Forgiven Trespasses

John Ashurst was out of sorts. Tbat was his mild way of speaking of lia iiwn ill huinor. "Aa cross as two sticks," muttered old iiiiili. a servant who spoke her mind to her ¦inpty kitohen by right of a life-lime errce. " Dar don't nothin' suit. An' he's iltogedder onreasonable. Folks has jeM as is good right to move nex' door as he's ïOt to lib nex' door to 'em. Young Mar ti'red," she said, as a young man ttepped in the piuzza, " hab you larut anyting bout de nüw ncighbora?" "It's a widow, Dinah," answered the young man, in the tone he uiight have aiil, " It's a joke." "Da lawf'ul sakes!" exclaimed Dinah. "An' Mars John bates widders like pizen. Is dat all?" " Four children," continued the young man, a.s if the joke was increaMiig in niagnitude. " De laudy massy !" ejaculated Dinah. "An' he dislikes children special!" " Th ree boys," volunteered Fred Ashurst, in the untuistakable tone of a natural joker who deals out his fun by piecenieal. " Wuss an' wussl" muttered Dinah. " Boys am his special diversion. An' buys, too, wid dar fader in hebben - leastways it's to be hoped he aui dar." "And there was a baby." Fred Ashurst gave the last item of news as the joker caps the climax with the best hit of all. Dinah lifted both hands. "Mars John '11 move away. He can't abide babies. Jes to tink ob deracketl Dar' s come chickens to scratch up our garden, an' a guinea bird dat s de noisiest bira ebDer iipDeo, an a peacock dat screeches aa lunytick, ao' a parrot dat screeches like anudder lunytickj an' a dog an' cat, and dar's a widder an three boys an' a baby yet fur to come. An' to to tink ob the peaoe an' quietfulness we hab had for twenty year an' more. Mars John '11 move awoy, shorel" " Don't kDow," answered Fred Ashurst, meditatively. ' ' Uncle John is not migratory in his habits. Can't sell nor rent in these days, either. i think he will have to face the music. It isn't in the course of nature," philosophized the young man, " for good, quiet neighbors like Deacon Smith and his wife to live forever, and I must confe.'s, for niyown part, I am rather glad of a change, even if it involves widows, boys, babies, guineas, peacocks, parrots, dogs, cats, drums, jews'-harns, tin horns, and a hundred possibilities for creating a Babel. It's pretty rough on Uncle John, I must adrait. The old gentleman don't take to it kindly. I think there will be some fun. " " Now, Dinah," said John Ashurst, a little la'e, as he entered the tidy kitchen, " I doo't want anything to do with these new neihbors. If they attempt to borrow, don't encourage it. Drive out any of the animáis that trespass on our grouuds, and the children as wel). I will have my nephew paint a sien : ' No trespassing on these premises.' They might as well know my sentimente first as laat. You understand, Dinah." " Yea, Mars," replied Dinah, meekly. Then she dropped into a meditative soliloquy as her masterleft the kitchen. " 'Twill be mighty queer for Dinah to say ' no ' ef a neighbor comes fur to borrer a little rioe, or salt, or slarch ; an' as fur drivin' off chillen, 'twill be mighty hard to tramp 'em rtff I Irtn't iniml uavin' 'flflt' t.Cï ft fiftt : but a chile I Lud! was a chile his own self, an' as nice a chile as the good Lor' ebber made. " It's my opinión the Lor' don' inake baouelors; dey makes demselves, an' dey jess spiles deniselves. Now, ef Mars John hed a wife an' little chillen, darwouldn't be a better man on de face ob de airth. Sech a pity 'bout Miss Rui-selH" " Come, Dinah," paid Fred Ashurst that niplit, as he stood betbre a large board on which he had painted, in large letters, l'No trespassing allowed on these premises" - "Come, Dinah, tell abont Únele John's lady-love. It's a f'amily tradition ; he had one. Was she a beauty?" " Not eech a beauty as her cousin, Miss idif," answered Dina. " Miss Amy was tall an' slender, an' ebbery inch a lady ; but it was her sweet way, mor'n her face, dat made folks worship de groun' she walked on. Sbe war a Quaker, you know. Mars John an' she come an' went, jess like two weddiners ; an' Miss Edif an' a a Southern man -Carroll war his name- day come an' went jest like