Lamoille newsdealer. [volume] (Hyde Park, Vt.) 1860-1877, 1870-08-10

! hGdN sHduoWS caIlle INTO tHe eyes tlaI
used to be so bright, and she thought
sometimes, when the wind was sobbing
through the old pine trees by the door,
that when another spring should send the
grass creeping over the hills and meadows
they would be sobbing and sighing above
her grave. .... ...
But her mother fell sick, and there was
work to do. And she must come out from
her idle dreaming and do the work God
had sent her. .. ...
So she washed, and baked, and churned.
attended the sick mother, cared for her
sick father; and though her heart ached
bitterly sometimes, and life seemed gre
yious burden she did not die.
And five years passed away.
Then the brother had gone out from
the old home-life, and Mamie was left
alone to her father and mother. She had
no lack Of suitors, but there was only one
answer for them all. They murmered
little at first, then cheered up and wooed
elsewhere.
Her girl friends had all gone to hon es
of their own, and children were growing
up around them.
By and by, there came faint traces a
bout Nannie's eyes, and, now and then,
a white thread in her fossy hair. Still
she lived on the old farmhouse, working
and waiting growing to find some pleasure
in the hum-drum round of duties, learning
TO be sharp at a bargain-altogether quite
IA different Mamie from the one who part
ed at the garden gate from her true low
er, William Gray"
And ten years had passed away.
Her mother was quite an invalid now,
her father growing old, and there was
: plenty of work for Nannie's hands And
one day, as she was coming from church,
she heard some little girls talking before
her--the children Of one of her school
friends-and one said:
What, Nancy Price! No, she never
} had a beau, | guess. She's an old maid !''
Then she came home and went straight
, to her room. She sat down before her
glass, ard took loug look at the face
she saw there.
) 1t had been a face that depended for
t its beauty more upon the round curves
: and dimpes, the bright eyes and fair COM
plexlon Of early youth, than any symme-
/. try of feature.
|, Where were the round curves and the
dimpIcs now? Her cheeks were hollow,
and the features looked large and plain.
Where were the bright eyes? They
had grown sunken and faded with weep
: ing and watching, and her fair, rosy CON-
plexon was forever gone.
So Nancy Price rose up from that
look at the hard, bitter truth. and knew
that her youth and beauty were things Of
, the past, and the dream of her life was
over. And | think she deserved honor
for the faithfuness and courage with
which she took up the bleak, bare life
that was left her, and lived it so truly and
well.
No duty so hard and disagrceabe now
, that she shrauk from it. No adversely
that made her cover. And there were
r hard days then. Her mother died, and 9
long, wasting sickness kept her faithful
nurse at her fathers side. And she man
r aged the farm, and took thought and care
for everything.
All honor to the one who, out of the
, fragments of broken dream and crushed
, heart, can give life which, if not beau
| tiful, is useful and true.
. And the summers came and went, anC
Nancy grew older and palmer and, some
| said, cross and stingy. But she still
, nursed her father, and worked early aut
late to send little money to poor unfor
, tunate Joe, who had become cripple fo
: life in that far-of town.
Q At last the summons came to the aget
father. He died one morning in thu
| arms of his faithful daughter, and sh'
/ knew that her greatest lite-work was done
| And twenty years had passed since
G pretty Mamie had stood at the gardeI
gate and bid her lover good-by.
She went on in the same way afte
r that; living at the old farmhouse, keep
G ing only boy to do her outdoor work
4 Her habits were fixed now, and she die
) not care to change. Her face lookeC
y stern and severe enough, but all th
neighbors knew that if nelp were needed
no one would ask in vain of Nancy Price
o And so she lived alone till Joe died, anC
k sent,his only child to his sisters care.
J. But something had happened befor
e that time. t..5r. q 20 Al
0 One afternoon, twelve years ago, til
/ stage had left sick man at the villag
inn, and they said in his wild rawlings h