Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1878-05-22
OUR HERO.

hind the woods while a leat1ess net work
of branches made border against the
sky as dainty and delicate as any thread
lace. The red brick tower of Holmsby
Hall showed darkly athwart the back
ground of Iurid sky.
Polly Clifford, trudging home from
her days work at the village school,
stood minute at the rustic stone stile
to admire the exquisite blending of sky
and earth and gray autumnal sky.
Chow beautiful it is" thought Polly,
"and how like description in a novel.
Oh, dear, should like to be rich and
live in a great. great house like Holms-
bv Hall. And how | wish we lived in
the age of romance, and then perhaps
the master of the old Hall would step
out from the woods, and-we should
get acquainted. Of course he would be
young and handsome, and he would fall
in love with me at first sight. Or it
wouldn't be romance, and-but what
nonsense! Real life is different from
books"
Polly sighed softly as the dead leaves
rustled under foot, and the aromatic
breath of the autumn wind moaned its
low mOnOdy IN ner ear.
81 wonder why Mr.. Holmsby is trav-
cling about" she thought to herself Il
wonder why he don't come back and
live at the Hall9 If [ had such lovely
home as that, know I wouldn't go off
and leave it."
Polly made pretty little picture as
she stood there, the wind blowing her
silky brown curls about, and her cheeks
as fresh as newly-ripened peaches, while
her dark blue eyes gittered like sapph-
Tres, and the brown calico dress she
wore became her rarely.
Even as she stood there, musing with
the active imagination that belongs to
sunny eighteen. there was rustic among
the laurel hedges beyond, a quick, elastic
step and young man sprang lightly
over the stile, cOurteOusly dOffing his
cap to Polly. Her heart gave a great
futter
The crimson rushed to her cheek.
Was it-could it be Mr.. Holmsby of
Holmsby Hall? Was the tardy romance
of her dreamy girl life about to dawn
on this windy October evening at last?
"Pardon me-" he said, "but [ think I
must have lost my way. went up to
the Hall, but it was locked and fastened.
and not even servant was there: and
now, when [ fancied that was about to
regain the high road, find myself in
the midst of trackless wood. Would
it be asking too much of you to direct
me towards Holmsborough?"
"I can easily show you," said Polly,
blushing, yet contriv;ng to speak with
calm, gracious dignity. "But / hardly
think they could have expected you at
the Hail."
Expected me?'
He looked at her with some surprise.
Polly's sweet, clear laughter rippled
out like the sound of mountain rivu-
let in the silence of the woods.
"Ah: you see that have fathomed
your secret, Mr.. Holmsby," she said,
archly. !" You are worse than Ulysses
of old, for if | RENE mber rightly, there
was at least watchdog to greet him
when he returned from his long alb
sence." 1-
The puzzled expression which had at
first characterized his face passed away
Nc, COO. SIlAlOo.
g And may ask the name of the fair
fortune-teller who has thus read the
book of my past and present?" he asked.
My name is Polly Clifford. I teach
the village school just beyond the
woods" she answered, in frank man.
ner. "And now, Mr.. Holmsby, it is a
good five miles to Holmsborough, and
cold evening. You are weary with
travel-one can easily perceive that
without the gift of second sight-and I
am sure my brother, who lives only
half mile away, will be very happy to
entertain you as his guest tonight" 3.
The stranger looked both relieved and
gratifed. #s eFi i@.1'7 p.
:" had not expected to receive such
courtesy as this" said he. " But ] must
confess myself weary enough to accept
the kind offer with many thanks. And
perhaps, when l am settled at Holmsby
Hall, he added, with curious, inexplic-
able glance at Polly's bright, eager face,
1t may be In my power to return, in
some measure, your kind hospitality -
Polly's heart beat with a pleasant
sort of futter. How handsome his ewes
Werei
George Bird, the village beau, talked
loud and laughed SO loud, that he made
the window frame rattle.
Harry Talkott sat with his chair tip
ped back, and thrust his hands in his
trowsers' pockets as he talked. -
Even the clergyman wore shabby
clothes and talked with a twang.
But Mr.. Holmsby-for Polly congratr
ulated herself on thus promptly discov-
ering the identity he would fain have
concealed-was entirely different. =
And long before they mad reached
home, Polly's simple heart was taken
captive by the graceful, self-possessiop
and easy manner OF her companion.
Jabez Clifford, straightforward frank.
faced young farmer, was sitting by the