his exile. Before
his multitudinous possessions could be restored to their native sphere,
Thorn was himself again, and on his feet.
"Stay where you are Phil; I like to tramp, it seems like old times, and I
know you're tired. Just forget all this I've been saying, and go on as
before. Thank you, boys! thank you!" and with a grasp of the two hands
extended to him, he strode away along the path already worn by his
own restless feet.
"It's done him good, and I'm glad of that; but I'd like to see the little
baggage that bewitched the poor old boy, wouldn't you, Phil?"
"Hush! here's Flint."
"What's up naow? want me tew address the meetin', hey? I'm willin',
only the laugh's ruther ag'inst me, ef I tell that story; expect yeu'll like it
all the better fer that." Flint coiled up his long limbs, put his hands in
his pockets, chewed meditatively for a moment, and then began with
his slowest drawl--
"Waal, sir, it's pretty nigh ten year ago, I was damster daown tew
Oldtaown, clos't tew Banggore. My folks lived tew Bethel; there was
only the old man, and Aunt Siloam, keepin' house fer him, seein' as I
was the only chick he hed. I hedn't heared from 'em fer a long spell,
when there come a letter sayin' the old man was breakin' up. He'd said
it every spring fer a number er years, and I didn't mind it no more'n the
breakin' up er the river; not so much jest then; fer the gret spring drive
was comin' on, and my hands