The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

Getter-awn. I,” The Old Turnpike Road. BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND. .__â€"â€"â€"- NTO Lse, Lindsay, use 0 r” I Son, ’ has Produced ' reign Medals, a! "'Y'WOt 6‘ ., . ma echo ‘ ' i. is the vjzrgui ‘ > wwwtise- . I - Pygfzx 31”.? find I“ gill‘llf'iwl' an “ad.” 515 "f til/0'" ,‘v 7:11“? ”11/ to its .x' _, - ’/.'< .,,,.‘ 607726 :1 mums, and Wilf- 7‘ <'; 75:77 ' ‘ 1' ' \ isz'r: ranted me for ‘ ,. . a] mine you ,‘ {fr-3 flame Street, 0? / (f' Vwr carry a most In the 732st beautiful user's. sfatudte tabla, ’(j's‘r rue/7i“ of rattn Ir ‘f-z var}; much ad: ”VIE/£221: further and TORS I, 1x; .30, 22, 24 26‘, ~' lheffmxt styles and 3' Us bots Oldc’o't and I'll-Sell, rtwl [went to .5.- Liv/'11.; to existomi 29m; 251: to the house, v") In" M! mentioned ' x 'rwic‘ure that , aim/r rfthefad f/i- 7w 71287473” : , IN": taken ' if //I re f. .r amt iii“ ”or: ’ '«r1/2'7tttllE1‘ . Hz, I’lwi' Mb" ”(10’qu '7'. . x: y urn’itun -, '1' I‘ll/Hf I hare 3681‘ ' prices, a M 2’" v':.';','r.,,r’ the leg fftvlf it'll/IL] [5710101133 iv]: My. ,H‘Tijiio’nr. I” "Ii/i . “’11,". ‘IICGCIM ,«’ ,r/f/"t some!!! i /./I,".‘"7[', ”in"? 1 f, ,uiy/y/Vs’i tne . v, .' mo my}. The” .. «y no”. will turn -~‘ 1/" 7/wz/L: a descent 1/1 'f childhood day! ' t'tz/‘rz'mggs (12.32210 '0 mm ,1)!ng 3/ can‘t.“ ’ jut/rfz't'ular, but will , zif 116M tOâ€"W A IBNEA UX sou, eet,Mo narcildp'u/ the cheap .i‘ 'i I easilv persuaded my cousin to go to . id take up his residence in the ._--my old stone house, which my ilfather built. We had the interior ated and modernized, without seriously altering its old-fashioned phy- siognoniy, for I am no Iconoclast. Early in the proceeding March we had settled down here. It was the only ' earth which was home to me. Fred and Annie were enchanted with their new residence, and we daily con- gratulated each other on the success of our project. . *- Bryant,” Annie began, in her light, quick way, while the Silk ran in a. crim- sen ripple over her rapid fingers, “I think it’s high time you were waked up. You’ve just done nothing but settle down here over your books, ever since we got snugly under this blessed old roof: Fred says you ought to pass two thirds of your days under the trees, from this time to November. ” “You mustn’t make it so pleasant in the house, then, that a. fellow can’t muster up courage to get out of it.” “ \Vell, if that’s all that’s wanted to to get you out, I assure you nothing shall be left undone on my part,” with a comical dip of her bright head, and an arch laugh running out of her blue eves. V “ And accomplish it, no doubt, be- cause you are a woman 5 but, Annie, if you got me outdoors, it wouldn’t be far, or long; ” and I glanced at the crutch which stood at the foot of the lounge. A little sadness crept across the brightness of her face 5 “ Oh, yes, you will, Bryant5” but the sentence was broken into by an urgent summons from some neighbor, which at once took An- nie down stairs. I lay still, aundst the bright sunshine and dozing winds, but, for awhile, the thoughts which came gran rejuver. over mv soul were like those cold mists, which sail in from the northeast, and cover the face of the earth every No- cover of red and black, in that quick, , vein ber. I thought of my bright, careless afflu- ent vmth: of my proud, strong manhood all Crushed out of me in an hour, of the broken dreams, and health, and hope 5 of the slow life, and the crippled limb laid my head ba3k with a slow, weary heartache, and almost longed to die. And with that last thought a new lists. and warmth came through the mist. and glorified it. VVhatsoever my life was, my death would be better for the evil that had befallen me. Had I not learned in that long, wasting sick- muss patience and submission, love to God and to man '3 “ Uncle, Uncle Bryant, see what I’ve got for you 1” A slender thread of sound came through the. open door, and there was the soft patter ofa child’s feet in the room, and a little head with clusters of shining curls. and pretty red lips that she came to the door with a face full of vsi-r- alwavs full of the motion of talk and laugher, came up to me, and a little ' hand, that was like a sea-shell, held up triumphantly before my eyes a cluster , you for the roses you sent me by your of White roses. Large, queenly, luscious] little pupil, Harry Mathers, the other flown-s they were, their snowy blossoms ‘ day.” full heavy passionate fragrance, asv they 1:.