Image provided by: Santiam Historical Society; Stayton, OR
About The Stayton mail. (Stayton, Marion County, Or.) 1895-current | View Entire Issue (Jan. 15, 1904)
f é c o n d C o u s in ^ a r a h S BY m t AVTHOH o r " A N N E J I D E E . S r i N S T E K . " " LIT T L E BATE B I R B V . " E TC .. ETC. C H A P T E R II.— {Continued.I Hedge Hill was a staring edifice o f con siderable proptirtion«, with an aspect of newness about it that fourteen years had not done inueh to soften. It had been built to the order of the preaeut proprie tor. who had made much money bjr cot ton stockings, and had risen from twen ty shillings a week at the loom to the splendor of his present life. It was a new house to suit the new man who had been lucky enough to get rich. There were spacious grounds beyond, and then« was a big room at the side, that was new to Reuben Culwick since he had last stood in his father's house, and it was this that he pulled up his horse to in spect before turning Into the carriage dries. Then he went rapidly along the drire, drew up in front o f the house, and step ped lightly and briskly from the trap, giving the reins to a rosy-faced voung man in livery, who emerged from some stabling in the rear, to be of service to the newcomer. “ Old Jones has gone, then?" he said to the servant. “ Yes, sir. H e’ s with Squire Black of Holston.” “ And you reign in his stead. Well, we cannot all reign.” He knocked and rang, looking stead ily through the glass doors the while. Another new face— a smart young house maid. whom he had never seen before, to replace Mrs. Forking, who was stout and sallow, came to the door and admitted him. “ Is Mr. Cnlwick in?” “ Yes. sir. but he's engaged just now.” “ You will be kind enough to give him my card?” The maid servant took the card nnd departed, and Reuben Culwick, like the merest stranger, and feeling like a stran ger, very doubtful of his reception, walk ed up and down the spacious hall with his hauds behind him, and bis hat in his hands. Presently the servant reappeared. “ W ill you step this way, if you please, sir?” Reuben followed the servant along a corridor to a door at the extremity— the door of the new room, he was certain. WJ jM S What do you propose doing now that you an* here? 1 suppose, after all that has passed, you have no intention o f sitting down in the house nnd waiting compla cently for my death and my money?” the father inquired. “ You told me that I should never have a penny of your money, if you remember, sir. I have never expected it after that day," said Reuben Culwick. “ Why should you?" said Mr. Culwick in a loud tone o f voice, and yet without betraying any passion. “ Have 1 been known in all my life to break my word? 11ns not sticking to my word, through thick and thin. In evil re|>ort and good report, made me what I am? I would rather break my own heart than break my word. You know it,” said the father boastfully. “ F ifty hearts as well as your own— yes, I know it," answered the other, with an unflinching gate at his father, "nnd hence I come to you— not for assistance, l don’t want it; not for affection, 1 don’t expect it— but with the simple motive, which I hope that my letter conveyed to you last week, to see you, to express sor row for a long alienation, to feel glad that you are well, to tell you that 1 am not unhappy, and to go away again.” The son’s tones seemed to impress the father, who subsided into his easy chair, from wlih-h he had leaned forward, as if cowed by the cold, clear-ringing tones of the voice which fell upon his ears, n voice which subdued him, and an arro gance that had always been difficult to quell— which touched him. though he never owned that— which made him even prouder of his son. though the time nev er caine for him to own that, either. The young woman in the background leaned forward with clasped hands until he caught her glance again, when she once more turned her eyes upon her book. “ H ave you made your fortune?” asked the father, in a different voice. “ On the contrary, I have been some what unsuccessful." “ How do you live?” “ 1 write— a little.” he added modestly. “ It is a long story, that would scarcely interest you.” “ It would not interest me in the least.” There was another long pause, during “ W H O A R E YOU ?” D E M A N D E D R E U B E N . from his old remembrance of the house. The door was opened and his name an nounced, and he felt that he was passing into a spacious apartment, the walls of which were bright and rich with many pictures, and the ceiling paneled and massive, with ground glass in the panels, for the proper transfusion of light on Mr. Simon Culwick’ s “ collection.’ When Simon Culwick had lost his son Reuben, he had taken to the “ masters." ancient and modern, and given them all the love that was in his heart. But it was not at the paintings which enriched the walls that Reuben Culwick gazed with so much of curious earnest ness, but at the big broad-faced man sit ting before the fire in a capacious leath ern chair, and who was looking curiously and steadily at him. There was a pret ty. fair haired young woman, in gray tllk. sitting at the table in the recess of a bay window, reading, and Reuben was con scious of her presence— that was all. She rose not at his entrance, only looked to ward him with a certain degree of curi osity as he advanced, and then turned to the pages of her book as he held his hand out to his father. “ So you have thought of me at last, have you?” was rolled out in a gruff bass, as a large, white gouty-looking hand w as placed in that of his son. "S o I have come back at last,” answer ed Reuben Culwick. “ You can sit down,” said the father. “ Thank you,” said the son. This was the meeting after five years’ absence— the calm after the great storm which hnd happened in that house five years ago. This was the home that the son had never liked, and that he felt he did not like now, although he had come to it of his own free will. There was a pause, during which each man took stock of the other without any particu lar reserve. “ I got your letter,” said the father, “ and I might have sent the carriage for you had it not rained so much.” "T h e horses might have caught cold in stead of me," said the son dryly; "but I didn’t want the carriage. I was glad that I had not further to go last night than Worcester.” H e looked toward the lady In the bay window at this juncture, and his father noticed the wandering gaze, and paid no attention to the hint which It conveyed. “ W ell, what have yew been doing? which the son, still at his ease, still singu larly hard, despite his respectful man ner. glanced round at the pictures on the walls, admired them even, secretly but not enviously, wondered at their cost, and looked once more in the direction of the lady, whose jiensive face and quiet grace he admired also, and at whose presence he wondered in a greater degree, though he repressed all exhibition of surprise. Suddenly the father said, with that sin gular abruptness characteristic of the man: “ You can stay here if you like.” "F o r how long?” asked the son, sur prised at last out of his assumption of stoical composure. “ T ill we disagree again,” said the fath er, with a short, forced laugh; “ that will not be many days, I suppose?” “ One moment, sir,’’ said Reuben Oul- wick, with grave politeness. " A mis take parted us, and we are laying the foundation of another already, unh-ss I explain the first.” "G o on.” " I was hardly twenty-one— a rash nnd foolish young fellow— when you wnnted me to marry your friend’s daughter.” “ You would have been rich— you would have been respected— it would have been for the best.” “ I refused to entertain the proposal, if you remember.” “ Remember! remember It!” cried the father, turning pale with anger; “ do you rake this up again to Insult me?” “ No, to enlighten you,” said the other; “ at that period, Mr. Culwick, I had prom ised my mother that I would not marry the lady.” I was a willful lad who had not been brought up well or looked after carefully, nnd I hnd Ix-en only taught to fear you. My mother, who hail been separated from you for some yearn, 1 wns learning to re spect then. When we quarreled. I went to take care of her ns well ns I could. 1 wns with her when she died." "Y'ou know how I hated your play act ing mother—-how she hated me. Why do you tell me that you sided with her, when i it would be so much the lietter policy to I keep this to yourself?” said the father, 1 bitterly. “ Because I am not afraid of you any longer— because I see now where you were wrong.” “ And you expect me to forgive this de ceit, ns old men do nt the end of u piny?” "O r toward the end of their liyea,” add ed Reuben. "D on ’ t tnlk to me of the end o f my life,” he cried; “ I dnre sny you have thought enough of it have considered that it would be ns well to sink vour cursed pride and your curseder temper, and come here in