two other weddiners ; an' den dey got to changing, an Miss Edif' went wid Mars John, an Mars Carroll went wid Miss Amy, an' it were plain as de nose on your face dat he war extreme fond ob her ; and den Mars John backfd right down, fur he war mighty spunky, an' Miss Amy's picter was took out ob his room, an' all de little fancy fixin's she had made him was took away, an' he nebber went wid gals any more at all- more's de pity." " What became of this Quaker girl ! asked Fred Ashurst. "Oh, she went away, somebody told me, to Englan', an' dey nebber got to be weddiners, any ob dem, eo fur as I knows i on. Sech a pity lor Mars John ! He nebber cared much for nothiu' till your mother died, au' he brought you un. He war extreme good to you, Mars Fred, an dat shows de heart dar is in de man. But he í Bot as a meetin' -house in his way. 1 jess du what he says, an' fur general he sayt riirht. S'pose he's done forgot Miss Aray t VA' he hed, he wouldn't act in dis onchristian manner. Don't de Bible say, ' IjUC yuur neighbors?' An' here he sets hissell agin 'em 'fore dey come, an' says, Don i lend 'em a scrap, an' drive off de chillen, and den puts up dat big board warnin' en off, jess as ef dar war a ingine in our yare dat would smash 'em to pieces. An d sweet little chillen wid deir fadder in heb ben wiU jess b'lieve Jack de Giant killer libs here. Sarves hini right, too, for harborin' sech unchristian feelings." The next morning three little children - two boys and a girl- stood beíóro the woodeo board that llfted its warning above the hedge that divided the Ashurst lawn from its neighbors. With difficulty the boys siielled out the words. " What does it mean?" asked the little girl, curiously. " Trespassing ! trespass! That's what the prayer is about. Don't you know - ' Forgive us our trespasses?' " "Don't mean that, at all," replied the oldust boy, sagely. " Mamma says that for Ood to be good to us 'cause we are KOod to folks who Lave been oaughty to us. We haven' t done aiiything to the folks oext door, cause we' ve just couie." " Muybe hes afraid we wi.l," replied tbe little girl, shrewdly. " T' 11 ask mamma." Fred Áshurst, sittiDg on the piazza, heard this conveisation, and re orted it to bis uncle. " Humph!" ejaculated that individual, moodily. " I hnpe the woman will have sense enough to take a hint." A week elapsed, and John Ai-hurst was, to use bis own expression, " mure out of' sorts than ever." "Crosser dan two sticks,'1 was Dinah's version of' his mood, as she addressed her pots and kettles. "I won't stand this any longerl" he ezokimed, testily. "The baby cries all night, and the olier oiicn raie üedlam all Uie day. Whon the guinea stops the peanrvtlr Viiioino W liiti O ilnnn IQ -II 1' . '. Q cock befims. VVhen a druui is at roi-t a a blast comes from a tin horn. The hens have i-cratehed up iny seeds, tbe dog has - I inight as well teil my grievaoces to her." Forthwith he sat down and wrote : Madam- Patience cessen to be a vlrtue. I caunot thlnk byday nor sleep bynlght. Would il be posstble for you tochunge your nursery to the other side of the house? L'ould your chlldren exlxt wiili a smaller allowance of drums, trumpet, Jew'e-harps and tin horns? Your chickfijH huve pulled up my seeds. Your dog tore my door-mat into bil yesierduy. Your boys stoned luy íruít trees, and your glrl bolhers my cook. Your guineas, peacock and parrot I protem against ks DQisanoe. If you can effect au abatement ol' tbese nulsances you will greutly obllge Your uelghbor, John Asiiukbt. He rang the belL "Pred, take tliisi.ext door." "Yes, !-ir ; lui I am late lor the base ball match ; I'll stop o my wai' houio. 