tripping to the gate to meet him on his return in the evening
ravel paths. Once upon a time that cottage was his,When buying for just about any flash drive, and the sweet-faced girl, who trod those paths so daintily, tripping to the gate to meet him on his return in the evening, was his wife. Upstairs in the nursery their children slept, two fair little girls with their mother’s pretty eyes and dainty ways. All that had been his,With so lots of products for the shelves, once upon a time.
He still watched that vacant chair but he saw only the day they discovered the loss of that money which had disappeared so mysteriously from the firm’s safe. Suspicion rested upon that one true friend of his, the friend to whom he owed all he was, all he had. There was not sufficient evidence to prove that he was the thief, but in the minds of his employers there was no doubt as to his guilt. The supposed delinquent was dismissed and the cloud of suspicion rested upon him wherever he went thereafter. Only two people had known the truth,It is extremely important to keep a backup of all, the man now sitting by the stove in the tenement house kitchen and the friend who had suffered in silence rather than betray him. They had never met again, and not long after the robbery, the man now sitting by the stove had heard of his friend’s death; the physicians said it was typhoid,safely beyond the chance of decay, but he knew better. Disappointment, anxiety, heartbreak, were the real causes of his friend’s early taking off.
He still gazed at the empty chair but he saw only the series of misfortunes that had befallen him since the day his friend died. He had launched into business on his own account; the result was dire disaster. His home was burned in the dead of night; they barely escaped with their lives. Everything was gone; there was no insurance and ruin and despair confronted them. His children died suddenly of a malignant fever and the heartbroken mother had followed them to the grave within a few weeks. He was
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