}- half sheltered in a convert of gl'i'i't‘. lt'ni'cS. " 1 )il, llarry, my pet, where did you get these beautiful roses '2 ” " Ill iss Willoughby gave them to me,” lisped the voice of six summers. " And who is Miss Vx'illoughby?” “Site‘s my school-teacher, you see; and i went home with her today, and when I saw the flowers growing all round "the front window I spoke right out. '()h how Uncle Bryant would like some of them!’ And Miss Willoughby Smiiz-d, and said, ‘W’ould he dear?” And then she gave me these, but I knew she meant ’em for you, though she didn’t Say so.” “ What do you know about this Miss “‘illoughby, Annie 2 ” I asked of Har- ry's mother, when she returned to my room. :“ Very little 5 I’ve seen her but once. Shr- struck me as a quiet, ladylike per- son : a little over twenty; and, alto- gether, her manner pleased me. She tutu-hes the district school, and I sent Harry to her, just to get the little rogue out of the way for a few hours. Il‘t‘mt’fllbel‘, now, that Mrs. Peekham told me the school teacher’s name was Margaret \Villougby, that she wrote poetry Occasionally, and supported her grandmother, who is an infirm and very old woman.” Margaret “’illoughby, Margaret Willoughby I” The name seemed to go in slow, silver liquid echoes up and down my thoughts, as though it came from some far country in the past, and wound through all the years, and called to me, soft and faintly, “ Margaret Will- oughhy.” “ That’s it! ” I brought my hand down suddenly, and with. no little em- phasis, on the table. “What’s it?” cried Annie, half ~Springing from her seat with the start I had given her. “ Something I’ve found in my thoughts.” road, winding away crumpled ribbon through the green pas- ‘tage, as I stood at the gate that June the.T I must carry to the grave5 and I} alive,” answered Annie, and a laugh ran out of her lips as she wound Harry’s silken curls around her fingers. And I sat there opening and shutting my eyes, and thinking of that far-off day when I first met Margaret Willoughby. I could see it still, the old turnpike like a. brown, tures, on either side, and the little girl at the toll-gate, with her small, tanned face and strange, bright eyes. I had not‘thought of it for years5 but it all came back now, vivid as a thing of yes- terday, and I recalled now a letter which my grandfather had written during my first year in Germany, in which he men- tioned Margaret W’illoughby, stating that he had sent her to the Academy, and that she was a remarkably intelli- gent child, and he was much interested in her. And that little girl had blos- somed into womanhood, and taught school, and wrote poetry now ; and she had not forgotten, I had evidence of that in the roses that were like great snowy goblets pouring out delicious fragrance in the tall Venetian glass on the table. I kept my own counsel, but I resolv- ed that not many days should go over my head before I looked on the face of Margaret Willoughby. CHAPTER III. “ Grandma, we shall have stawberries and cream by week after next. I’ve been out amongst the vines, and they’re doing finely." The vome fluttered out of the front window of the dainty little white cot- morning, The house looked in the dis- tance like a little white cup hidden among the trees. It couldn’t have con- tained more than five rooms. It was picturesque enough, though all hugged round with woodbines 5 and on either side of the grass plot was a bed of flow. ers with a fringe box, The next moment she came to the window, where her voice had just pre- ceded her, and she shook out a table- skillful way which made one feel at once that her hands were used to all that kind of work. She did not see me, but I had a good view of her face. It was a stange, contradictory one, for the eyes, of a large deep brown, had the look of a child 5 thelook I remembered, full of wonder and wistfullness, with endless smiles and variations in them ; but there was a certain gravity about the mouth and a sweet seriousness about all the oval features which thought, and discrpline, and sorrow could alone have given them. It was not a handsome, pretty, beautiful face, but there was a charm about it. So I watched her as she arranged the books on the table, wiping off the dust with a small cloth, and humming snatches of old tunes or replying to some question of her grand- mother’s, who must have been in anoth- er room and probably a little deaf. At last I went up