Mexico weekly ledger. (Mexico, Mo.) 1855-1956, 1880-01-08
DOROTHY DEAN.

a low, brown mouse, emDOWeFeu III
shade, vines clambering up the porchI
d-fashioned flowers in the door
yard, gray cat asleep IN the sun,
md pretty Dorothy Dean standing by
he gate with the milk-stFainer in hels
land. 1t was a June morning, and
Dorothy, with her soft black eyes,
ler shining hair, the peach bloom on
ner cheeks, and her round white arms
bare to the elbows, matched the
s.zs
Dorothy, called q sharp yoicein
i high Key from the buttery: "den't
die your time. There's too much to
10 for yoa to linger gossiping at the
gate"
eyes, mother, I'm coming, . the
girl replied. But she was in no haste
to go. How could she be, with Har-
ry Morgan standing by, and talking
to her in those low tones which mean
so much, looking at her with those
dark blue eyes, so clear and honest,
and, alas for the empty days and the
shadowed sunshine of the summer to
come, bidding her good-by.sA mo-
ment more and Enoch Ponds stage
would loom in sight around the turn
in the road, and Harry would jump
in and go riding away.
The words they were uttering were
few and commonplace enough. Any
body might have heard them.
"You'll think of me Saturdays
when you 60 up to the church to
practice, won't you, Dorothy! You'll
have nobody to blow the organ.''
"Father'll Il let Chaplin go, I guess,
or I'll ask one of the Hart boys
"But you'll miss me, Dora?'
Miss you, Harry? I'll miss you
everywhere. You know that
The stage was in sight. Mrs. Dean
a frown on her face, had again ap
pearcd ut the buttery door.
"Mlnd, Dorothy, you belong te
me- suddenly cried the young man
STOPPING down from his heigh
of six feet two and kissing her swee
lips. Neither was. ashamed of tn,
salute, though they knew that Mrs
Dean in the doorway could see them
aud that the stage was almost there
Had they not been lovers all thei
lives, and did not the whole villag'
know that they were engaged! An,
the village knew as well that vOun.
Morgan was going to the city to ente
his uncle's shipping house, and tr,
to make his fortune, SO that he coul'
ratnrL and marry Dorothy.
I'D have little modesty, Doro
thy, if l were you,' said her mother
"You might have kissed Harry good
by last night.
"She did, over and over" sal
Chaplin, who was sitting by the wiudo'
with book in his hand. II peeke
in at the crack at the door, and
heard lots they said
"You peeked, did you?" retortc
his mother, facing about quickly
Pretty business! III teach you t
; peek again! There, take that! - an
the lad was amazed TO find his cal
boxed, and his book thrown out III
der the apple-tree. He marched S
lently Off, his mothers disciplir
awakening a sense of hatred and il
jury in his heart, as it often did.
| Mother, you are too strict wit
Chaplin" said Dorothy; "he's onl
II years old
II guess l know how to train III
own children without your advice,
answered the mother. ''The be
don't have enough to do. Chapil
put away your book and start off
weed that onion bed. DO you hear
No lettering now
Mrs. Dean was one of the wome
who looked with disiavor on book
Reading she considered suhterius
of the lazy. That she had two bool
loving children was, in her eyes,
special aggravation.
Dorothy moved about, scourir
tins, stirring cream, molding the bu
ter at last into hard, firm balls with
dexterity which came of long prsetic
But she was not happy. Her hea
WAS following Enoch Ponds sta.
over the hills of Poughkcepsie, al
then she embarked on the boat al
went to New York in fancy.
Mis-. Dean saw her absent -mindc
ness, but not to sympathize.
''Mother, what ails yoa ut Har
Morgan!" Dorothy said after awhile
"You know I'm tC be his wife one
these days. Why should he not XII
me?'
81 neither like Harry Morgan n
one of his tribe. "A vain, conceitc
beggarly set. What mate is Dav
Morgan's lad, with his airs and L
poverty, for your fathers daughter
"Mother, is Harry to blame th
his folks are shiftless? You must 0,
that he is not in the least like them
81 own nothing of the kind. VIII
is bred in the bone, say /, will cor
out in the flesh. His wife, indee,
His wife you'll never be till the lo
grass grows over my grave. Ma
my words !"
Dorothy shuddered and sighc
But she was nsed to her mother, a
her nature was essentially Il who
some, glad-hearted one. She was I
healthy for morbid sfstneies, and t
satisfied and trustfsl in her love
cherish any fears that it might col
upon evil days. Or be hlighted by d
appointment. Only she felt lionel
Lonely all that busy day, and loEt
when night came, and lonely MOI
ing and evening for many days.
"You're frettlng bit, my dear
said her father tenderly one afterno
when the September winds we
, sweeping through the corn, and I
aster and golden-rod were COURT
each other on the highway side.
s'Not so much, father. It's s.ran
Harry doesn't write, though. -
"He don't1 Now that is strans
pet. Never mind. I'll go to I
store myself to-day
He walked off down the road, Do