Part 13 (2/2)

”So I will tell you. I am a stock-maker--those things the gentlemen wear round their necks. And it is very curious how I learned the trade. A lady from New York--oh, she is a lady!--came up here on a visit, and for work she brought along some stocks to make. She lives in New York. I believe she keeps a few boarders, and makes stocks. She is a widow lady, quite young, and very pretty, only she is in bad health; she has no family, only her uncle, who is an old bachelor--a nice old gentleman, who has adopted her as his daughter, and is going to give her all he has when he dies. She has no father and mother, as I have, and no brothers and sisters; n.o.body to love but the old uncle--he does love her, so do I. I did not at first. I was afraid of her. I thought she was some grand city lady; and she used to sit and sew in her room, only when her uncle--Papa she calls him, and he calls her daughter--'Athalia, daughter,' so sweet; is it not a sweet name? Her name is Athalia Morgan--”

”Morgan, Morgan--Athalia Morgan. I will warrant it is she. Don't you remember, wife, that old Morgan, the great s.h.i.+pping merchant? his son married a sewing girl, and his sister married George Wendall.”

”Oh, oh, how singular! It was she that was talking when Maggie took me into the temperance meeting that night, telling how her husband died.

And now Maggie has met with another of the family. And her husband must be dead too.”

”Yes, he died just as miserable a death as Wendall. Let us read on and see what of his wife. I hope he did not drag her down with him as I did mine.”

”James, James, you are not to speak of anything that is past.”

”Well, well,” and he brushed away another tear and read on:

”After she had been here a few days, our folks told her about me, and how I used to run the streets, and how I got into the House of Industry, and how they got me from there, and what a good girl I had been--yes, they did--and then Mrs. Morgan, she began to talk to me so kindly; and then I told her everything about myself, and some about you, and she told me a great many things about herself. Oh, it would be such a story to put in a book. And then she grew as fond of me as I was of her. And every day when I had my work done, and every evening, I used to be up in her room, and she showed me all about her work, and I used to help her, and now she declares that I can make just as good a stock as she can, and almost as fast. She can make eight in a day; when I help her, odd times and evenings, she can make twelve. Last week she made, with what I did, seventy-two, and put them all in a box. How nice they do look! That is seventy-two York s.h.i.+llings--nine dollars! And she says when I come home to live, she will recommend me--I must have a good recommend to get work--when I can get just as much such work as I can do. Oh, but she is a good woman! I guess you would cry though as much as I have, to hear her story. I will tell it you some day. Mrs. Morgan is going down to-morrow. I wish I was.

But I cannot. In two months my time is up; then you will see me. Now, good night. Say 'good by' to Tom for me. Kiss mother, father, and ever love your

”MAGGIE.”

”Oh, James, something tells me that if she don't come before that, I never shall see her. But you will be happy with her. You will live a long life, I hope, for her to bless and comfort you in your old age. You are not so old and so broken down as I am.”

”All my fault, all my fault. If I had treated you as a rational man should treat a wife, you would not be so broken down now.”

”You must not look back. Look ahead and aloft. Think what a treasure of a daughter you have got. How I should like to see her once more before I go to my rest, and give her my blessing; and oh! how I should like to see that blessed woman, that Mrs. Morgan. I want to bring her and Elsie together, and make peace on earth as there will be in heaven, where I hope to meet them both. They will soon follow. This life, at best, is short. Mine will be, I am sure.”

”Don't have such gloomy forebodings, wife; it seems to me that you were never in better health.”

”I know it, and never more happy.”

This was on Thursday evening. On Sat.u.r.day evening everybody was astonished to see Maggie come bounding in, with a step as light and quick as a playful lamb.

”Where's mother? Is she well? Has anything happened? Where is father? Is everything all right with him?” were the questions she asked, in such rapid succession that n.o.body could answer any one of them.

”Where is Tom? Is he well? Where is Mr. Pease and Mrs. Pease? Are they well? Is mother in the kitchen?”

”Yes, yes, yes, yes, to the whole string.”

Away she went, three stairs at a time, and then she almost overwhelmed her mother with kisses and questions; and up she went to the third story, and there was father in his room, reading the Bible. When had she ever seen that before? The last time she saw him, he was so dreadfully intoxicated that he did not know his own child, that was lifting him out of the gutter. Now he was sober, well clothed, cheerful, and happy.

As she opened the door he read:

”Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling?

who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes?

”They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine.

”Look not thou upon the wine when it is red; when it giveth his color in the cup; when it moveth itself aright.

”At the last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.

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