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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Darrel of the Blessed Isles"


Then they walked slowly up the long hill, arm in arm.
"How very grand you look!" said she, proudly. "Did you see the
Governor?"
"Yes, but he can do nothing now. It's the only cloud in the sky."
"Dear old man!" said Polly. "We'll find a way to help him."
"But he wouldn't thank us for help--there's the truth of it," said
Trove, quickly. "He's happy and content. Here is a letter that
came to-day. 'Dear Sidney,' he writes. 'Think of all I have said
to thee, an', if ye remember well, boy, it will bear thee up. Were
I, indeed, as ye believe, drinking the cup o' bitterness for thy
sake, know ye not the law will make it sweet for me? After all I
have said to thee, are ye not prepared? Is my work wasted; is the
seed fallen upon the rocks? And if ye hold to thy view,
consider--would ye rob the dark world o' the light o' sacrifice?
"Nay," ye will answer. Then I say: "If ye would give me peace, go
to thy work, boy, and cease to waste thyself with worry and foolish
wandering."'
"Somehow it puts me to shame," said Trove, as he put the letter in
his pocket. "I'm so far beneath him. I shall obey and go to work
and pray for the speedy coming of God's justice."
"It's the only thing to do," said she.


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