to the house, and surprise. She did not reconize me. “ Miss W'illoughby,” I said, offering her my hand, “ I have come to thank W hat a leap of surprise, recongnition, pleasure, and timidity there was in her face I Then she put her hands, her little soft, warm hands in mine, and said just as she would have said it thirteen years before, on the old turnpike, “I am very glad to see you, Mr. Hamilton.” I went into the parlor and sat down. It was the neatest, plainest, cosiest little spot imaginable. There was a dark in- grain carpet, and cane seat chairs, green lounge, and a little table covered with books. We sat down on the lounge. I saw her glance at my crutch and my crippled limb, and such a sweet sadness came into her eyes as I have seen in children’s when their mother’s faces were sorrowful. “I thought it most likely you had forgotten us,” she said. “ 0 no. I remember the old turnpike road, and the toll-gate, and the little girl with the sprained ankle.” A smile ran into her lips and then over her face, but I knew a word more would have brought something into her eyes besides a smile 5 so I said, quietly: “Did you get the books I sent you I ” She answered my question indirectly: “If you could have seen me the day they came, or have known the marvel- lous treasures which they opened up to me 5 if I could tell you the new life which they nourished in my soul!" She stopped here abruptly, but her face fin- ished the sentence as even her voice could not have done. After this, I have no remembrance of what we talked about, but there were few pauses in the conversation, and I remained three hours. Margaret Willoughby was a new revelation to me 5 for, be it remembered, I have met with the noblest born and highest bred, the loveliest and most gifted women of both hemispheres, and I had learned what it takes so many near a lifetime to learnâ€"that no grace of mien, no gift of mind or person, no outward adorning can make a lady 5 I mean that sweetness and gentleness, THE WATCHMAN, LINDSAY, THUR “Bryant you are the oddest man that tenderness and sympathy which Luther meant when he said : “ The heart of a Christian woman is the sweet- est thing this side of heaven.” And Margaret Willoughby was thisâ€"a lady by the will of God! I knew it during that morning that we passed together, for school had a week’s vacation. she has never' had any position in Long- wood, that she’s low-bred, and her grand- mother kept the toll-gate !” “ And what did yo tell her, Annie? ” “ Oh, I told her that I knew nothing about Miss Willoughby, having never met her but once, only she was a little protegee of yours once, though I knew We rambled over many subjects, and, you had no serious intentions in that though I cannot recall these, I remem- ber perfectly the impression which Mar- garet Willoughy’s conversation left on me. What struck me at first most pro- minently was a. kind of childish artless- ness which wound its golden thread though her'whole speech and manner 5 yet it was tempered with a sweet woâ€" manly gravity, and dignity, and th ought. fulness, just as the expression in her eyes was by the rest of her face. Per- haps somewhat of this was owing to her small knowledge of the world, for she told me she had never been thirty miles from Longwood in her life. But she had read, studied, lived 5 and so she had bloomed into her young, sweet, fragrant womanhood like the white roses she had plucked for me. I saw the young school-teacher very often after this 5 for, as the summer grew, I gained strength of body and soul, and we had frequent rides to- gether 5 and there was a little fringe of woods back of the small white cottage where we used to go, and sit, and listen to the brook, whose silver waters tang- led themselves with gurgling leap and laughter over the stones 5 and Margaret was never weary of listening with those bright child-eyes and that womanly face of hers to the storiesI had to tell her of foreign countries. She had read much and seen little, and this always gives to a woman a kind of a strange, contradic- tory air and manner. She had some- thing, too, to tell me of her life; of its struggles and aspirations, and how, after she had attended the village Academy five years, she was offered the situation of Village school-teacher, and since then her grandmother’s increasing age and infirmities had rendered her unfit for any active cares or duties. I looked at the small, trembling figure, and wonder- ed at