Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1865-02-09

good about it. You won't think hard o.
me for speakin' out ?" she added apolOgeti
caly.
Hard of you Indeed | won't" re-
piled Margaret and then, comprehending
suddenly that she might have wounded her
good old friend by her quick manner, the
girl left her chair and crossed over her, r,and
smoothing the woman's gray hair said, 81
should be an migrate to lay up any thing
against the best friend have in the whole
world"
" No, no, dear heart; then we won't say
another word. But here, it's four o'clock,
and | must go. And, Marg'ret, supposing
you just walk along with me, and sit down
an have a cup o tea with my husband an
me. Mebbe 'twould do you good to talk
over matters with him. You know your
mother was in the habit o. consultin' him
about her affairs"
sky and over the short brown grass and
when Margaret came back it was settled
that the old homestead should be sold.
1t was the night before the sale 1t had
been with Margaret busy day Her room
at Mrs Kittredges had been taken, and
furnished with articles from the old house,
many of which she had carried carefully
with her own hands And now, in the gath
ering dusk of the summer night she closed
the door, locking it behind her, and sat
down upon the gray stone.
How quiet the night was Only the
croaking of frogs in the marshes, and the
shrill notes of the whippoor-will, weird and
far off, borne by the night wind across the
lowland. An oder of mignonnette came up
from the little flower boider at her feet
That border-who would tend it now And
the oder mignonnettc-how it carried her
back to that morning, ten Years before
when Arson went away +! She remember
cd that spray of it was in her dress that
day She had never smeled mignonnette
since without living the parting over again.
Ten years And Margaret, sitting alone
in the cleaning, half wondered if she were
the same girl that she was then. She look
ed at her hands folded Oh her knee. How
thin they were They used to be round
and plump, she remembered But what
ever else they had lost they had kept the
firm pressure of Anson's good-by They had
always seemed, they always would SEEM a
little better to her, remembering that
Ten years She had promised to wait
she would 1t was 50 long to wait Would
he never come back to claim her promise
If he were alive But what if he was dead?
They all supposed he was. Perhaps he
was Every one she loved had died Why
not this one And if he were dead was
her promise binding? Something outside
of herself seemed to suggest this. She
looked away through the darkness. \
bright light glanced from among the ma
Piles on the hill 1t came from the bow
window of Squire Varnum's library Mar
garet watched it a moment, thinking then
of her own little room at Mrs. kittredges
1t was contrast certainly. A word of hers
would place her under the CHEEKY lamplight
of that library, with all those old books
looking down, and Squire Varnum's genial
face looking across at her. Should she
speak that word But between her and
any such answer there came her own voice
of old, spromising to wait forever
And she remembered too well Anson'S
please Heaven, you shall never have to
wait so long" to forget it now. And so
she would trust God. Wait and hope still,
though it should be hoping against hope
And then the shadows deepened, and the
flames of sunset burned to ashes down the
west and the figure of the lonely girl was
lost in the gloom Of the porch.
She started suddenly. Something brush
ed against her foot Only the cat she
had forgotten her until that moment.
Come pussy" she said. " You shall go
oo;"and taking the:old creature in her arms
she went down the walk, the creaking gate
swung behind her, as she passed out into
the night
The Frear Farm to be sold to-day, they
said An auction was an event to the
dwellers in this quiet land of farms. Early
in the afternoon the old vendue-master was
upon the stand, shouting and gesticulating
in way which would have done justice to
a more hotly contested sale. There were,
in fact, but two competitors for the farm,
Squire Varnnm and Deacon Hall The lat
ter had just risen twenty-five dollars above
the price set by his opponent.
The Deacons got it now," said voice
in the crowd but just then there appeared
a new figure upon the scene.
On the street, in front of the house, just
under the poplars, wagon had stopped,
and tall man, bronzed and brown-bearded,
stood erect in it, looking down upon the
ClO"u Will 't hCCli, otCduy
"Twenty-five hundred dollars y shouted
the auctioneer, I'm offered twenty-five
hundred dollars for Frear Farm Who
bids again? Going, gentlemen Too
cheap by half Going :"
Every car awaited the final "Gonc, when
Il voice sung out, deep and clear as a bell,
"Twenty-siX hundred dollars y
The astonished farmers faced about to a
man, and scanned the newcomer.
"Twenty-six hundred and twenty-five "
vociferated Deacon Hall, beholding his sup
posed possession suddenly taking to itself
wings.
Twcnty,scven hundred :" shouted the
stranger, leaping from his wagon with a
bound, and striding through the crowd He
reached the stand just as the hammer came
down.
"Gone for twenty-seven hundred to-.
What name, Sir?" and the vendue-master
turned to the stranger.
my fellow-townsman ought to do me the
honor to remember that, Sir" he replied,
with merry twinkle in his eyes.
BY all the powers | believe it's Anson
Boise :" exclaimed the old man, taking the
stranger by the arm, and turning him
towards the light.
Tho same Sir :" and Anson eytpndpd