Uncle Davy's Staff

t ■ Lt JÊr f " Well, Jane, have yon made up your niind ? I leave the matter entirely in your hands." My husband looked across the table at me, and held a glass of wine between him and the light, screwing up his eyes as he examined the color. We were sitting at dessort in the old dining-room at Tnrton, the dark-polished mahogany table refleeting the bright faces of onr six ohildren. Two ' by me - the eldest who was so like his j father, and the youngest who could not I eat tidily, and wanted mamma to ent up his orange and wipe his mouth ; ojiposite, by Ronald, were the two little ; ones with curly heads and niischievous j fingers, who were sailing orange-boats I in the purple finger-glass, and coaxing papa to niake more. The girls weïe one on each side ; the eider one peering at me with her great blue eyes, aud I evidently wondering whatever it was that mamma was to make up her mind about. I was just going to answer when I caught her cuxious gaze, and then I stopped. " I'll teU you all about it when the children go off to bed," I said. Lucy dropped her liead with a blank i expression of disappointment, which Konald observed with infinite aniuseI ment. There was a little nod across the table to me, and a whisper about little I pitchers having long ears, which made Lucy bluBh. Presently we went to the drawing-room, and the children began to romp, at the conclusión of which I carried off the youngest to the nursery ; and before I carne down again I went for a moment into my little morningroom and sat down over the fire - I wanted to think. People said I was a fortúnate and a naPPy woman, and so I was. Om-home ! was one of those fair English halls standing ainid its own far-spreading ! grounds and rich farms. I could match I my husband and ehildron against tlie i best and noblest in the land ; and yet I had plenty to make me of ttimes thoughtful, and' sometimes sad. There is a cross in every lot, and mine lay in the I future - not my own, but my childien's. My father-in-law had been au extravagant man, who had drained the entailed estáte as near as he could. My husi band, with a moderately large iircome, I had manv claims on his purse, and, I moreover, with scrupulous honor, apphed every available sum to the payl ment of his father's debts. We had a large family; the eldest one was provided for by the entail. But, if this I went on, what could we do for the other I little ones? Over and over again I had I tried to bring the matter seriously before Konald, but a careless security in the future was a part oí his natural dis' position, and I could not persuade him to make any real effort for their benefit. ] Invariably he said : " Just wait till I pay Saunders and Bolton, and then we will begin to lay by." And I liad to think sadly of my own pooi' portion of L5,000 fovested in shares in the Connty Bank, and hope and trast. I was thinking more sadly to-night j because my Imsband, who had just re! turueel from a business visit to London, had met me with an unexpected proposal. He had fallen in with an old ■ unele who had spent the greater part of his life in India, toiling for the golden fortune that never carne. Now, a decrepit old man and a confirmed invalid, lie had expended the little he possessed and was actually in want. Iionald de scribed his miserable lodging, told how much he süffered, and ended with a proposal that we should ask him to come and live at Turton. The kind thought ! was just like him; but I looked terribly Mank when the idea was suggested, and opposed it violently. My foman's bi'ain at once embraced the obstaelcs, and, it j may be, exaggerated them. " Think what a tie it would be," I . said, " a third person to spoil our qniet evenings and readings aloud - a soniebody to interfere with our walks and j drives and dinners. The poor children ! would bc hushed tor fear of disturbing the invalid ; I should have to give up my time to his amusement and comfort. Besides, think of the expense ! We tereéa to give up the earriage-horses ; but that woitld be out oí' the que.stiou if he were here and could not walk or use the pbny-phaeton, And wc lanat have an extra man-servant to wait on him: and, if we used another sot of rooms, we sliould require a second house-maid." I drew such a melancholy picture of - I the conseqncnces that my husband said at last : "Well, my dear, please yourself; it shall be as yon liko. I only wish we could havo made the old man comfortable ; he was very kind to me wlieu I was a scliool-boy." So ï sat in nry room tuid planned how we could manage, gradually beginning to think I had been selfish in my opposition. I thought it might be arranged. I could give up this very morning-room lor liim to sit in, and let hini sleep in the south room next door. Walters might wait upon him if the stable-boy helped in the pantry ; and if we gave up the pretty pony-phaeton we might keep the brongham. As to the disarrangeanent of our family enjoyments, we must jint up with it. The kindnoss would bring its own recompense, somehow. I went down-stairs with a heart, for I was conscious of a praiseworthy resolution ; and, sending off' the ehildren to bed, knelt down by my husband's side, and said : "Shall we write the invitation, Eonald?" He answered me with a kiss and a brightening of the eye, which were almost enough recompense for the sacritíce. X JliiLl V iDL The invitation was wiïtten, accepted, and, before the end of the fortnight, old Mr. David Turton - " Unclo Davy " as we called him - made his appearance. I went out to meet him, and tried to give him a hearty welcome ; but he was, seemingly, a