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About The daily reporter. (McMinnville, Or.) 1886-1887 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 16, 1887)
reai. was leu eeiweun ¿nedr. &Uen a
cloud often rises— a mist that eomes
just before the day-dawn; or, as hap
pens sometimes, before night.
D. C. IRELAND A CO. PUBLISHERS,
For many days—bow many I do not
McMinnville, Or. - - Feb. 16, 1887 recollect, since about this time all in the
house and in the world without seemed
to go ou so sWaogely— for many days
afterward nothing happened of any eon-
sequence, except that on Sunday after
noon I made a faint struggle of polite
ness in some remark about "going
home” and “eneroaching on their hos
pitality,” which was met with such evi
AN OLD GOVERNESS’S TALE- dent pain and alarm by all parties, that
I was silent; 3® we stayed yet longer.
One morning—it was high summer
FOUNDED ON FACT.
now—we were sitting at breakfast; we
Mrs. Sutherland never
rose early, i was making tea, zuian
near me, and Mr. Sutherland at the foot
ol the table. He looked anxious and
RY MISS MU LOCK.
• ■~VTry~uirrycnrnoc reii me, my dear.'' did not talk much, though I remember
said I; “you know your happiness is of he rive up once to throw a handful of
the first importance to me as well as to crumbs to a half-tame thrush that had
your guardian.” And, rather hesitat built in a laurel-bush on the lawn—he
was always so kind to every living
ing, I repeated, word by word, as near thing!
• - -
as I could, Mr. Sutherland’s message.
"There, my fine bird, take some food
While 1 spoke Zillah hid her face
among the cushions, and then drew it homo to your wife and weans!” said he,
pleasantly; but at the words, became
out burning red.
“He thinks I am going to accept the grave, even sad, once more. He had
creature then? He would have me his letters beside him, and opened
marry a conceited, chattering, mean them successively until he came to one
looking, foolish boy!” (Now Mr. —a momentous one, I knew, for though
French was certainly twenty-five.) he never moved, but read quietly on,
“One, too, that only wants me for my every ray of color faded out of his face,
fortune and nothing else. It is very lie dropped his head upon his hand, and
wrong, cruel, and heartless of him, ana sat so long in that attitude tnat we
were both frightened.
you may go and tell him so.”
“Is anything the matter?” I said;
“Tell who?” said I, bewildered by this
outburst of indignation, and great con gently, for Zillah was dumb.
“Did you speak?” he answered, with
fusion of personal pronouns.
“Mr. Sutherland, of course! Who a bewildering stare. “Forgive me; I—
else would I tell? Whose opinion else I have had bad news”—ami he tried to
do I care for? Go and say to him— resume the duties of the meal; but it
No,” she added, abruptly; “no, you was impossible; he was evidently
needn’t trouble him with anything crushed, as even the strongest and
about me. Just sav I shall not marry bravest men will be for the moment un
Mr. French, and he will be so kind as to der some great and unexpected shock.
We said to him—I repeat we. because,
give him his answer and bid him let me
though Zillah spoke not, her look was
Here, quite exhausted with her j enough, had he seen it—we said to him
wrath, Zillah sank back, and took her ! those few soothing things that women
book, turning her head from me. But can, and ought to say in such a time.
“Aye,” he answered, quite unmanned
I saw that she did not read one line,
that her motionless eyes were fixed and i —“aye. you are very kind. I think it
full of strange deep expression. I be-1 would do me good if I-could speak to
gan to cease wondering what the future : some one—Cassia, will you come?”
He rose slowly, and held out his hand
Very soon afterward I went back to i to me. To me! That proof of his con
Mr. Sutherland and told him all that! fidence, his tenderness, his friendship.
had passed; just the plain facts, with 1 have ever after remembered, and
thought, with thankful heart, that,
out any comments of mv own.
lie apparently required none. I found though not made to give him happiness.
him sitting composedly with some pa I have sometimes done him a little good
pers before him—he had for the last wiien he was in trouble. .
We walked together from the room.
few days been immersed in business
which seemed rather to trouble him; he I heard a low sob behind us, but had no
started a little as I entered, but imme power to stay; besides a momentary
diately came forward and listened with pang mattered little to the child—her
a quiet aspect to the message I had to sobs would be hushed ere long.
.Standing behind the chair where he
bring. I could not tell whether it made
him happy or the contrary; his eounte-i sat, I heard the story of Mr. Suther
nance could be at times so totally im-, land's misfortunes—misfortunes neith
passive that no friend, dearest or near er strange nor rare in the mercantile
est, could ever find out from it anything i world. In one brief word, he was
ruined; that is, so far as a man is ru
he did not wish to betray.
