The Fourth Watch | Page 8

boy."
"What is it?" questioned Nellie.
"It seems he has never been at school, and cannot read or write. He is
very anxious to learn, and his father, before his death, was giving him
some lessons. We must see that he has every chance to learn while with
us."
"But, father, there's no school in the district this winter, a most unusual
thing."
"Why not teach him at home, dearie?" and the parson looked into his

daughter's face. "Why not have a school here? We can give him a start
anyway, and he will not be too far behind the rest when next the public
school opens."
"Oh, that will be splendid!" exclaimed Nellie, "and may I be the teacher?
I always wanted to do something in that line, and may we begin
to-morrow?"
"Any time you like, dearie, and may God bless you, child, for your
interest in the boy. You remind me more and more of your dear
mother."
"And why should I not take an interest in him, father? He saved my life,
and, though I can never repay him, I should like to feel that I am doing
something. You know I read to Nora whenever I can, but this need not
interfere with that. And, oh, father, Stephen was here this afternoon,
and he's in great trouble."
"What's wrong, dearie?" questioned the parson, as Nellie paused and a
deep flush suffused her face.
"The Frenelle homestead is to be sold."
"What! do I understand you aright? Peter Frenelle's farm, that fine
property which he left free of debt when he died?"
"Yes, it's only too true. You know there has been a heavy mortgage on
it for several years, and as the interest has not been paid for some time
the mortgage has been foreclosed, and the place is to be sold."
"Dear me, dear me," and the parson leaned back in his chair and closed
his eyes, as he always did when in deep thought. "It's bad management,
that's what it is. Stephen has had a splendid start, and through
carelessness he has let everything go to ruin."
"Father, don't blame Stephen too much. He's only young, and had a
great responsibility placed upon his shoulders after his father's death."

"Blame him! Blame him! Why should I blame anyone?" and the parson
placed his hand to his forehead. "Stephen is as dear to me as my own
son--and I love him. But, oh, it is hard to see my old friend's farm go to
others. I have talked with Stephen time and time again. But he has not
taken the right grip of life. Poor Mrs. Frenelle, her heart must be broken.
And Nora, that dear invalid girl, how hard for her."
Nellie made no reply to her father's words. She sat looking into the fire.
Tears were in her eyes and her heart was heavy. Everything had seemed
so bright but a short time before, and now this dark cloud had arisen.
Oh, if Stephen would only bestir himself. They had known each other
from childhood. He had always been her hero. As a child her
day-dreams and fancies were woven about him. And as years advanced
their love for each other had increased. It was the natural blending of
two souls which had gradually and silently grown together in the bright
sunshine of happy youth.
A knock upon the door at the side of the house startled her. At once she
arose to ascertain its meaning, and shortly returned.
"Father," she said, "Billy Fletcher is very sick, and wishes to see you."
"Who brought word, my dear?"
"Hugh Peters. He called to see the old man as he was coming down the
road, and found him quite ill."
The effect of this message was quite magical. No longer was Parson
John the quiet fireside reader, but the true sympathetic pastor. He laid
aside his pipe, and at once arose from his comfortable chair. An
expression of loving concern overspread Nellie's face as she assisted
him on with his storm coat, and procured his cap, mittens and
overshoes. But no word of remonstrance came from her lips, no urging
him to put off his visit until the morning. From a child she had been
accustomed to these sudden calls to the side of departing parishioners,
to read the Word of life and at times to administer the Holy
Communion.

Her father's step was slow as of one much wearied, though his voice
was cheery and strong as he bade his daughter good-bye, seized the
small lantern she had lighted for him, and stepped out into the cold
night on his mission of love.

Chapter IV
The Warder of the Night
After her father's departure, Nellie sat before the fire engaged upon
some needlework. Occasionally her