The Toledo chronicle. [volume] (Toledo, Tama County, Iowa) 1873-1924, 1875-06-03
IN A TUNNEL:

"THAT will do nicely" said Ruth May
hew, receiving her last package through
the car-window from Mr.. Perkins on the
platform.
| "Write US how you get along, Ruth
If your aunt can spare you spell in the
summer we'd be glad to see you hum
agin. Oh, my! here's Mis- Curtin with a
bunch of posies from her gardin. Hurry!
hurry! you'll be late sure's the world,
Mis- Curtin"
Thus spoke the group at the depot in
| shrill chorus as the locomotive, every
plate FURNISHED and dazzling, which had
simmered quietly for minutes, started,
imparting a jerking wrench to the cars,
and then the long snake of train glided
smoothly away.
"She takes it frstrate," commented
Mr.. Perkins, wiping his brow with red
bandana handkerchief.
Then he climbed into his rusty carry
all, drawn by meek white horse; the
others returned along the village street
event of the day was over. Ruth May
hew had departed from the home of her
youth, and the place would know her no
more forever.
The struggle had been a hard one, but
she bore it well, as Mr.. Perkins averred.
She did not look once at the white house
on the mill where death had robbed her
of parents and shelter, because even her
fortitude could not be trusted to wit
ness the Smalls moving in. What was
before her? Life with Aunt Harriet in
close sick chamber, slave of an inva-
lids caprices, and grateful for daily
bread. Oh, the long dreary years with
nothing but old age in advance!
She took small pocket-mirror from
her bag, and gazed pensively into its
depths. The reflected image was by no
means unattractive. She was not as
young as she had once been, yet her
features were good, her complexion
fresh, her eyes clear and her physique
robust. Moreover she was carefully and
becomingly attired, and her chignon was
of the latest style. Nevertheless a sigh
welled up from her heart when she gazed
IN the glass, not altogether in unrea-
sonable dissatisfaction with her present
appearance; still the past had had disap-
pointments, and the future with Aunt
Harriet was without promise. Away
l., 81, Of ha ahnl
herself, fanciful girl, building cloud
castles out of the sunset glories. One
spring-time was brighter and more fra
grant than the rest; around it still
bloomed flowers of regretful memories,
blossoms without earthly semblance in
the cold, bleak climate where Ruth lived,
because sprung from the richest sources
of humanity.
A brave young missionary had urged a
needless girl to go with him TO the hot
countries among the heathen, and the
girl, to whom the world seemed vast
treasure house lavish of gifts, had t1out-
ed her young missionary, and he had
silently departed without complaint TO
return no more. Then Ruth had shed
tears in secret, bitterly remorseful tears,
and turned her back capriciously on the
well-to-do farmers of her acquaintance.
"Got cinder in, yer eyer" inquired a
sharp voice in our travellers ear.
The latter awoke from her reverie with
start, and turned to her questioner
with guilty blush suffusing her cheek.
She, Ruth Mayhew, of middle age,
caught looking in the glass! Her inter-
locutor was brisk, bright, little old lady
in faded shawl and an antiquated bon
net of the coal-scuttle pattern. She car
ried on her arm black silk bag, which
seemed to contain unlimited stores of
snuff and peppermint-drops. Encircling
her withered old throat was necklace
of beautiful gold beads, delicately
wrought. These beads, an heirloom in
her family, descending to her through
long generations, had been worn by her
since early youth, and SO much of super
stition is associated with such relics in
the mind of the possessor that the old