Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1872-05-10

her there and fixed it all straight with
Mis- Clark, and she's got the room her
aunt used to have. Mis- Clark don't
know yet who it is she's got board
ing with her. She n Mr.. Clark's
pretty much strangers yet in these
parts, you know. But l wouldn't won.
der if somebody was to tell her before
long"
"Poor Sylviel l hope not" said the
gentler woman. "And Jehiel says
she's so changed ~
"He says she don't look to him as il
she was long for this world" responded
Mis- Philbrick. "Dre dful thin and
holler, and with cough that it shakes
you all to pieces to hear. Poor cretur,
as you say, Mis- Wilder. The way OF
the transgressor IS hard-there's no
doubt about it! Well, / must be
goin'."
i" Mother,' cried Pris and Hepsy, r
leased at last from their buttery, "who
IS Sylvia DaEe that you and Mis- Phil
brick was talking about? Do tell us
about her."
"She's poor child who used to live
here, and who's come back to die, I'm
afraid, replied the mother, cautiously.
Don't mind about her, girls, but come
UP stairs with me, and help pick over
the carpet-rags. It's time they was
sorted out"
| And in the excitement of matching
blues and yellows, and arranging for
black stripes and brown, Hepsy and
Prs forgot their curiosity. But their
mother did not forget, and prayed long
and earnestly that night for the wan
derer brought so strangely back to her
home.
Meantime Sylvia was lying in the bed
where, as child, she had slept beside
her kind old aunt. The room was little
changed. There was the old-fashioned
cherry bureau, the maple wash-stand,
the pine shelf in the corner, on which
Miss Dare's black. bound Bible used to
lie. Sylvia even recognized the musty
smell which breathed from the closet, a
sort of ghostly watt from by-gone and
traditional apparel. There was the
wallpaper, with its wavy pattern, which
once she had loved to follow with her
finger until it lost itself in the corner
angle. There was the small looking
glass which had reflected q fair young
face in those ether days, not so very
long ago; and the broken slat in the
blind, not mended yet, through which
the sun sent its morning greeting. His
beams lay, a bright spot, on the same
strip of faded carpet. Could they have
been lying there all this time? Sylvia
thought, pursuing her recollections with
languid interest. She felt tired-too
tired to rise. She would lie still for day
or two, and then she should be better.
And she wondered if anybody would
remember her? would come to see her?
and for the first time in years painful
curiosity to know what had been said of
her absence awoke in her mind. Once
she had not cared. Could it be true,
what Jehiel said, that her aunt's death
had really had anything to do with
that? And Sylvia closed her eyes, then
opened them again, and tossed fever
ishly about.
All that day and the next she lay lam
guild and restless. Her landlady came
now and then, bringing up tea and
such other "vittles " as suggested them
selves; but sharp inquisitive manner
had replaced the fussy good-nature of
her earlier greeting, and Sylvia guessed
that her story was known. Why had
she come back? she asked herself, in
fits of miserable dependency. She did
not know that it was but the instinct of
all hunted and dying things, turning
with desperate longing to the morning
covert where theirrace began, and which
to the end is home.
The third morning was warm and
sunny. A dreamy haze softened the
mountain outline and clothed the bare
woods with many-hued mists. Sylvia
felt stronger. Rising feebly, she dressed,
and, wrapped in a shawl, sat down be-
side the open window. The pure air,
the quiet and peace of all out. t.door
things, the lovely penciling of the elm
boughs as they iell between her eyes
and the sky, thrilled her with vague
pleasure. Nobody seemed to be NOV
ing; all things slept or appeared to
sleep, though blue smokes curled from
chimneys, and here and there the upper
half of front door stood open to adj
nit the air. How pretty, how hushed
it was; how like the old life, and yet
how different. .By-and-by a girl came
by--a girl about the age of that girl
who had passed from all these peaceful
things so long ago. AS she walked she
glanced upward, and, catching a glimpse
of Sylvia's head against the side of the
window, paused, stared curiously and
then hurried on again with look of
sly confusion. Sylvia shrank back. Why
had she come again? she again asked
herself.
The next day was Sunday. A bright
and fitful sun shone in at the pane, but
the clouds had deepened on the noun
tains, and the winds blew with keener
edge. 1t braced Sylvia's languid frame
like tonic. Looking out toward noon,
she saw orderly groups Of people pass
ing home from church, and desire to
leave the house seized her. Perhaps she
had been mistaken; perhaps nobody
would know her, after all, or. knowing,
some kind soul might speak tenderly
and pityingly to her. Even pity would
be sweet, thought Sylvia in her loneli-
ness, and wrapping herself in shawl
and veil, she crept down stairs and into
the street. 3a
People were not going home from
church, however. An unusual throng
was pouring through Squire Welch's
gate, and moving in long lines across
the brown meadow which lay beyond.
What could it mean?
"Where are the folks going?'' asked
Sylvia of a little boy who stood with
pocketed hands near the gate.
:" Down to see the baptlzin'," replied
the boy. Saint you goin'? There's ten
on 'em. beside the Elders goin' in. ]
guess the water'll be pretty cold too."t
Some vague recollection foated
through Sylvia's mind, as her feet rather
than her will bore her along in the