1 (juesfi it will keep ; punpuwdcr is apt tj," he said, with a uitaning Miiile. " I don't want any delmy," replied John Ahhurt, i-tenily. " This thinj? alut be btopped." That afiernoon John Ashurst sat in bis offiei; writmg,when he heanl a stiialthy ftep pass his window, lollowed by the rusllingol' leaves. " It's that plaucd ueighbor's children," he suid, excitedly. "They're at my cherries aain " A few ha.ty strides broupht him to the tree, where a boy was scrarnbliiif,' down. " You young scoundrel !" exclaimed John Ashurst ; " I've caught you now, aDd I'm going to take ynu straight in to your motber. Don't belong there? None of' your tricks. Corne, iuarch along, and we sball see where you belong." Uragging the culprit along, John Ashurt rang his neighbor's door-buil. " No trespassing allowed!" screamed the parrot, in it's unearthly tones. Jonu Asliurst was very angry. J.o nave his warning ca.st into his teeth by this ugly green bird was not plea.ant. "I want to see the lady," hesaid, curtly, to tbe servant who opened the door. " Yes, sir. Will you walk into the parlor?" " Wlll you walk Into my parlor?" Snld the spider to the üy ; " It 1b the pretüest llttlc parlor Tlutt ever you dld spy." In spite of lus angcr, John Ashurt said this lo hiniself as he glanced about the dainty room, such a room as he had not seen for many years. ' There was no disorder, neither was there in bis own stiff parlor next door, but the air of comfort and simple elegance was t-ouielhing unattainable by all the rules of arrangement he knew. John Ashur.st was a critioal man. When he was younger he had been called arti.-tio. Insi-iv-ibly his iiiood melted. On a little table stood a vase of lillies ofthe-vallcy. On the wall in water-colon, lillies-of the-valley. On a bracket in vraxwork, lillies-of the-valley. They were flowers he had avoided for years, for they stirred a memory of his lost youth. Now there flahedupon hiin a nieiuoryof his own rooui years ago, with lillies of-the-valley on table, bracket and wall, and thcir subtle fragrance r called the perfume of flowers worn in a wotnan's hair above the sweetest face he ever knew. The door opened and a lady entered, followed by two boys aud a little girl. "I am glad to see thee," was the gracious reply given tliis ungracious man. Thou art our neighbor, 1 am told. Wilt thou be seaied?" John Asliurst was almost powerless to gpeak. Years ago this quaict Quaker speech had thrilled him as no otlier speech had done, and he had dreauied of a lifetime with such mu-ic in his ear. " I beg your pardon," he md, in a confused, hesitating way ; " I have bruught your boy home." ''Not much !" exclaimed one of the boys in the rear of the beautiful wonian, for John Ashurst said to hinis-elf that she was beautilül. The mother gave the boy a lonk of snnling reproof as Bhe said: "Thou hast made a mistake. I have only these three children, and their baby brother, who u asleep. , , "Told him I didn't belong here, but he wouldn't b'lieve me," explained the boy, sullenly. , "I beg your pardon, taid John Amiurat, with deep humility; "lam afraid I have wronged your boys- and you, he added, still more humbly, thinking of the note he had indited that morning. " Do not mention il," said the lady, politely. " I ai f'earful we have disturbed thee. Thou art awaro we had a great grief'. I have allowed ruy children to have whatever pels they choose, and amuse thetuselves in every innocent way, that their mindH niight be diverted from their great loss." . John Ashurst's face was sympathelio, and troubled, too ; for he was thinking of his note. "A heartless thing, under the circumstances," he said tq hiuiself. Had Fred forgotten to deliver it ? That was a luoky slip of the memory, he thought. The sweet-faced, sweet-voiced Quakeross continued. " My baby has been very IlL I have been obliged to keep on this sida of the house, as it is cooler. When he is better I shall change my nursery." John Ashurst's face feil. After all, she had read his note. "I beg your pardon, he said, with real trouble in bis tone, did not know your baby was ïll. L beg you will not change on my account. I M nns taken about the boy"- turning to ee that the urchin had made his escape. ' I niay have made other mistakes. Perhaps they wero not your chickens. It may have been i soma other person's dog." i " Chickens, dog?" a-ked the lady ; I i do not understand." en John Ashurst's face bnghtened. blie had not recoived his note. " It does not i signify," he replied. "_I thought you Í' might have heard cumplaints about youi t chickens or dog-from- my oook- or mj ' nephew- or soiuebody,' he said, desper [ ate"ythe cook has been