“He has, indeed, fallen low. In the days of his prosperity, he had many friends, so called. Adversity has shaken them all like dead leaves from sapless branches.”
“But why? This is not always so.”
“Judge Hammond was a selfish, worldly man. People never liked him much. His favoring, so strongly, the tavern of Slade, and his distillery operations, turned from him some of his best friends. The corruption and terrible fate of his son—and the insanity and death of his wife—all were charged upon him in people’s minds, and every one seemed to turn from him instinctively after the fearful tragedy was completed. He never held tip his head afterward. Neighbors shunned him as they would a criminal. And here has come the end at last. He will be taken to the poorhouse, to die there—a pauper!”
“And all,” said I, partly speaking to myself, “because a man, too lazy to work at an honest calling, must needs go to rum-selling.”
“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” remarked the officer with emphasis, as he turned from me to see that his directions touching the removal of Mr. Hammond to the poor-house were promptly executed.
In my wanderings about Cedarville during that day, I noticed a small but very neat cottage, a little way from the centre of the village. There was not around it a great profusion of flowers and shrubbery; but the few vines, flowers, and bushes that grew green and flourishing about the door, and along the clean walks, added to the air of taste and comfort that so peculiarly marked the dwelling.
“Who lives in that pleasant little spot?” I asked of a man whom I had frequently seen in Blade’s bar-room. He happened to be passing the house at the same time that I was.
“Joe Morgan,” was answered.
“Indeed!” I spoke in some surprise. “And what of Morgan? How is he doing?”
“Very well.”
“Doesn’t he drink?”
“No. Since the death of his child, be has never taken a drop. That event sobered him, and he has remained sober ever since.”
“What is he doing?” “Working at his old trade.”
“That of a miller?”
“Yes. After Judge Hammond broke down, the distillery apparatus and cotton spinning machinery were all sold and removed from Cedarville. The purchaser of what remained, having something of the fear of God, as well as regard for man, in his heart, set himself to the restoration of the old order of things, and in due time the revolving mill-wheel was at its old and better work of grinding corn and wheat for bread. The only two men in Cedarville competent to take charge of the mill were Simon Slade and Joe Morgan. The first could not be had, and the second came in as a matter of course.”
“And he remains sober and industrious?”
“As any man in the village,” was the answer.
I saw but little of Slade or his son during the day. But both were in the bar-room at night, and both in a condition sorrowful to look upon. Their presence, together, in the bar-room, half intoxicated as they were, seemed to revive the unhappy temper of the previous evening, as freshly as if the sun had not risen and set upon their anger.