the brave, true, strong soul which it held. “ I shall leave you here to take care of yourselves with a great many doubts and misgivings, but there’s no help for it,” said Cousin Annie, as we all gather- ed in the sitting-room after tea, one evening just in the opening of Septem- ber. She had been summoned to the bedside of her mother, who was illâ€"not dangerously so, but in the state of min- gled nervous excitement and prostration which required her daughter’s care and society, and Frederick had given his wife “leave of absence” for a month. We all felt sad enough at the thought of missing Annie’s bright face and che- ery voice about the house, and I knew the lightness of her tones was assumed to hide something deeper in her voice, as she pushed an ottoman to her hus- band’s feet, and, throwing herself on this, rested her check on his knee while Harry perched himself on the other. “I expect Bryant and I’ll make awk- ward work, keeping old bachelor’s hall,” laughed the young husband, as be smoothed the yellow silken hair that lay in its abundant beauty on his knee. “ Our case looks dubious, Fred. We shall have nobody to scold us for not being punctual at dinner, or keeping the rooms in disorderâ€"in short for commit- ing any of these numerous delinquencies by which the sons of Adam have man- aged to keep the tongues and tempers of the daughters of Eve in a constant state of excitement during the last six thousand years.” ' Annie lifted her head, and shook with playful threatening her white hand in my face. “ Bryant,” she said,” I wish you would. take one of those daughters of Eve you’ve just maligned so to wife be- fore the next twenty-four hours goes over your head.” “ Thank you for your benevolent wishes. If I could only find her now I” Here Harry slipped off his father’s knee, and pattered up to me, and put his pretty face close to my ear. “Uncle Bryant,” he said, confidentially and earnestly, "I know of somebody you could get to be your wife.” “ Who is it, my pet?” “ Miss Margaret Willoughby.” . How his father leaned his head back and laughed, while his mother clapped her hands and shouted I “But how do you know she’ll have me, my boy?”â€"lifting the little fellow on my knee. "He nestled his head on my shoul- “I’ll ask her to-morrow, and see.” Another peal of mirth 5 Annie’s sweet laugher tangling in and out of her hus- der. band’s. “ N 0, thank you, Harry; I prefer to ‘speak for myself’ on such a subject, or I fear that I should meet with no better success than Miles Standish did with the Puritan maiden, Priscilla.” ‘i‘ And probably Uncle Bryant will select a somewhat different ‘maiden’ from your school-teacher, Harry, when he does speak for himself.” “ How do you mean, Annie?” “ “Why, I mean different in posuion, family, fortune, everything. Do you know, Bryant, Mrs. Peekham was won- dering this afternoon that you could visit Miss Willoughby so often. She says quarter.” “ How did you know it?” She turned and faced me. Bryant, you haven’t, have you ‘1” “ It has struck me that I have.” “Well, that’s cool, old fellow 'l ” It was Fred interposed here, not knowing exactly how to take me. “ Why “Now, Bryant, are you in sober earn- . est?” asked Annie, coming over to me. “Yes; I think I shall take Harry’s advice, and ask Miss Willoughby to be my wife.” “ Oh, Bryant, what will Mrs. Peekham â€"â€"What will the world say? ” ' Do you think I should stop to inquire, Annie Mathers? Do you think when I found a woman whose soul was crowned with those .rare and beautiful jewels above all price, which make a loving and Christian womanhoodâ€"do you think I would not gather her to my heart sooner than a crowned queen, and holding her there, its joy and light and completeness, do you think I should care what Mrs. Peekham or the world said of it?” “N o, I wouldn’t if I were you, Bryant!” out spoke Annie, for her heart was full of noble and generous impulses that re- sponded quickly to the right touch. “No, a thousand times no!” answered the deep, emphatic tones of her husband. And then I told them a little of all Margaret Willoughby had been to me; how unconsciously, the knowledge and the love of her had wakened my life into true and higher purpose; and how her sweet, childlike faith had called to mine, which lay cold and dormant in my soul; and how the great sorrow of my life had taught me, at last, a new submission to the will of God, our father; and how I who once longed to die, was now Willi and