CHAPTER XVII. THE PASSING OF A PUKE SPIRIT.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 213, 30 July 1887, Page 6

CHAPTER XVII. THE PASSING OF A PUKE SPIRIT.

At peace with all the world, dear Lord, and Thee, No £ear 3 my soul's unwavering faith can shake ; All's well, whichever side the grave for mo The morning's light shall break. Anonymous. " Pkacx bo with you, Hiram Slaughter! Peace bo with you, restless and unhappy soul ! Peace be with you, insane spirit " In that grave I bury, with your mortal lemains, all memory of my own wrongs and resentments," murmured Gabriel Haddon to himself, as with Gertrude on his arm he turned fiom the closed vault and left the chapel. He took his granddaughter back to the ferryhouse, whore old Jess had supper leady and waiting for them. He was very silent dining the meal ; and as soon as it was over ho arose and &aid he felt veiy tired and would go to bed. He kissed and blessed his granddaughter and retired to his chamber. bertrude remained below stairs a little longer to settle up some household affairs, and also to satisfy the curiosity of old Jess, who, having remained at home all day, had many questions to ask in regard to the funeral. At length, however, ha\ ing got through \\ ith her work, Gertrude also retired to rest. She walked softly across the front passage, so as not to disturb her weary grandfather. When she reached his room door, which was on the first iloor opposite the parlour, she paused and listened to hear whether he stii red or seemed to want anything. She heard him murmuring to himself, as it was often his habit to do, some verse of a hymn. These were the words that met her ear : "At peace, dear Lord, with all tho world and Thee, No tear my Foul's unwavering faith can shake; All'rf veil, whichever side the grave for me The morning's light may break." " God bless him !" whispered Gertrude to herself, as she softly withdrew from the door, and went up stairs to her own room, The next morning Gertrude aroge and dressed at her usual hour, and went down to help old Jess to prepare breakfast. When it n as ready, she waited a little whilo for her grandfather, who was always tin eaily riser. Then,kno\ving that he was sleeping much later than customary, and fearing that he miffht be indisposed, she crossed tho hall and rappud at his door. As there was no response she rapped louder ; as there was still no answer, she turned the latch, opened the door a little way, and peeped in. f Something in tho air and manner of the orm that lay upon the bod drew her into the room. She crossed the floor, and, scarcely breathing, stooped over the form i and gazed upon the marble mask of the face, in its halo of silver hair. She saw tho whole truth in an instant.

All was well with Gabriel Haddon. The " morning's light " had broken for him, on other lands than ours. The shook was a treinondous one to the bereaved child ; but Gortrude never screamed or wept ; her grief scarcely made it3olf felt as yet ; when it did, it was too deep for tears or noisy demonstration. She turned very pale, stooped and kissed the cold lips, drew the sheet over the grand old statuesque face, and went out quietly, and told old Jess what had happened. Jess set down the coffee pot that she had held in her hand, dropped into a chair, and stared at Gertrude a full minute before speaking. At length, however, she exclaimed : " You tell me, gal, as you found ole marso dead in his bed ?" Gertrude nodded with a tearless sob. " Well, Lord, it's nothing moie'n I 'speted when I see what a shock he got gwine up there to Hill Top t'roughde storm to 'tend do death-bed o' that 010 dyin' sinner. Well, it's what we must all come to. * Gone to-day, and here to-morrow/ as de ole saying says. Chile, it's done took all my appetite for victuals away for this day. Couldn't eat a single mouthful of breakfast if 'twas to save my precious soul. Now, honey, wo must send John hot-foot to Wildeville to fetch the doctor." " The doctor can do no good, Jess,"' sighed Gortrude. "No, honey, nor likewise no harm neither — nor now ho can't, you know. 'Sides which it's lawful for him to bo sent for on such a 'casion as this ; for, you see, dero'll have to be a 'quest, and do doctor might give a sittffikit as we sont for him. Artor wit's better dan fore wit,' honey, as de ole saying says. Heap o' sense in ole sayings, honey." Gertrude made no objections, and Jess threw a shawl over her head, and walked down to the boat-house to call John Brooks, the boatman, to tell him what had occurred, and to send him to Wildeville to fetch the doctor. The honest boatman set off at once on his errand, and must have spread the startling news right and leit, for within an hour a crowd of inquisitive or kindly disposed country neighbours gathered at the house. The older and more experienced matrons among the visitors took charge of aifairs, and dressed and laid out the corpse. About noon John Brooks returned from AVildeville, bringing the doctor and the undertaker. Dr Bell, the medical practitioner of WiJdeville, made an examination of the dead body, and gave a certificate that Gabriel Haddon had died from natural causes, and thus obviated the distressing necessity of a coroner's inque&t. As soon as the doctor departed the undertaker took measures for his own part in the solemn pageantry of death. Later in the day arrived Rev. Dr. Good win, the aged Rector of the old Red Sandstone Church, and the life-long friend of the late