prodigal son fashion. But it won’t do; I'm not n man to be hoodwinked in tlint way.” “ I nut not sorry to have seen you. fath er,” said Reuben, rising; “ I came out of my way— a long way out o f it— to reach Worcester. I am glad to find you •veil, tJood day.” He extended his hand again, but this time his father refused to take It. “ Y’ ou have come out o f your way to give me a fresh wound, that's all." said the father, sullenly, “ slid you have done it effectually. I don’t want you to trou ble me again. Y’ ou will not come here again at my invitation. I can't forgive you— why should 1? I never forgave anybody. I never forgave your mother. Y’ our two aunts offended me yesrs ago, you know. Have I ever forgiven them? One died Inst summer, nnd I wouldn't go to see her-—wouldn’t go near her— and the other one in in St. Oswald's alms houses, blind as a bat. nnd living on eight shillings a week. Eight shillings a week, and those pictures there cost me eighty thousand pounds.” “ A good Investment.” said Ileubtn Cul wick, coolly, and critically looking round the walls; “ they will increase in value year by year, sir.” As he looked round he became aware, for the first time, that the Indy iisthe bay window had disappeared. She had pass ed from the room silently, through n sec ond door at the extremity of the picture gallery. “ And I never gave her a |x-nny in my life,” added Mr. Culwick, senior. “ Poor old Sarah— blind is she? and in the almshouse, too! I nm sorry. I liked old Sarah,” said Reuben; “ she wns one o f the few friends I hnd when I wns n boy, nnd when you were not rich. But I nm detaining you, and I nm pledged to rench Ixindon to-night, (lissl by again.” When he had reached the door, Simon Culwick called out his game, nnd Reu ben paused and turned. “ I am not deceitful." said the father, “ and I may ns well tell you that I have made my will, and thnt you will never be a penny the better for it. It is all left — all.” he added, "aw ay from an unduti- ful son.” There was a moment’s pause, and then Reuben Culwick quitted his father's pres ence nnd closed the door after him. Ho went from the room into the corridor, nnd thence along its entire length to the din ing room, where he threw himself Into a chair with so thoughtful a mien thnt hs wns not for the moment aware that the young lady in gray silk whom he hnd seen in the bny window wns stepping back from the big fleecy mnt nt the door, to allow o f his egress. When he snw her, she put her finger to her lips, nnd h# repressed nn exclamation of surprise. “ Go back." she said, with nn excite ment that astonished him; “ don't give up— don't leave him like that— it's your last chance.” “ Y'ou have been listening,” said Reu ben. coldly. " T o every word," wns the honest con fession; “ and you have not snid a word to please him, and much to offend. Why did you come, if in no better spirit than this? Go back to him. Tell him how sorry you nre for everything—do some thing liefore you go thnt will leave be hind a better impression,” she urged again. “ No, I can't go back.” “ You are ns hard ns he is," she cried; “ ns If it mattered what you said to him — as if it were not worth n struggle to regain your position here!” (»rasping her wrists, while her hands covered her face to hide It from his fierce gaze, Reuben exclaimed in n wondering tone, “ Who are you?” “ Only the housekeeper, sir,” she snid, quaintly; "keeping house for Simon Cul wick— and in your place. You should hate me as n usurper already," she add ed. mockingly, “ if you hnd any spirit in you.” “ The housekeeper— yes— but-----” he said wonderingly. nnd without regarding her strange taunts. “ I wns not aware A IRK.III IN lilt AIK. Men who clliuli steeples and venture out on rickety cornices and up trem ulous chimneys for u livin g have good control o f their nerves, and nt critical moments their seif possession does not fall them. But they ndnilt, snys the New York Sun, thnt they sometimes get frightened. One o f these steeple jacks gives ii recent case In is.lnt. Th ere wns n pretty lively wind, he snid. It wnsn't much dow n on the ground, but up where I wns, Just be low the big gilt bull on n Newark church spire. It wns pretty bothersome. It was nil the time trying to whirl tne round nnd round the spire. Th e spire wasn't more than live or six feet In cir cumference up where I wns. Th e pnlnt w as nearly worn off, nnd actually the winds hnd sort o f senrrisl the spire In circle«, belt like, from