i ——————————————— —_ ——— THE OLD HYMN. f sat within a vacant room, A low-ceiled room, quaint-shaped, oak- beamed, With windows looking off to sea, O'er which the sunset’s glory streamed. I watched the far-off flitting salls, And “Half-way Rock” that looming rose A tower from the heaving sea Whereon the scattered isles repose. * And some one near me gently played A dear old hymn that stirred heart; "Twas “Children King," of the Heavenly start. ¢ turn, And I a little child again, Oh! just once more to be that chlld, And know again the blissful rest sleep ‘With pillowed head upon his breast! But only vet a little while, Though earth may call it years that creep, I know he'll come #0 me again, And rock me to eternal sleep. —Mary Devereux, in script. fiboard ine Silver Siar. One rainy night, about half past » o'clock, the train had dashed into Me- Kibben‘s Corners, and the mail had been delivered at the store and post office. John Fairjohn, the postmaster, had opened the bag and counted the letters. There were, as he made it out, just ten had a red seal; and then he had found that he had left his on the newspaper in the back room, and with- out his glasses he could read a line: and so, of course, he had gone after them, returning to find two per- sons in the store—Farmer Roper and Squire McKibben, whose ancestors had given name to the place. “Wet, ain't it?" sald Mr. nodding. “Wet, or not, our folks ain't going to do without their groceries, you see’ said the squire. “Mail's in, I see. That train came near running into my truck, too. Wasn't noticing the flag, drove across just in time to save self. Any letters for me?” “I'1l see,” said Mr. Fairjohn. He turned to the little of en- velopes and them in hand like a pack of cards “Why, only nine,” he said. “I'm sure [I counted right. I counted ten, and I thought one had a res I might as well give up keeping the office if I'm going to lose my senses like that. There wasn't here while I was gone, squire?” “Only Roper and 1,” said the “and Roper’'s son. But he didn't in, did he?” “No,” old think Job came in at all. on somewhere” “Well,” said the postmaster, after another search, "well, 1 must mis- taken. Yes, there is a letter for you-— your folks, anyway-—and something for you, Mr, Roper. And I suppose yon wouldn't mind tossing that in at thes Smiths’ as you pass.” “Oh! no,” said Farmer Roper. “Give it to me. That's from Smith that's clerking it New York, I reckon. Can't get any of "em to stay and farm.” “Your son Job did,” said the squire. “Oh! my son Job. He'd try the pa- tience of his namesake said Farmer Roper. “My son Job! Bah-" Just at this moment the door of the store opened and there entered at a little woman, dressed in a cheap cali- co dress and wrapped in a thin and faded shawl. She looked timidly about the store, still more timidly at the heap of let- ters, and then in an appealing voice, like that of a frightened child, said “Mr. Fairjohn, is there any letter for me this time?” The postmaster, who was a little deaf, had turned his head away and did not know that she had entered, and she came closer to the counter and to the light upon it before she spoke again. She was a faded little woman. and her face had signs of grief written upon it, but she was not either old or ugly yet, and there was something io the damp curls clustering under the faded calico hood, and in the glasses not Fairjohn and "a my - 1 pile told over there's i i SOL one thers, any was Roper i He just said went be to like, even yet, “Is there any letters for me this time, Mr. Fairjohn?”’ she said again; and this time the postmaster looked up. for taking such a walk to ask,” said he, with rough kindness. Wouldn't | have sent It if it had a come, Mrs. Lester?” “Well, you see, I felt in a hurry to get it,” sald she. “You can’t blame me for being in a hurry; it's so long.” “That's true,” sald the postmaster. “Well, better Tuck next time. But why don't you wait? Mr. McKibben wiil take you over when he goes. [le passes your corner.” “Yes, walt, Mrs, Lester,” cried Mr. McKibben. “I'll take ye, and wel- come,” But she had answered: “Thank you. I don't mind walking,” and was gune, “Keeps it up, don't she?’ asked the postmaster. “It's a shame,” sald Mr. McKibben. “How many years is it now sines Les- ter went off 7" vin Pr “Ten,” sald the postmaster. “I know, for it was the day I came here, She was gs pretty a woman as you'd want to see then, wasn't she?” “Well, ves,” sald Mr. McKibben. “Sailed in the Sphynx,” sald the postmaster. “And we all know that the Sphynx went down in that voyag:., all hands along with her, The rest of the women put on widow's weeds, them that lost husbands--four in this town itself. They took what the Al- | mighty sent and didn't rebel. She i get up that her husband wasn't dead, and would come back. She's kept it | up ever since; come for his letters regu- lar: and he was drowned along wilh {all the rest, of coure, ten years ago. She must be 30, Well, she's changed | a good deal in that time.” “Yes,” sald the other old man; "but | there's my son Job, wild over her yet. | He's offered himself twice: He stands | ready to offer himself again any day ready to be a father to her boy and a | good husband to her. He's better off than I be. His mother’s father left { him all he had. He's crazy, is Job— crazy, I call it. Plenty of pretty gals {and healthy, smart widows; and he sees no one but that pale, slim, little thing { that's just going out into the mud; {and she i senses or she'd have him, ta slave to keep herself and the child, lives in a rickety waiting for a drowned Why, every was drowned " man | back ggain, { Charlie Lester Sphynx. There wasn't a | not cne. It was in the papers. i the bottle was found witn it, writ by just ship sunk, vet! yel in soul Now, a letter some And one she's waitin’ ~oint,’ cald the post. only “Crazy on that master. “Well, been married a