The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1880-08-26

human muscle, keeping our own house
and dividing the spoils-that is, the
crops-equally.
SO, knowing how little he looked to
any other home than the one around
him, I could but question his motion"
and add:
"who to, Jimf" . rather thought
less question.
His voice went down almost the whole
length Of that wonderful neck, I thought,
as he threw his face forward into his
hands, and, staring into a dark corner
of the fire, Sid
A woman"
ga woman, Jim ? why, wha-l Oh,
q sister, perhaps?" I said, seeking the
only refuge that seemed at hand.
"No. no sister," A long
pause. "It's like this" and he said
nothing more for some minutes, but ab-
sently reached over for his violin and
picked the strings for an almost-forgot-
ten chord. It seemed to me that his
brain and fingers were working together,
although he did not know it. At last
he evidently reached what he was after,
for he twanged the strings more conf
cts like this !: We never said moth
ing to nobody, nor to ourselves neither,
for that matter. But she knowed !
thought whole farm of her and always
shall-oh, how good she's been to mel
and he fiercely clutched his knees, his
features distorted and his eyes in tears.
Good to him Well, thought I, if ever
any woman loved Jim she aOds good to
him she couldn't have wanted him for
anything else. How homely and an
oward the fire, which in February is
needed, even in Texas, to take off the
chill.
Presently he Strengthened up.
"No, there wasn't nothing said, but
she knowed me, and when I left she
asked me to write her, and I'm going to
do it. She's bin waitin' now too long,"
Then he stopped abruptly and began to
look back over the months, while I held
my breath. .-
"My God, man, it's 'ni' on two year."
he said, and, it seemed to me, he saw in
q moment what his long neglect might
mean; that it had been the very refine.
ment of cruelty. He ct once began
with an almost feverish haste to make
ready his writing tools-only to hesitate,
pen in hand, over the white paper I
handed him, writing little at time, and
not concluding till his lamp had out
burned the backlog, and its GOALS
smoldered sullenly on the hearth. Then,
muttering something about screech-
owl near her house, he crept into bed. e.
What excuses he put forth in his let
ter I never knew. They would not, /
am quite certain, have answered for any
love letter / might have sent about that
time after two years. silence though, to
be sure, eve" (takng the reader into
confidence for moment) were both
I younger at that time, while Jackson was
30, if day. He may have urged that
be was a poor letter-writer. That was
true. I have yet to see his equal in
power to wreak q really appalling ven
geance on words which, many are now
agreed, have q greediness for letters
only equaled by their inexcusably be-
wildering arrangement Of the same. And
something wonderful He may have
urged, too, that he had worked early
| and late with scarce q moment of relaxa-
| ton. That was true of both Of us. and
| I had written many times.
Whatever he may have said in that
letter, to which he brought 80 many
| pains, I fear he did not hit on the true
| reason for his long silence; indeed, it is
4 possible, even probable, that he did not
know of it himself. For my part, it
seemed then, as it seems now, that he
had not written, simply because he had
not at any time, or for any pur-
pose, found in letters so ready q
means of communication that he
turned to them without effort. And,
more than all, he had lived by her side
in daily thought since the hour in which
they parted. His memory Of her many
graces was as fresh on the hundredth
day as on the second and, had it been
four years of silence instead of two, her
face and form would have been Is dis
tinct in his mind at the end Of that long
time as though daily letters had passed
between them. A contemplation almost
constant had brought her to him to COM
fort and console him at any moment.
Then, too, he had "hitched on, I" and,
though a man grown, had conceded to
me every right that was his in the man.
agement Of our small business Honest
himself-almost pitiably honest, for il
came from an innocence that had beer
kept fresh by ignorance Of more than I
quarter of century he placed ths
fullest faith in the man he had choser
to work with. So he felt much at case
with little thought Of the future, excep
when long droughts, under a sky iks
brass, made us despair of profit from
farming in Texas. He rested In the Low
he was sure of, and did not once thinl
that the flame he had somehow fanne'
into sight-miracle though it must hav
seemed to him, for he knew that he wa
homely-would need any further care +
be kept alive and at a fervent glow.
All this passed in my mind Will
riding five miles the following evenin,
to post the precious letter, which
! dreaded to let out of my hand. g
much depended on it that it SCENE
impossible that it should go aright i
the usual prosaic way, in common ma
, bags.
, Once away from town, however, an
on the upland prairie, the matter locke
, differently.
"Heaven be praised for that screecl
. ! OWL" said aloud. "BiIl will have I
! take one for his coat of arms-adding
4 steel pen and holder, perhaps. .
3 It's pity, though, that the owl waite
a so long. It was tardy reminder"
I mentioned the coat of arms to hi
q when he dropped his violin for mi
!, ment as I came in, and he took it goo'
, naturedly. So far as could see-an
jackson concealed nothing, he was lii
n child in that-every thought of Il
q wrong he had done had gone away vii
the letter, and he evidently had no fe
!, : Of the result.
= "I told her." he said, bounding b
= bow about ON the tense strings, "that
: q was dogoned sorry I had forgot n
n promise to write-'twasn't cause I didr
- think OF her with ev'ry seed of cott'
= and ev'ry kernel Of corn we planted, al
o. with ev'ry step I made; I seen her fa
,n In everything I did. and when i see