The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1877-09-06

snail we gog''
CIVIL you come and Be my child,
Fanny?' asked Mr.. Fenwick. She turn
ed and looked steadfastly at him for a
moment, with her eyes ftill of tears.
And then, slowly and gratefully she
answered Eyes"
Only fortnight after Mr.. Fenwick's
visit, the inhabitants of George street
ran to their doors to catch a last glimpse
of the Kennaways. The two women
came very quietly out of the little house
and entered the fly that waited for them
and their luggage, Mrs. Marks waved
fearful farewell; her husband stood on
the pavement, smiling broadly to hide
his real feelings, and then the vehicle
ratified away, and the folks went indoors
again, saying that they supposed the rich
uncle was going to make a lady of little
Fanny.
And how was it, meanwhile, with Will
lam ParrI His intimacy with those gay
friends, the Derrys' had come to an end
with the summer. Julia got tired of his
attentions, and snubbed him; her elders
SAID to each other that young Parr s fire.
quent visits were becoming quite a nui-
sance; even Tom at last gave him the
cold shoulder. They were a heartless
set, he said to himself feeling sbomi-
nably ill-used. And then it suddenly oc-
CURED to him that he was only getting
the very same measure that he had melted
to another.
" 1t serves me right for treating Fan
ny badly" he unused. "Shs was worth
hundred Julias. And she is such q
good, forgiving little thing, that I almost
think she'd make it up with me if went
back to her again"
1t was chill evening in late autumn
when William Parr once more took his
way to George street. A host of old rec
objections came croWding round him as
he drew near Fanny's home; he began
to wonder how he could have stayed
away from her so long, and to be eager
tor the first glimpse of her sweet face.
he knew just how she would look; his
fancy painted the glow and brightness
that would welcome him. There was a
light in her parlor-a warm, CHEEKY beam,
that told him he would find her, sitting
az usual at her sewing.
Il won't make a dozen wretched ex-
cuses," thought the young man. cpl
just ask her to forgive me, and tell her
that I could not live without her."
He knocked at the door, and stood
waiting with a thrObbing heart for Fan
ny to open it. A few seconds passed
away, then he heard the inside latch lift
ed. and stood face to face with a tall,
hard-teatured woman in a widows cap
us Miss Kennaway Within?" he fall
tered.
"She doesn't live here" responded the
woman, shortly.
where is she? Can you give me any in
fOrmation7"
II don't know anything about her.
I've heard that some people named Ken
naway lived here before I came, but
that's all l can tell YOU"
William turned away from the door
like one half stunned. It was all so diff
ferent from the pleasant and pathetic
scene he had been picturing that he
could hardly believe in this stern reality.
And then, as he still stood dreaming on
the pavement, he bethought him of Mrs.
Marks. She had been the KennaWays
familiar friend, and would surely know
something about their change of resi-
dence.
Alasl Mrs. Marks house was quiet
and dark. The shutters were closed;
not CLEAN of light could be seen with
in, and Williams knock remained unan-
swered.
chat house is empty" said a girls
voice at his elbow, and looking around
he saw a decently-clad lassie with par
eel under her arm. ''The Marks are gone
away to live somewhere in the country -
she added.
Can you tell me what has become
of Mrs. Kennaway and her daughter
William asked, eagerly.
They're gone to London. Some rich
gentleman found out they were his near
relations, and he has taken them to live
with him."
Without another word William walked
away, hardly knowing what direction he
was taking. Until that moment he had
never realized how strong was the tie
that had bound him to little Fanny. He
had neglected her-trifed with himself
and his best feelings-and well-nigh
broken her heart; but had he really
never ceased to love her? She was gone;
she had quietly vanished out of his way,
and made no sign.
y =
Three years passed away. William
Parr had stepped into the place left va
cant by the death of senior clerk, hid
salary had been raised, and he has
moved into better quarters. Perhaps if
he had sought to renew his intimacy with
the Derrys he might not have been re-
pulsed, but he was now a sadder and
wiser man. The sense Of loss had never
entirely left him, nor had he as yet found
any one who could be what Fanny had
been. No tidings of her had ever come
to her old lover; in the days of their in
tercourse she had been silent about her
uncle Fenwick, and William had not
even heard his name.
One day it happened that William Parr
was dispatched to London to transact
some business for his employer. 1t was
winter, but the weather was clear and
sunshiny, and when he arrived az the
great metropolitan station it wanted an
hour to noon. Among the numbers wait
ing on the platform one figure attracted
Williams eye at once; it was that of a
lady, richly dressed in velvet and sable,
who was evidently looking cut eagerly
for some one in the train. AS she caught
a glimpse of the face she WIS watching
for, her own frightened and flushed in a
way that William well remembered.
Just 60 had she greeted him when he lad
been wont to pay his evening visits to
the little house in George street a long
time ago.
A quiet-looking gentleman stepped
out of a frst-class carriage, and was
about to draw her hand through his arm.
But William, yielding to powerful inn
pulse, approached and spoke.
''Fanny-Miss Kennawsy," he said,
pervously,
She gave a very slight start. For an
instant her color deepened; and then she
frankly extended her hand.
"Not Miss Kennaway now" she an
swered, smiling. ''This is my husband,
Mr.. FenwickSMr. Parr."
William scarcely knew how he re-
turned the gentleman's salu4ation A