week when the Sphynx sailed; that a difference.” “Oh, farmer Then, being they wagons, Mr the poor soul, she'd maxes yes,” said the their went Falrjohn, rainy shutters and went to parceis ready, to their and having awhile out stared out into put up his Meanwhile through th night bed, te woman on “Walking off her disappoint ment,” she sald to hee self, It was one she should have been used to, and now the absurdity of it seamed to strike her for the first time in all these years piodded mud. ghie muttered to laugh at me they t “They laugh at me,” know they Perhaps 1 am mad; but ! know what is. Charlie t have left me like that if he had died he have given me some sign, yet, if he were alive, it they herself. “I don’t love wouldn would and yet 3 would stranger are I wrong i{e must be dead.” nd a wugh the news had she gave a cry, been whi hands to her forehead 3 r knees in the road few m little mont nck oments and ihe nlerval ti ¢ nth clouds ‘from ne i ana W some poor There at the dc strong, determined 1 arose as she appro nis hand, Here you come, death. Jessie Lester, this nonsense and a iittle. Think an hour.” “I do think of you." can’t you give up think me, Jessie, for half ’ she said when I must seem so bad to you” Then she sat down on tl Lae head wearily against the wall of over and sat down beside her “Give it a softer resting place, Jea- sie,” he said, “heres on my heart” She looked out into the night, not at him, as he spoke are right, that he went down in Sphynx with the rest, ten years ago. But what good would I do yon? What do you want to marry me for?” The man drew cloger ANSWEr- ed “Before you married Charles Lester I loved you. All these tu since that vessel went in mid ocean, I've loved you. A man must have the woman he loves if he gives his sou! for her.” “What a horrible thing!’ “His soul?” “1 should have said his life” Job. "Il don’t want to shock you. as he years aown said sald to have you. thing for your boy.” “Yes,” she answered. would.” There was a pause. Then she gave him her hand. “Job,” she said, softly, “I shall pre- tend nothing I don’t feel, but I know I've been crazy all this time, and if you want me rou may have me. It's | very good of you to ove me 80." And thus it seemed to have ended, | that ten years’ watching and walitirg, {and there.was iriumph in Job's eyea as he turned away and left her with { his first kiss upon her lips. But at | the end of the green lane he paused j and looked back. “I told her the truth,” he sald, { “when 1 said that when a man loved ‘a woman as I love her, he must have ‘her, if the price were his soul itself.” { And then he drew from his breast a | letter with a great red seal upon it, i looked at it for a moment, and hid it | away again, Married? Yes, they were to be mar ried. Every one at McKibben’s Cor. ners knew that now. Jessie Lester went no more to the post office for her long expected letter. Job was furnish- ing his house— had furnished it, for on the morrow tne wedding was to take place. And it was night again. A { month from that night, when she bad “I know you coma jor the last time, as every one thought, through rain and mud, to make her sadly foolish query, she was sensible at last--very sensible, B8he had chosen the substance instead of the shadow, And now, as we said, it was night, and a wetter one than the other--later, too, for Mr. Fairjohn had closed the store, and was compounding himseil what he called a “nightcap.” of warm water, lemons and sugar, and was sup- ping It by the stove, when there came upon his door a feeble knock, and when, being repeated, he heard it, there staggered out of the rain a drip- ping figure—that of Jessie Lester, the bride who was to be on the morrow, She was trembling with cold, and as he led her to the fire she burst into a flood of tears, “I'm frightened,” she said, one followed me all the way. them." “You've no business to be out alone at night,” said old Falrjohn, bluntly, “And what's the matter?” She looked up at him piteously. “1 thought there would be a letter,” sald she. “I dreamt there was one, | thought Charlie came to me and said: to the office once more. 1 have written, I have written,” And I thought lI saw a with a red seal” "Bo did 1,” muttered oid Fairjohn to himself, He went ters were her in his “Some I heard Go letter the box where the let- and brought them to to kept, hand 1p + yourself.” he an for sald. “And Mrs outer, | old man Remember what your Remem Ten years have band left this pla 1, and you "Look now, 'm Take my advice duty will be after ber gO gone sine If he's all free of him by ut we it TOW Jihad not to are all man drowned He ye board the Sphynx every a good wife this folly. I'll this Don't Roper and forget take time come you home again again.’ “1 seemed it had a red seal And as glancing Ow there, spoke, old Falrjohn, aw a dark shad- grow darker, saw starting up on bh de 118 war, recognized Joo it the door, saw it it enter, fense, if Roper He and, peat he took but, crossing Jessie Leater, man best, even now,” have found a though to- no the whe very pale. and rather than not vd ding day y to his face with a 4, Job,” sald she, man would lose his as mine” sald he ose were {dle words? his hand instant lay in Jesale's lap. happy, and now I'll Fairjohn, 1 month ago off J who glance,” and then the door hind But and never And old Feirjohn read over her shouldes “Aboard the Silver “Jessie, darling I aon't know what makes me belleve that I shall find yom still, after all these years, but something does “Five of island when The unged into hi the next seal tA ween » m Aae yon said stole that the counter it langed be I knew wmte at a him and he was gor Jessie had torn open the letter 1. fs , y looked after him. these were the words she read, Sap SLAT desert down off Us were cast on a the Sphynx went two yet alive were taken to England Jessie, If 1 you 1 shall our knees We must first-—