vcry unamiable. old man. His manner was short and snappish; his little grey eyes looked at me susjmciously, and, when he attemptod to smile, he sncered sarqastieally. I led him into the drawing-room, and offered to relieve him of his great-coat and stick. But, no ; he growled at me as if I had taken an unpardonable liberty, and, setting his stick across his knees, leaned forward on it, and stared me full in the face. I tried to look unconcerned, but my oheeks had flnshed, and my tone was sharp when I desired Lucy to run up stairs to the schoolroom. The old man's eyes twinkled, and the sneering sinüe came to his lips. "Yon are offended with me, madam," he said. "I beg your pardon, but my stalï is an old friend - the best frie.nd I háve. I never allow it to leave ïny side." He never did. By day it rested on liis knees ; by night it lay on the bed beside him. His brain had evidently been affected by his illness, and showed its disorder by a strange attachment to that wooden staff with its round knob for a handle. It was a perfect monoraania. 1 l I remember once one of my little boys seized it when hewas dozing, and, converting it into a horse, raced up and down the room with it. Uncle Davy woke, and his anger knew no bounds. I ran out of the room with the child, imftgining him in positive danger, and when I returned I found the old' man sobbing and crying like an infant, with his head bent down on the much-loved staff. Truly Uncle Davy's stay at Tnrton was a sad trial to me. Over and over again I regretted that we had invited him ; and so, I am sure, did Eonald, too. He said, at last, that we must seek him a lodging elsewhere ; but the plan was hardïy formëd when the old man feil sick and died. He had a lingering illness, and I watched beside him day and " iright. Then, for the flrst time, I found that he had formed a sort of attachment to me and the chijdren, and given tts a little corner of the heart that I had supposed to be wholly devoted to his staff'. But he was a trymg invalid, and at last I was fairly worn out with incessant watching. He protested against nurse or servant, and kept me constantly at his bedside. Erom no one else would he receive food or medicine, and if I left him for a moment he was miserable. But his child-like dependeré and clinging affection toHched my heart in spito of myself. I began j to 1oy and tend him gentlrj like a baby. ruling lul chiding him as 1 should have done one of.my.own IitÜo ones when it was naughty. Under this treatmeut i we got on botter, and should have managed without any outhurst, had it not happened that, one ;nnliteky morning, in a pressure of occupation, I neglected to riib and polish the staff as he had desired me to do. liofore his iilness, this had beeu the oneimpoïtant.duty of his day, about which he set in the most seientific manner, with clean towels and wash-leather. Since himself incapaeitated, he had reqursted me, as an especial favor, to undertake the ]"roeess, and, anxious to indulge him in all smalt matters, I had coniplied - holding the knobbed handle, as he directed, in a cambric handkerchief, and rubbing from right to left. This mornmg he had been in a singulai-ly perverse humor; nothing pleased him, and the. supposed neglect of his favorito caused the lowering storm to bnrst fortli. He raged and stormed for an hour, threatening me with every sort of vengeance. At length, fairly exhausted, he sank back in bed, and bade me leave him - he would : try and .sleep. I hovered abont the next room for some time, then, fmding all quiet. stolo away for an hour's rest. 'hen I returned all was silent as before, nevertheless I noiselessly turned the lock and looked in. What was my horror to flnd the bed empty and my patiënt escaped ! I called the servants, and sent everywhere to seek him. But he was not soon found ; no one had seen him leave the house, and we could not imagine what vrati his object in doing ro. At last I diseovered him myself, in a retfred corner of the shrubbery, trying, with feeblo efforts, to dig a hole and bury his staff. " No one is worthy of it," he said ; bnt he. would not leave it when we had diseovered his secret hiding place ; and, after many argnments, I prevailed upon him to return and let me polish and clean it. That night he was very ill - the exeri tion and exposnró brought on relapso. He bade ni(i put the staff quite close to him, and his feeble fingers cliisjw.d it j fondly and stroked it down. Jnst when he was dying he put it into my hand : " Keep it - never part with it - promise me, Jane." I promised, for I saw his heart was bent on my doing so. " Jane - the stafl' is - ehildren - - " But his voice failed, and his head feil back. He never spokc again, and before daybreak he was dead. We laid him in the family vanlt in the Tarten ohureli lor, in spito of his wanderings and wayward life, he was of the old stock - and, putting aside his favorito staff in my pak cabinet, we went back to our oíd ways, and almost fovgot liim. Years passea, during wluch more little faces elustered ronnd onr board, and thc oidor ones werc sent off' to school. The clouds that had so long skirted the distanoo carne nearer and nearer, and at last Imrst over our heads. The bank in whieh my money wtn vested suddenly failed ; the Ktewaru who luid maiwged lliy husbanil'a affairs proved unfaithfnl and absconded with all that he conld eonvert into money ; oreditore pressed round and were elamorous; we were miiiod. Nothing reinained for ns but to ïeave Turton ; if possible to let, and togo and live on the (continent. There was to be a sale alter we left, aifd