“The matter is settled then.” said he I ined who has enough left to pay all his
gravely; “I will write to Mr. French to-! creditors, and start in the world afresh
day, and perhaps it would be as well if as a penniless honest man. He told me
we never alluded to what has passed. this—an every-day story; nay, it had
I, at least, shall not do it; tell Zillah so. been my own father’s—told it me with
But in the future, say that I entreat ; great composure, and I listened with
she keeps no > • ret back from you. He- : the same. 1 was acquainted with all
member this, my dear Cassia; watch these kind of business matters of old.
over her as you ’ love her—and you do It was very strange, but I felt no grief,
love her?” continued he. grasping my no pity for his losses. .1 only felt, on
my own account, a burning, avaricious
I answered that I did, and God knows : thirst for gold; a, frantic envy—a mad
even then 1 told no lie. She was a very longing to have for a single day, a single
hour, wealth in millions.
dear child to me always!
“Yes, it must be so.” said he, when,
Mr. Sutherland seemed quite satisfied
and at rest, lie hade me a cheerful after talking to me a little more. I saw
good-bye, which I knew meant that I the hard muscles of his face relax, and
should go away, so accordingly I went. I he grew patient, ready to bear his
Passing the drawing-room door. 1 saw troubles like a man—like Andrew
Zillah lying in her old position on the1 .Sutherland. “Yes. I must give up
sofa; so I would not disturb her. but this house and all my pleasant life here;
wyent and walked up and down under a but I can do it since I shall be alone.”
then he added in a low tone: “I
clump of fir-trees in the garden. They And
very glad of two
made a shadow dark and grave, anil things: my Cassia,
mother’s safe settlement,
still; it was more natural than being and the winding-up
month of all
on the law'n among the flowers, the sun my affairs with—Miss last
shine and the bees. I did not come in
“When,” said I, after a pause—“when
you intend to tell Zillah what has
At dinner there were, fortunately, do
” I felt feverishly anxious
only ourselves, just a family party. | that she should
all, and that I
Mr. Sutherland did not join us until we should learn how know
she would act.
r«arhpiT th» din in cr-rnrxnn <1r*ov I
“Tell Zillah? Aye.” he repeated,
ticed that Zillah’s color changed as he
approached, and that all dinner-time “tell her at once—tell her at once.”
she hardly spoke to him; but he behaved And then he sunk back into his chair,
to her as usual. He was rather thought muttering something about “its signify
ful, for, as he told me privately, he had ing little now.”
some trifling business anxieties burden- j I left him, and with my heart nerved,
ing him just then; otherwise he seemed 1 as it were, to anything, went back to
the same. Nevertheless, whether it the room where Zillah was. Iler eyes
was his fault or Zillah’a, in a few days met me with a bitter, fierce, jealous
the fact grew apparent to me that they look—jealous of me, the foolish child!
were not quite such good friends as —until I told her what had happened to
heretofore. A restraint, a discomfort, our friend. Then she wept, but only
a shadow scarceLv tangible.- vet still V for a moment, until a light broke upon
“What does it signify? cnea sne,
echoing, curiously etiough, his own
words. “I am of age—I can do just
what 1 like: I will give my guardian all
my money. Go back and tell him sol”
“Go—quick, quick!—all I have in the
world is not too good for him. Every
thing belonging to me is his, and-----”
Here she stopped, and catching my
fixed looked, became covered with con
fusion. Still the generous heart did
not waver. “And when he has my for
tune, you and I will go and live togeth
er, and be governesses.”
I felt the girl was in earnest nor
wished to deceive me; and though I let
her deceive herself a little longer, it was
with joy—aye, with joy, that in the
heart I clasped to mine was such un
selfishness-such true nobility, not un
worthy even of the bliss it was about
I went once more through the hall—
the long. cool, silent, hall, which I trod
so dizzily, daring not pause—into Mr.
“Well!” said he, looking up.
I told—in ivhat words I cannot now
remember; but solemnly, faithfully, as
if I were answering my account before
heaven—the truth, and the whole
He listened, pressing his hands upon
his eyes, and then gave vent to one
heavy sigh, like a woman’s sob. At
last he rose and walked feebly to the
door. There he paused, as though to
excuse his going.
“I ought to thank her, you know. It
must not be—not by any meaas; still I
ought to go and thank her—the—dear
Ilis voice ceased, broken by emotion.
Once more he held out his hand; I
grasped it, and said, “Go!”