the coiistunt w hirling round nnd round. The wind pushed me and Joggled me for Hit hour or more. I should not have gone up thnt morning, anyhow. I might have known It wns too windy. But I wns noxious to get through, utul so I stuck to It. A t lust this funny feeling, which I can't very w ell describe to anyone who husn't felt It, cante down on me with n rush. Th e blood went to my heud and my ears buzzed l knew I'd got to get out o f thnt, so hs carefu lly ns I could I let m yself down to the first window, ubout forty feet below I craw led through somehow nnd sat down on h cross beam. I suppose I sat there h alf nn hour, resting and trying to find myself. Then I went back and worked my w ay up closer and closer to the big gilt ball. T h e scare was coming on ngnln. when I happened to notice something odJ In the ball, which took my mind off everyth ing els«*. I saw an odd looking hob* In the ball, n sort o f longish hole, hs If n big worm had burrowed Into the wood; but I knew no worm ever got up there, nnd I could see thnt the hole had been made since the ball wns put up. I found nnother, and finnlly n third. 1 sut In my sw ing and examined them curiously for some time before I made them out. I knew s«imethlng atxiut the history o f that church and Its spire, and I could figure thnt thnt ball hnd lnH*n there at leust noventy- flve yrars. Then 1 rememl»ered that down In the green stretch lieslde the church the young folks o f the city had gathered on the night before the Fourth o f July during the last seventy five years or so. T h ey came with guns nnd pistols, and ns I thought o f this, I realized thnt these three holes w ere bullet holes. W ell, thinking o f this, I forgot all nlsitit my fright, and did not think o f It ngnln until I wns down on the ground; nnd I don't know hut thut those bullet-holes saved my life. Mrs. Anderson, a prominent society woman of Jacksonville, Fla., daughter of Recorder of Deeds, West, says: *• Th«*re an* but few w ives and mothers w ho have not at times en dured agonies uud such pain a* o nly women know of. I wish such women knew the value o f I .y d lu K . IM lik - liutu’s V c g a t a b l « C o m p o u n d . It la a rem arkable medicine, differen t in action from any other 1 ever knew uud thoroughly reliable. “ I have w*i*n cases where women diM-torod for years w ithou t |M *riuaueut benefit who were cured ill less than three months ufU*r ta k in g your V ege table Compound, w hile others w ho were chronic and Incurable came out cure«!, happy, nnd in perfect health after a thorough treatm ent w ith thin medicine. I have n«*v«*r u s e d it m yself w ithout ga in in g gr<*at IsMieflt. A few «loses restores tuy strength nnd appetite, and tones up the entire system. You r nu*diein<* has b«*eu tried and found true, hence I fu lly endorse It.” — Mas. R. A. A n o k m o . k . 225 Wash ington Nt., Jock son vi lie, F la .— {Soon f » l t I f o rig in a l o f a b o o t to o U m o vta J p ro v in g gmnv- n o u va n not bo p ru A u rvV t T h f i ' f x p c r t r n o f nm! t e s t i m o n y o f nohm * o f tli«*m«ist note«l w o m e n o f A m e r l c H g o to p r o v e , lxevond a «lu e a flo n , tlmt L y d ia 1!. IMnW- hinii’a V e g c tn b l«« ( 'oni|«oiiii<l w i l l c o r r e c t nil s u c h trn iild o at o n c e l>v r e m o v i n g the enuac, und r«w s t o r i n g tlx* o r g a n s to u h i withy a m i noriu.il c o n d i t i o n . "D oes your daughter’ s husband lo v « h«*r ns devotedly ax ever?" “ H e doe» when I ’ m around,” replied her daugh ter’ s husband's mother Lu law, grim ly. —-Houston Font. It's no sign that sto«'ks are feverish because they absorb w ater fr«*eljr. I f a woman hesitates It must be o w ing to an Impediment In her spweb. Very Pleasant r.lectlooecnng. In Mouth Austruila female suffrage has lieen in operation for some tim e. A mcinlxT of the Com m onavalth Far- liam eiit, anxious to aw«*rtain the liest mode of upproucliing the woman voters in his constituency, sought the advice of an experienced South Australian legislator. “ How do you plcniw them? Do you kiss the baby?’ ’ “ No, s ir,” mum the candid reply, “ we kiss the electo r.” O l d e s t l■'alllll)r In t h e W o r l d . O f the 400 barons In the British House o f Ixtrds about n dozen o f them date Itnck to IB »», the enrlhsd lM*lng 1904. Tin *oldest fa m ily in tb s Briti-h Isles Is the Mnr fam ily tn Scotland, I0l»3. Th e Campbells, o f Argyle, !