ferry-man. Gertrude met him with eagerness, as if in him, more than in all others, she hoped to find comfort and strength. He laid his hand in blessing on her head, and then sat down with her to have a talk. "I am your guardian by your grandfather's will, my child. Did you know ib ?" he kindly inquired. "No ; I—lI — I did not know— he had made a will," answered Gertrude, with an irrepressible sob. " Yes. I have a copy of it, and Lawyer Keyworth has the original. It may be premature to speak of this now, my dear girl, and I only mention it that you may know you have a friend and guardian in me in whom you may trust as a child trusts in her father," said the old minioter, affectionately. " Thanks - thanks, dear Dr. Goodwin. It is another proof of my beloved and honoured grandfather's wise affection for me that he should havo given me such a guardian as yourself ; another proof of your own 'loving kindness and tender mercy,' that you should so willingly accept the troublesome trust," said Gertrude gratefully. The minister pressed her hand, which ho had retained within his own while talking to her. Then telling her that he had assumed the full direction of all affairs relating to the burial, and promising to see her again early the next morning, he arose and took leave. The funeral took place on the third day after the death, and wai, perhaps, even moi'e numerously attended than that of General Slaughter had been ; for the ferryman, notwithstanding the calumnies and persecutions that had darkened his early life, was greatly beloved and respected in the neighbourhood. Dr. Goodwin read the burial service of the Episcopal Church in an earnest and impressive manner ; but he pronounced no panegyric on the character of Gabriel Haddon, nor did the grand old ferry-man need such a testimonial from his pastor or from any other man. His memory was green and fresh in the hearts of his neighbours, whom he had loved more than himself, and only less than he loved the Lord. A long line of carriages followed the hearse that conveyed his remains along the river road leading to the old Red Sandstone churchyard, where they were finally laid beside those of his forefathers. Dr Goodwin and Lawyer Keyworth accompanied Gertrude back to her now desolate home, for the purpose of reading Gabriel Haddon's last will and testament. It was late in the afternoon when they arrived ; but the sun had not yeb gone down. The little household, consisting 1 of Gertrude Haddon, the orphan, Jessie Bell, the housekeeper, and John Brooks, the boatman, were called together in the parlour of the ferry-house, and directed to seat themselves around the table, where they sat in the following order— Dr Goodwin and Gortrude on one side; Jessie Bell and John Brooks on the other. The lawyer, Mr Keyworth, stood up at the head of the table with the parchment in his hand. When all was ready, he opened and commenced to read the will. It was short, simple and clear. It was dated about a year previous to the sudden death of the testator, who, after leaving a legacy of five hundred dollars each to liis faithful housekeeper, Jessie Bell, and his trusty boatman, John Brooks, bequeathed the whole residue of the testator's real and personal state, consisting of two hundred acres of land with dwelling-house, offices, boat-houses, boats and piers, collectively known as Haddon's Ferry, to his beloved and honoured friend Samuel Goodwin, Rector of Red Sandstone Parish, in trust for his, the testator's daughter, Gertrude, and her heirs for ever. The will was regularly .signed, sealed and witnessed. The witnesses were Royal Greenfield, of Greenwood, and Luke Barbar, of Falling In. These gentlemen being engaged in attending court at Wildeville, were not present at the reading of the will, but were easily to be found if wanted, as Lawyer Keyworth explained. Mr Keyworth then shook hands with tho little heiress, telling her that ho could sincerely congratulate her on her inheritance of an estate yearly gaining in value, and some day to becomo a large fortune. Gertrude bowed in silence. She could not reply. He then congratulated "the two legatees on their late master's liberality and their

own good fortune. John Brooks burst into tears and sobbed that he would rather have had his old master than all the money in the world. Jessie Bell chimed in with her inverted wisdom : " ' Wings take riches and fly away,' as the ole saying says. Heap o' sense in them ole sayings." " Gertrude, my dear, I must speak to you of your own affairs now. You know, my child, that I have only a sad widower's home to offer you at the Rectory. I have lived alone without ladies' society in my house ever since my dear wife departed, and. my daughters married and left me. I would gladly bring you home with me, but a girl of your tender age requires above all things the guidance of a wise, matronly gentlewoman. " " I have never had it," murmured Gertrude. " No, nor ever wanted it while my dear grand lived," she added. "No; Haddon was a man among a thousand men capable of filling the place of both father and mother to you, my dear. I am not so. Therefore, you must live among ladies ; and I feel it to be my duty, as' your guardian, to provide you wifeh such a home. Have ymi any suggestions to make, any preference to express as to your future home ? If so, speak freely, my dear. I wish to consult your inclinations," said the old minister, kindly. "I thank you very much, dear Dr. Goodwin, but