the h(uuWills were already oufcv I iiul spent long diiyw iii packnig and arranging, and, nuable longer to meet the childivn's doloful faces anrl sud regrots at pavting witli their old pets, I hurried to my little morning room - the room that had witnessod many a dreaiy hour of watchiug over Uncle Diivy. I was erying, in spite of my efïbrts at self-command. In the liall I had scen little Edmond, with his arms round the old rocking-horse, sobs bursting irom the rosy lips that he pressed against his favorite. Lucy was taking the toys from the doll's house as I passed the school-room. Oh! my heart bied sadly, for every grief of theirs was doubly mine. The maid had been packing, and the oak cabinet was unlocked, the door swinging to and fro on its hinges. The drawer below held my chief treasures, which I had reserved to put up at the lust; fnncying this a favorable ojsportunity, I now opened it, and began to sort the thing. A packet of copy-books - large, round, blotted text-haml - on the outside of each cover one of the children's names and date. I tied them together and put them up. A little carved ivory box, which had long ago been a present from a sailor brother, with nine neatly-foldcd little white paper pareéis inside, and a curl of soft hair in each - the last causing a few bitter tears to fall down on my black dress, as kneeling down I unfblded it and touched the smooth tress. Poor little baby that had pined when sorrow came to me ; that had died in my arms, and now lay with its little coffin resting beside Uncle Davy's. I moved the packet of baby's clothes that I had put away the day after the funeral - the little gowns and caps and things - and giilped down a very sad sob. Poor little baby, God had provided for it ! 'There were yet a few more things, and then the drawer was empty, save for Uncle Davy's staff. I left it laying there while I paoked up the otlier things, and it was still there wlien I went down to tea. As I came up again I heard loud tones. "Master Edmond, I shall teil your mamma of you. Have done immediately. What a naughty boy you are ! Don't you see you have knocked all the paint off the bannisters?" Nlirse was standing on the first landing, lookmg down into the hall, with a very red face, while the child in her arms had a very inquiring look in his brown eyes, and was mouthing and tugging at an In dia-rubber ring held by two fat, slippery hands. The delinquent was Master Edmond, aged t!, who was consoling himself for the parting with the old rocking-horse by racing up and down the first flight of atepR, Uncle" Davy's staff in hand, rattling the round handle all the way against the bannisters. "There!" screamcd nurse. "What have you done now ?" as the child missed his footing, and lay screaming on the ground. She hurried down until the lusty roars reassured her, when she commenccd a nursery mode of consolation : "There! have done, will you? It's all your own fault, you naughty boy. Just see how you've dirtied your clean pinaf ore ; nnd now you are making baby cry. Get up." Edmond scrambled up by aid of her great red hand, but only to reveal a slit in his frock, and Uncle Davy's staff on the floor, braken in two. Nurse shook lum. "Do you know what you have done? Where did you get that stick from? - It's only Master Edmond, always in mischief, ma'am," she added in explanation, as I joined them. I wiped the cíiild's eyes, and pitied him for a bad bump on his forehead, supposing him to have been sufficiently punished. He picked up the two pieces of the staff, and I took them from him and earried them up stairs to my room. Komething dropped with a slight rattle on the floor, and I stooped to look at what it was, my hand stealing to my throat to assure itself of the safety of the brooch in my collar. Bomething that looked like a pearl bead was on the cnrpot, and, I iicked it up. A similar rnftle, and as I ngnin found the same thing, I looked to sec where they came from. ) 3UtI ThoHtaiï Wiisin my hand, and I turned it over. The broken enduhowed a ]erforated liole, from wMch, as I shook it, camp anofVrcr poail. I gaxe n little exclaxoation, and ran down to my husband in the libiiny. A ligjji was ('iawjring on me. "Ve'aiiin(d tlie sta tl', and 1 fouud it was everi as tc áspecteil: The old man had been more suecessful in his Indian enterprises th.an he had gjj'en us to under.stend ; but, finding pov'erty a good veil for prnuriousness, had j)r(tended to extreme rhisfortune, diligently converting all that he -was able to accumulate into pearls, which he eoncealed in this favorite ,staft', never ullowing it to loavo liis side, and gnarding it with jeaJöus nnd miserly care. He had evidently intended to acquaint me with the secret when on his deathbed, as I remembired by his reference to the children, lut luid died in the attempt. But even,, jiow the discovery was not too late. Kona-ld at once took the pearls to Tjondon,.üud was perf ectly astonisned by the large offers that were made foi theln. 'l'l;c :■■:!( reali.ed n very larg sum -Miifli;ient to relea.se us ü'(jm om present embarrassments and liy by a handsome portion for each of tlio chil dren.-;' ' J " - "Truly," as my husband said, with a glowing face, when w again assembled in the Turton dining-room, "no good action go's nnrewarded. We made an unselfish saei-iflee for a poor old man, without a thoiiglit of recompenso, and the Messing "has roturned sevenfold to our bosoms. Depend upon it, it is evei s.. Where we give we shall ever jtw repaid ■- if not her(. at a Higher Account.' A RECENT death has increased the Wallingford tornado victim.s to thirtytwo.