*•- gnn Is Ills ). TalleyTnnd dabs« from 1100, und Bismarck from Tho Groavenor fam ily, the Duke o f W est minster, 10*1*1; the Austrian house o f Hnpsburg goes b ac k to pT.” , ami the house o f Bourbon to N04. Th e deBccud- nnts o f Mohammed, born 570, are all r«*glst«-red carefu lly nnd authorita tively In n book In Mecca by a chief o f the fam ily. I.lttle or no ik.uht ex ists o f the alteolute authenticity o f the long line o f Mohammed's dcnrcndnnts. In Chinn there are many old families, also among the Jews. But In point o f pedegreea the Mikado o f Japan has a unique record. Ills place has lieen filled by members o f his fam ily for more than 2..VX» years. Th e present Mikado Is the 122d In the line. The first one wns contemporary with Ne- buchadnezznr flOl years before Christ. The Masculine Theory. W ife — I wonder why the fashions for women change so often? Husband— Frobably for the purpose of enabling them to correspond w ith the fem inine mind, my dear. Horrible Thought. H ere's an astrologer who predicts that K in g Edward is shortly to pasa through u lot of trouble, a dark cloud hanging over the em pire. Home hor rible calam ity, d on 't you know. I 'l l lift A lfred Austin is w ritin g an other isle.— Life. ABSOLUTE SECURITY. G e n u in e A (Quaint P eo p le. Th e heart o f Brlttarry never changes, but Its face Is rapidly losing tnnny o f Its prominent characteristics with the levelin g influence o f the Frxaieh repub lic. It la only far out o f the ls-aten track, now, or on special occasion« like H unt B ear Signature o f ; fet«w, that you see unlv<*ranlly the coa- tnines and customs o f the old Armorl- can peninsula. Only nn hour's Journey from (Julmper, the modernized chief tow n o f Fin 1st ere, nnd you are among Aee Pec-SI mil* Wrapper the Blgoudlnes, a people w ho** ilrxws suggests the Eskimos nnd Chinese, I T a p ) e ssa li e n d ■ w hose faces are strongly Mongolian In I to U k e M n g x i. type, nnd who In langunge, customs and beliefs seem to have no r«*latlon FOR HEADACHE* w ith the reet o f France. More and FOR DIZZINESS. more the picturesque problem they pre FOR BILIOUSNESS. sent 1« com ing to attract attention. A r FOR TORPID LIVER. tiste, students nnd tourists alike are FOR CONSTIPATIOR. fascinated by It.— Century. "W h y should you be awnre o f anything about me, you who are ns quarrelsome and strange as your father, nnd have kept away so long? There, go home nnd think of the best way to bring that old man to his senses.” “ And interfere with your chance,” said Reuben, lightly. He wns in better spir its already, and the mid manner o f ¿hi» young Indy interested him. “ I have no chance,” she answered, "or I should not be very anxious for you to get back. I should be too selfish— I should try nnd keep you away, being as fond o f money ns your father Is.” “ I hardly believe this.” "M r. Reuben Culwick can believe ex actly what he pleases,” snid the young T o o H ig h to B e lo n g to A n y th in g. lady, spreading out her skirts nnd mak "H e Is worth 0100,000,000, the most ing him a very low obeisance, which he felt bound to return, after which he o f which he stole.” "G racious! And he belongs to the wonld have continued the conversation had she not darted out of the door and church?" disappeared. “ Oil, no, the church belongs to him.” (T o be continued.) — Fuck. C H A P T E R III. The effect of Reuben Culwick’s an nouncement upon his father was remark able. The big man rose from his chair with his two large hands clenched, and his face of a deep purplish hue, and glared at his son in speechless wrath. Then he sank slowly and heavily into his seat again, and panted for awhile. The dark coloring left the face, but the bushy black brows retained their lower curves over the eyes, and the mouth wns hard and fixed, until the lips parted slightly to allow a few words to escape. “ And this is the first time you tell me T o see what la right, and not to do It, j A fte r a woman geta on the shady that you were in league with your moth Is want o f courage, or o f principle.— aide o f 40 she speaks o f herself and er r 1 fw n a l* friends as “ us g ir l«." “Yea," answered Reuben, politely. “ I Confucius. Carter's Little Liver Pills. CARTERS V lT T L E IVER PILLS. ■ w. a FOR SALLOW SKIR. FOR THECOMPLIXIOI O M t U I I WWBTNAVIJB^MATUMt. «r a ^ F w r e ly CURE SICK HEADACHE.. P IS O S C U R E F O R 4/Ì B est In «Im *. %¡ fNj 4IHUI «NU I AJI USI ÍA Ilt . T u l a * U o o d . D ee Sold hy d r a g g t w . Cough Syrup. i/? I ( 1 m