The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1880-12-18

ter nabtcncu 70 lhe door ana opened IL. Oi1
Sam Whitehead had halted in the mountain
path, diffusng about him the fragrant odo
Of moonlight whisky.
Chow are ye, folks 2 Merry Christmas
Coin to the hoe-down at Plummer's To-
ngbtH Thar'll be big crowd thar"
"We're not going" called out Tom, ,rathei
briefly. H.
Mr.. whitehead's genial smile vanished by
degrees, and a little disconnected at the re-
buff, he glanced up and about, not knowing
what line Of remark to adopt next.
He surmised that Tom Foster and hi;
wife had been having spat. But it was
dark and he could not linger, and in a low.
er tone and somewhat sheepishly ,he said:
Tom, can speak to you minute out
side here? 4? It's about-about borrying your
dogs" and never did a mans face show
more distinctly that he was telling an un-
truth.
However, Tom stalked out, closing the
door behind him with cows kick and
standing by the head of old Whitehead's IS
horse, he and Sam held few minutes NUT
tered converse. Matte, still at the window,
although she could not hear word, saw all
that passed very plainly.
The men parted, and in came Tom again,
looking rather stern and anxious.
1t was quite dusk now, and Matte, light
ing the homemade candle, placed the mod
est supper ON the table-the eternal bacon
and corn bread of tbose regions, which only
a mountain appetite can tackle SO unwary-
ingly-and man and wife, without the for
mality of grace, set before the table and
began to eat.
Matte," said Tom, presently looking up
with smile: al fnd I'll have to 90 out to-
night, after all"
His smile faltered under the glance of
surprise, and he cleared his voice, and made
Pretense Of cutting another slice Off the
"pone."
The fact is, Dick Doyle has been drink
ing for a week past,and he is pretty bad and
his wife wants me to come over and sit with
him. They're afraid he'll do himself some
mischief"
4" But that's ten miles 10 Dick Doyle's."
know but what am to do 1t seems
they count on me. There's two with him,
and it's as much as they can do to hold
him. I'll have to CO."
Every WELL" returned Matte after a
pause.
With evident relief, for he had expected
opposition, Tom rose, and with alacrity put
on his rough coat. He was pretty plainly
in hurry, although he strove to conceal
the fact.
al hate to go, Matte" he said, bending
over and kissing her; "but don't be lone
some, my girl, won't stay a minute longer
than can holPJ" and. avoiding his wifes
rlanco he sanntered. with what careless
ness he could assume, out of the house.
So pretty Mrs. Foster was now alone, her
supper halfway through, but quite forgot
ten. She sits in dark apathy, with eyes on
the table, her mind busy; all sorts of
thoughts swarming there mono of them, l
conjecture, pleasant.
After while she rose and washed up the
supper things and put them on tbe shell,
and then stood, still in her dream, before
the great fireplace.
Perhaps she saw faces among those huge
sputtering and crumbling logs-the un-
truthful and disconnected countenance OF old
Sam Whitehead--the handsome face of the
grass-widow, Mrs. Williams, which, within
the memory of man, had bewitched Tom
Foster, among good many others-and the
evil face of her own former admirer, Joe.
Likewise and always, and popping up in
every direction in this fiery gallery of por-
with that inscrutable, but highly suspicious,
expression upon them which they wore just
as he took his departure.
And suddenly from the depths of her re-
verie Mrs. Foster awoke with a cry.
I" He has lied He has not gone to Doyle's;
he has gone to the dance at Plummer's,
where he is to meet Molhe Williams. Sam
Whitehead brought him the message. But
I'll show him that / am not the fool he
thinks me; ] shall go to that ball myself"
Quickly, nervously, ,feverishly she hasten
ed so dress.
They do not concern themselves much
about the fashions in those primitive and
romantic latitudes; home made garments
of linsey cloth, and ancient and indescriba-
BILE bonnets, do for everything-rneeting on
Sunday, funerals and balls alike.
Still, really pretty woman is pretty in
almost anything, aud Matte, arrayed in her
best, with her fresh complexion, and spark
ling eyes, and scarlet lips, and figure that
an actress might have sighed for, looked
truly charming.
Out went the light, and three minutes af-
terward she was on her pony-Tom's first
gin-galloping rapidly down the snOw-clad
mountain.
1t was the full moon. How white the
snow in the white glare And the tremen-
dous shadows Is there anywhere in The
world scenery more sublime than here
among these wild, rugged and impenetrable
mountains
On few the girl Miles are nothing to
this pony, the weight of feather, sinews of
steel.
There is not a sound except the sharpring
of his heels as they strike the hard, frozen
snow. Here and there a cabin is passed,
hanging from the slippery hillside. No
plough touches these rugged lands, for no
beast could pull III all work Is laborously
done with the hoe; and slsds draw the
grain, where loaded wagon would tumble
headlongi and the threshing is done by
horses or with fails.
"HoW
Matte rslns in her pony and advances
more slowly and cautiously.
There was a house yonder, just at the
turn of the stsge-road. The girl dismounts
and glides steathily over the snow, making
her way like an Indian, from tree TO tree.
She was but reconnoitring, and certainly