extremely kind," i answered the lady. " We were obhgod te . borrow some brandy one day when the babj was very ill, and we could not get at oursB n the confusión incident to moving. Thel nephew has won the heart of niy boys byB teaching theiu how to shoot arrows, andl Lucy - this little girl- and thy nephew areB great friendt:. My children were puzzledB about the sign-board iB thy hodge, but thyB nephew told them it was to wam ottB triimps." " Ue is a good boy. Fred is an uncom-B nionly good young man," exclainied JohnH Ashurtit, fèrvently. His failure to delivoifl that note was a mark of superior judgujenj he thought. "The servant entered. "I hope yo will excuse me," she said, addressing liufl mistress; "but a note was lift thismorninpl and as you were getting the baby to slccpB I did not disturb you." I .John Ashurst stepped forward eagerjyB "I aiu the writer of that note," he míiIB extending his hand. "As I have connB tuyself, it will be quite unnecessary for youl to read it. I can do my errand withoufl taxing your patience to read my illegiblM writing. . I "Certaioly," answered the unsuspcctin M Quakeress. " Thou art very kind to troubffl thyself about us." John Asliurst thought of kiroserf as :¦ " liypocri'e," and yet he was glad, glad afl if he had seen an enetny in the act of apl plying a match to tunpowder, and sud'lenlj befbnod himself in poMMMon of tnatoh aofl gunpowdcr. What should be say, for thfl Qviakfresa was looking in an expectant wayl as he had not told his erraniJ. "' We have a great many chpirio. Senil for them whenevtr you like," he aid, al awkwardly a a school-boy. I "We are gnaiful for (hy kindoe8,' replied the Quaki-ress. " Do not changa your nurseiy on ml account," pleadd Joha Ashuret, liisiiiinil reverting tothat dreailful no'e. " Let thJ children iromi! over when they (lease. Ficii will amuse the boys, and the cook will bl iiliarl to snoil the uirl." pieasea w spon me iri. John A-hurst wrnt home wit li a Ik'liH heart. He elutched the note as if it hudH been a prize. " To t hink," lie said (¦ bimself, " how near I carue to vroundinfl that grief-Stiioken, sensitivo wouiau." He diew the note from li is pocket l read the cruel words bef ore. dcstroyinfl them, and found, instead of bjgpote 10 h'M neighbor, his last month's pas bill. " Frcd is a young man of mii crior judgH ment, as 1 told our neiphbor, Mis. HurB uey," he said with a suiile. " I hii wou H have bt en quite haitnless liad slie opum-iH it." " It was dreadfully carelcss if me ifl leave the wrong letter," apologized Frcfl Asliurst, with a uierry twinkle in his c.el as he drew the offensive letter from H pocket that night. "Baseball makes nnl lose his wits," he added in justificad !¦ " Set it down, uncle, to proflt and les-." ¦ '" Dinah," said John Ashurst to the colH ored servant that night, " bfl veiy kind il our next door neighbor. She is an estiH mable wouian who has seen much troubleH You need uot drive the ehildren away. l aojthing," he added, as he walked awayH 'Sho!" exclaimed Dinah, adlressinB her unwashed dishes. " Wat's de meaniifl ob dis somerset ob opinión? Guess she'l a widder indeed, as de good bock say Lnr'! what a power widdeis has got, to Ifl shorel" Weeks passed, and John Ashurst pacej his rooui with trouble on his face. lljl nephew eanie in. "Anything wronfl unele," he asked, kindly. " I believe I am a little out of boiIs. ¦ answered John Ashurst. " In fact, FrecB I was thinking of you." "Of me? Don't worry abut me; 1 am happy as a lark," answered Fred, cars leady. ''The fact is, Fred," said John AshurslB stopping in m nervous walk and lookinH attentively at his nephew, " I am a linfl worried about you - and out neighbors." "The Gurneys?" asked Fred, in amaz.B ment. " Yes," answered John AshursM gravely. " It has just come to my i;uB that people are talking about our giul there. I have been very kind to Mr.-B Gurney because I was unjust to her :M first, and wished to make aionement. Slil is a very eharming woman - more ilial that, a good woman. To me there is ¦ woman so attractive as the sweet-voice Quaker woman, wiih her quaint spceeB and gentle ways, so I lealize vuur dangcr.'