rejoiced to live for His sake. Aiid whenI concluded, my cousins came and placed their hands in mine, and said: “Bryant, may you be very happy with the wife of your choosing!” I went up toward evening to the little white cottage set like a cup among the trees. Margaret was sprinkling a moss rose-bush, in the front yard, with a small watering-pot. She came toward me, her brown eyes full of their shy smiles, and the soft flush going in and out of her face. She wore a lawn dress, with sprigs of pink scattered over the white ground, and the sleeves were looped back from the small white arms. We talked awhile of the sun- set clouds, of the flowers in the yard, of the farewell of the summer, and then I said to her, “ I have a book, Miss Mar- garet, and out of its sweet, fresh, perfumâ€" ing pager I have selected a little sketch which, with your permission, I shall read to you.” “ Thank you 5” and we went into the parlor together ; but when I drew the book from my pocket, she glanced at it and said, with a sudden drawing in of her breath, “ 011 is that the book l” “You have seen it, then? ” “1â€"1 have heard of it” 5 and she turned away, and seemed very intent on smoothing the folds of her dress. The book was the one which I had read that day that she had given Harry the roses. It struck me that her manner was a little singular, but I sat down and opened the book, and she sat a little way from me, and listened to my reading. She sat, as I said, a little apart from me, her hand lying still in her lap, except when the little fingers fluttered restlessly against each other, for they had a kind of habit of motion. The sketch was a very brief one; a little exquisite, pathetic picture of a country home and hearts made very heavy with the anguish of misapprehen- sion and parting, and glad unspeakably with the sudden joy of meeting and recon- ciliation. Isn’t it a touching asked, as I closed. Iâ€"do you like it so much? ” and her face was radiant. “Yesâ€"don’t you 2 ” She opened her lipsâ€"her blushes came and wentâ€"suddenly it flashed across meâ€" “Margaret, you wrote this book.” She tried to look astonished but she was not used to dissemble. She buried her face in her hands and broke into sobs. “Margaret, dear Margaret, have I no right to your secretâ€"the right of one who would be neither friend nor brother, but more, and better than these I ” She understood me, but only sobs kept swaying back and forth the small, slender figure. - Once, and once only, I tried her. Mar- garet, you do not answer me. Is is because you cannot love a man who is crippled for life ? whose health can never be”â€" Her face sprang up from her hands. The tears were held in check upon it. “ Oh, Mr. Hamilton, you do not think so meanly of me as that I” and I answered. little thing? ” I Then, for the first time, I gathered her to my heart, and kissed the red blossom of her lips, and thanked God that she be- longed to me for life 5 that she would walk by my side, true, tender, sweet, loving till death took us apartâ€"my wife, in the best and holiest meaning of that bleSSed word. Two years she has been thisâ€"two years which have taught me how priceless was the pearl I found on the old turnpike road ---the pearl that I found, and wore on my heart---Margaret Willoughby ! ~[THE END.[ SUBSCRIBE FOR THE “wlucli'mum,”~ SDAY, MARCH 7, 1889. Lindsay “Woollen Mills Again in Operation. A large STOCK of GOODS To be Sold Cheaper than the Cheapest. Aaccounts required to be setted Without delay, and III FUTURE NO OREOIT WILL BE GIVEN. 00/ W am‘m’ as usual. J. W. WALLACE, MANAGER- GREAT FALL SHOW. Open to every person in the Dominion and United States. A. PRIZE FOB EVERY MAN, WOMAN OHILO BUYING ONE on mom: PAIRS or BOOTS on snoss AT THE PALACE Shoe Store Doors open from 7 a. m. unti 7 p. m. No admission fee required. Polite attention and ample attendance given to every one. ' L. MAGUIRE. Next door 2‘0 Hamilz‘on’s Carnage Séow rooms. William Street Grecerq, The subscriber has now on hand a choice stock of Family Groceries, Crockery, Glassware, Dinner and Tea Setts, Bed-room Setts, Lamps and Lamp goods, Flour and Feed. All groceries can be obtained at the lowest living prices Goods deliveren promptly to any part of the town. The highest price paid for farmers produce. ALEX. FISHER. William Street, Lindsay OREAM BAKING POWDER. Made fresh every week and sold in bulk at 30 cents per pound A. HIGâ€"INBOTEZAM’S, Drug Store. at "fi- 1“" Tat-am ...«. .