At the parlor-door he stopped, appar
ently for me to precede him in enter
ing there; but, as if accidentally, I
passed on and let him enter alone.
Whether lie knew it or not, I knew
clear as light what would happen then
The door shut,—the two being with
in, and I without.
In an hour I came back toward the
1 had been wandering somewhere, I
think under the firwood. It was broad
noon, but I felt very cold; it was al
ways cold under those trees. I had no
wav to pass but near the parlor win
dow; and the same insane attraction
made me look up as I went by.
They were standing—they two—close
together, as lovers stand. His arm
folded her round; his face, all radiant,
yet, trembling with tenderness, was
pressed upon hers—Oh. my God!
I am half inclined to blot out the last
sentence, as, growing older, one feels
the more how rarely and how solemnly
the Holy Name ought to be mingled
with any mere burst of human emotion.
But I think the All-merciful One would
pardon it then. Of course no reader
will marvel at my showing emotion
over the union of these my two dearest
objects on earth.
From that union I can now truly say
I have derived the greatest comfort of
mv life. They were married auicklv.
as I urged; Mr. Sutherland settling ms
wife’s whole property upon herself.
This was the only balm his manly pride
could know, and no greater proof could
he give of his passionate love for her,
than that he humbled himself to marry
an heiress. As to what the world
thought, no one could ever suspect the
shadow of mercenary feeling in An
drew Sutherland. All was as it should
be—and so best.
After Zillah’s marriage. I took a situ
ation abroad. Mr. Sutherland was very
angry when he knew; but I told him I
longed for the soft Italian air, and could
not live an idle life on any account. So
they let me go, knowing, as he smiling
ly said. “That Cassia could be obstinate
when she chose—that her will, like her
heart, was as firm as a rock.” Ah me!
When I came back, it was to a calm,
contented and cheerful middle age; to
the home of a dear brother and sister;
to the love of a new generation; to a
life filled with peace of heart and
thankfulness toward God; to----
Iley-day! writing is this moment be
come quite impossible; for there peeps
in a face at my bedroom door, and,
while I live, not for worlds shall my
youhg folks know that Aunt Cassia is
an authoress. Therefore good-bye, pen!
And now come in, my namesake, my
darling, my fair-haired Cassia, with her
mother's smile and her father's eyes
and brow—I may kiss both now. Ah,
God in heaven bless thee, my dear, dear
Now is the time to subscribe.
JOHN J. SAX,
Feed Chopping Mill
In Running Order,
Will chop Feed for $2 per ton
or one-tenth toll.
Farmers and others having grain to chop
can oome to my mill, and attend to any
business in the oity to bette r advantage than
driving two miles o#t of town to get their
JOHN J. SAX.
The Cestral Hotel,
Dining Station of the 0. C. R. R.
F. Multxxer, Prop.
(Late of the St. Charles.)
This Hotel has just been refitted and new
ly refurnished throughout, and will be kept
in a first class style.
The table is supplied with all the market
affords, and guests can rely upon pood olean
beds, and comfortable rooms.
Speoial accomodations for commercial
McMinnville Fire Department,
Garrison Opera House,
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday,
February 22d, 23d and 24th,
LIST OF PRIZES.
There will be prizes given on the following
1st and 2d prize for best and 2d best ex
hibit of Kensington painting.
1st and 2d prize, for best and 2d best ex
hibit of Kensington, embroidery.
1st and 2d prize, for best and 2d best ex
hibit of outline work by a child under 14
years of age.
1st and 2d best, for best and 2d best ex
hibit of work of any kind by a boy under 14
years of age.
1st and 2d prize, for best and 2d best ex
hibit of crayon work.
There will also be a prize given for tha
heaviest, lightest and prettiest baby under 1
year of age.
Following isa list of prizosoffcred: Forth®
prettiest baby, gold necklace; lightest and
heaviest baby under one year’nf age, each a
gold ring: outline work by a child under
fourteen years, first prize, ear rings, second
prize, scrap book; Kensington embroidery,
first prize, napkin ring, second prize, box
writing paper; kensington painting, first
prize, manicure set, second prize, brncket;
crayon work, first prize, paper holder, second
prize, pitcher; boy’s work, first prize, paper
holder, second prize, inkstand.
Parade of Firemen Tuesday af
Doors will he open at 7 o’clock,
p. in. dally, during tlic
—All are invited to Attend—
Admission 25 Cents.
By Order of
C ommittee .
To be Continued.
11.50 in advance! for the Reporter for
1887, means just what it says—nr advawcb .
Not a month after the beginning.