! Fred Ashurst's eyes twinklod. " 1'olkB talk about us, do they ? If I were a tiiaB with your age and means, I'd make thenj talk to some purpoi-e. If 1 wero in yoM place, Uncle John, I would marry thl widow." . , John Ashurst bent a eearching glancc ol his nephew. " It would not hurt you i the least if I loved and wedded Mre. Uu ney ?" he a.kcd. I " Not the least. I would congratuiatB you with all my heart," answered Fredl earnestly. , ', "That is enough,' said John AshurstJ with a satisñed Mnile. " You don't lovl the woman if you are willing to see anothel win hor. . ¦ " You needn't fcar a rival in me, i. Fred, laughing. ¦ " Oh, Fred, that is all consense, sai John Ashurst, impatiently. " I shal! neveB niarry. Unfortunately, there is a uieiuorM of the past that would come between m aud a new love. I teil you thia muoh thaF you netd not spcculate or plan about iny iuture." " Mrs. Gurney might make you forget the past," KUggeeted Fred. "Oa the contrary, she makes me remember it, replied John Ashurst, half to himself. That night, in the widow Gurney s home, the children were crowded about a new-couier whoin they called Cousin Lily. In a pause in the conver.-ation slie Mld, addressing Mis. Gurney: " Pray teil me who these riow fi.uml relativcs aie? They talk of Fred and Uncle John as though they were kin." "They are our neighbors," answered Mrs. Gurney. " I want thee to meet them. Wben we had lived here about a week, our neighbor called. He made a f'unny mitake, and brought a boy who was stealing his cherriep, thinking lie btlonged here. Think of it, Lily- une of iuy boys stealing fruit!" " I should have Leen very angry, said thevisitor. "OU, no," answered Mrs. Gurney. l was sorry for him. He was bo gentlemsnly and humble, really contrito, as if he liad offended me and was sorry for it. He was a little incoherent, too, and I cnuld not quite make out what ho meaiit. A nboolboy would not have been moro embarrassed. Then a note carne n he had sent me, and there had been delay in giving it to me. He (ook it quite engeily, anl Mld he would do the errand bimself, IH offered us all the oberriea we wantod. That was th bezinning ot' our friendship. Since then Fred Ashurst and his uncle have been frequent Mtoi-. Tliis unclc lias a most wonderful smile ; it liguts up his whole face. But he is not a man given to smilirur. I judge he has had great trouble. What ails thee, Lily? The blood has gone from thy fiwe." " My journey has boen a liltle exhausting," lliat ia all, nplied the visitor, carelessly. "By the way," she said, with affected indiffereuce, "is the uncle' name ?buret?" ,lT , "Yes," answered Mrs Gurney. Is r the family known to thee ?" 'em a serap, Dinah ; drive off de chillen.M an' all ich I " Dinah's hearty guffaw at tlie reraemH brance uiight bave bten heard to the ncxH duur. I " Wus allus s'pectin' suthin' was cominM l'roin de day Maïs John drug de boy dar.'B continued Dinah. " Mis Gurney's a nicH wonian, but dis is heaps better. Couldu'B be better. It'n de gtuooine old lub. ï !¦ iibout young lubbers ; Land ! Dey ;¦ hold a mnoM to de lub ob haíf a litetiiueB Mis. Üurney weut about with tcara !¦ her eyes and a smile at her mouth. ThH tcars wore lor her pa.st rotuance, the t-müH tor her cousin's present and future rcB manee. I The chi'dren were discussmg it. 'lfl cousin's name will bo Ahurt," said tliH little boy, '"cause wcinitu change thcirla.'H iianirs neo they're married. " ¦ "Their firt ñames, too," said the Hri'B girl. "She uted to be CouBJu Lilly, auB nuw we cali her Cousin Amy." I "You little gciose!" laughed the oldefl boy. '" Her riglit natue was always AmH but they called ber Lily in Kngland, beB oaase she was fair and wore lilies so muchH lily was a petnaine. Don't you know thH song, ' Cali rae pet name, Ucarcst ; cali me a- ' I "Qoose!" added the little girl. "That'B what you called me." ¦ Fred. Ashurst came in on tiptoe. ¦ have a secret, youngsters. Thcy are tn -M 1 married next month. Come along aml ki ¦ me wake kindling wood of this ' midhriM tian warniu',' as Dioah calla it. 1 u'U ' Juhn is like tht: blustenng month ufMari-M : _nü W(.,)L in like a lion, but cuines out likB a larab."