all this has happened so suddenly I have had no time to think ; and I am very, very loth to leave this place whero I have lived with my dear grand all my life. Might I not continue to live here? Might not Jess keep house, and John work the ferry as beiore '/ Would these two faithful servants not be sufficient protection to me under your occasional supervision ?" pleaded Gertrude, lifting her soit brown oyes beseechingly to his face. The aged minister dropped his forehead upon his hand and reliected for a few moments ; then, lifting hio head, he replied : ' ' No, my child ; that will not do. The man and woman may indeed remain here— the one to look after the house, the other to run the ferry ; but you must not live here alone, with only servants for your companions. You are just fifteen years old, my child, and could bear a few years of schooling. I have a plan in view for you-—" " Oh, dear Dr. Goodwin ! donH send me away to boai ding -school among total strangers. In losing my dear grand I have lost all. But let me stay here, where he lived, where everything still is so full of his presence that he seems to be not quite gone away. Let me .stay here, if not in this house, yet in this neighbourhood. Don't send me away !'" prayed Gertrude, clasping her hands. " My child, I have no intention of doing that, or of doing anything else objectionable to you. I was about to say that I have a plan, subject to your own approval. After lea\ing you yesterday, I called at Greenwood to see Muss Greenleaf. You know that lady ?" " Only from having seen her at the ferry a great many times. 1 have myself rowed her over the river on several occasions. But I have never seen her at any other time or place, and I have never been co Greenwood. So, utter all, 1 can scarcely be said to know her." "She knows you, however, my dear child ; and she esteems you highly. Well, to my plan : 1 called on her yesterday, as 1 said. She had, of course, heard of your grandfather's departure, and she inquired very kindly about yoiuseif ; and when I told her of my position as yourguardian, and my embarrassment about n'nding a home for you, she promptly, I iray say eagerly \ proposed to receive you at Greenwood, as a si-ster to her young niece, Patricia. It seems that when Miss Patricia left boardingschool, on the iirsb of this month, for the midsummer holidays, it was decided that she should not return for the autumn and winter term, but should complete her education at home. Miss Greenleaf thinks that you would be a most desirable companion for Patricia, and would have a most beneficial inlluence upon her. What do you think of the plan, my dear? I leave it all to yourdelf. " The heart of Gertrude really quailed within her. To go to Greenwood as the " sister "of Patricia Fitzgerald !— Pat Fitzgerald, or Pat Fitz, as she was often called ! — the fast girl of the neighbourhood ! —the " tom-boy !" — the "little rowdy!" — at whose name all well-conducted young ladies cast down their eyes, or turned up their noses ; who was reputed to have been expelled from school tor boxing the reverend principal's ears. " Well, my dear child, what have you to say ?" inquired the rector, seeing that Gertrude continued silent and thoughtful. " My dear guardian, what do you advise ? If you will not decide for me, you will at least advise me," she answered, with a look of perplexity. " My child, I think the opening quite a providential one for you. There is no more perfect gentlewoman in the country than Miss Susan Greenleaf. She is, perhaps, a little too romantic for a practical world like this. That is all. In all else, she is a perfect Christian lady." " Miss Patricia— " ■ . a irudo began, and then hesitated. She oould not bring herself to utter one word reflecting on another. Her guardian finished the question for her. " Is reported to be very fast, you would say ? My child, a young girl like yourself, brought up in the school of GabrielHaddon's philosophy, will never condemn a sistermaiden upon common rumour.l have known Patricia Fitzgerald from infancy. She is by nature a wild, frank, brave, true-hearted little creaturo, with the promise of a very noble womanhood in her, which will be fulfilled if she be well influenced. I expect great good from your association with her." "Guardian, I will ask you one more question : Do you think my dear grand, if he were living, would approve of my going to Greenwood ?" "My dear Gertiude, I am sure that he does approve of it. Be practical inyour faith, my child. Remember that thuugh his visible presence is no longer with you, he does livo ; speak of him always as living," said the rector, cheerfully. With this the two gentlemen took leave of their young hostess and departed. Gertrude dropped clown into her grandfather's old chair, bowed her head upon her hands, and strove to bear the grief that seemed crushing her. The storm gathered darkly over the scene ; the lightning flashed ; the thunder rolled ; the wind raved ; and at length the rain came down like a deluge. Yet Gertrude sat there through all the storm, until aroused by the blast of the ferry-horn and the sonorous cry wafted across the water : " Boat I" The call was too familiar to Gertrude to arouse the least curiosity or interest, although it awoke her to duty and action. Yet if she could have imagined how fraught with fate to her that summons was! Bub we never know when the hour of destiny strikes on the dial of our lives. I (To be Contimied. )