The Path of Duty 
 
Project Gutenberg's The Path of Duty, and Other Stories, by H. S. 
Caswell This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and 
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Title: The Path of Duty, and Other Stories 
Author: H. S. Caswell 
Release Date: April 15, 2006 [EBook #18181] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATH 
OF DUTY, AND OTHER *** 
 
Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sjaani and the Online Distributed 
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced 
from images generously made available by the Canadian Institute for 
Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) 
 
THE PATH OF DUTY, 
AND OTHER STORIES,
BY 
H. S. CASWELL, 
Montreal: JOHN LOVELL, 28 AND 25 ST. NICHOLAS STREET. 
1874. 
 
CONTENTS. 
CLARA ROSCOM; OR, THE PATH OF DUTY;-- Page. 
CHAPTER I. 
A Sudden Bereavement 1 
CHAPTER II. 
Success at School 6 
CHAPTER III. 
Clara at Mrs. Wentworth's Boarding School 12 
CHAPTER IV. 
Governess in Mr. Leighton's Family 18 
CHAPTER V. 
Willie Leighton's Return from England 26 
CHAPTER VI. 
An Evening Party 32 
CHAPTER VII.
Failing Health of Clara's Mother 39 
CHAPTER VIII. 
A Bright Dream and Peaceful End 45 
CHAPTER IX. 
Friendly Attentions 56 
CHAPTER X. 
A Surprise 60 
CHAPTER XI. 
Embarrassing Interviews 65 
CHAPTER XII. 
A New England Home 76 
CHAPTER XIII. 
New Occupations 83 
CHAPTER XIV. 
School at Mill Town 91 
CHAPTER XV. 
A Happy Re-union 96 
CHAPTER XVI. 
Miss Simmond's Story 105
CHAPTER XVII. 
Penitent and Forgiven 117 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
A New Joy 123 
CHAPTER XIX. 
Uncle Charles 127 
CHAPTER XX. 
Lights and Shadows 132 
CHAPTER XXI. 
Reconciled 140 
CHAPTER XXII. 
Clara's Marriage 145 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
A Pleasing Incident 148 
TERRY DOLAN 151 
THE FAITHFUL WIFE 163 
EMMA ASHTON 175 
THOUGHTS ON AUTUMN 199 
WANDERING DAVY 205
LOOKING ON THE DARK SIDE 215 
EDWARD BARTON 223 
THE WEARY AT REST 233 
THE RAINY AFTERNOON 239 
THE STUDENT'S DREAM 251 
UNCLE EPHRAIM 257 
STORY OF A LOG CABIN 265 
HAZEL-BROOK FARM 281 
OLD RUFUS 301 
THE DIAMOND RING 311 
THE UNFORTUNATE MAN 323 
THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE 329 
ARTHUR SINCLAIR 335 
THE SNOW STORM 355 
THE NEW YEAR 361 
EARNEST HARWOOD; OR, THE ADOPTED SON 367 
CHAPTER I. 
A SUDDEN BEREAVEMENT. 
"Awake, my dear child, awake!" These were the words I heard: I 
started up, gazing in a bewildered manner into the face of my mother, 
who had, with some difficulty, succeeded in arousing me from the
sweet, healthful sleep of childhood. My mother drew nigh to me and 
whispered, "My dear Clara, your papa is dying." With a frightened cry, 
I threw my arms around her neck, and begged her to tell me what had 
happened. I was unable to comprehend the meaning of her words. Since 
my earliest recollection, my father had never experienced a day's illness, 
and so the reader may be able to form some idea of the shock 
occasioned by her words--uttered, as they were, at the hour of midnight. 
When my mother had succeeded in soothing me, in some degree, to 
calmness, she informed me, in a voice choked with sobs, which, for my 
sake, she tried to suppress, that my father had, two hours since, been 
stricken with apoplexy, in so severe a form that his life was despaired 
of. She further informed me that his attending physician thought he 
would not live to see the light of another morning. Well do I remember 
the nervous terror with which I clung to my mother as we entered my 
father's apartment, and the icy chill which diffused itself over my body, 
as I gazed upon the fearfully changed features of my father. I had never 
before seen death in any form. I believe the first view of death is more 
or less terrible to every child; it certainly was terrible for me to first 
view death imprinted upon the countenance of a fond father. I have 
ever since thought that my father recognized me when my mother led 
me to his bed-side; but power of utterance was gone. It was a fearful 
trial to me, who had seen but ten years of life. After the first shock, a 
strange calm took possession of me. Though many years have passed 
since that period, I remember, as though it were but yesterday, how I 
sat during those long hours, scarcely for an instant removing my eyes 
from my father's face, but shed not a tear; for, after the first burst of 
grief, tears refused to come to my relief. Just as the day began to dawn I 
heard the physician say, in a whisper, to a kind neighbor who stood by, 
I think he is    
    
		
	
	
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