The Northern Pacific farmer. [volume] (Wadena, Minn.) 1878-1885, 1881-05-05

and her by making nets and shrmplng.
Sometimes Lady Blanche used to give her
q sovereign, and this, too, helped the house.
hold along.
Margaret had wild, logged sort Of at
Effectiveness in her appearance. She never
wore shoes or stockings and her black hair
fell down her back in one thickly plated
tress. A red handkerchief formed her head
covering and was tied under her chin; her
rough, brown arms were always bare to the
elbow. Harold Trecorpe had cast his eyes
upon the wench from the time when she
was seventeen, but she hated him. The
first time he tried come rough piece of gal
lantry on her she caught up tho stump OF
broken oar to protect herself and merely
glared at him, without saying word. On
another occasion, when he came behind her
unawares and took her by the chin, she
lifted heavy fishing net, all bronzed with
age and salt, and dashed it in his face with
such violence that he was knocked down on
the shingle.
Course yo' wench," he swore as he picked
himself up. "Yo' wouldn't have done that
to Mark Brathwaite; but let him look to
himself if he crosses me-"
IF yo' lay finger on Mark Brathwaite
You have to lock to yosself," answered
Margaret contemptuously; and Harold con-
tented himself with scowling at her from
that time.
Mark Brathwaite was Margaret's second
lover-a fair haired boy about her own age,
whom she had saved from drowning one
windy day, when he had been dashed out
of his fishing boat by flap of loosened
sail, which had hit him on the head and
stunned him. Margaret had swan a COUP
lie Of furlongs in tumbling sea to effect
the rescue, and Mark Brathwaite had loved
her from the moment when he opened his
eyes and found her bending over him, and
breathing life into his body vigorously from
her own lungs. Margaret, however, treated
him like younger brother. He was the
only human being who could draw smile
from her, but he was not the man to teach
her what love was, though he tried hard
and made himself pretty wretched in the
attempt
Sometimes Peter Pencorrow's daughter,
sitting outside her fat er's house On fine
afternoons to make nets, would drop her
hands INTO her lap and look out with dull,
wistful expression over the sea, SO broad,
blue and mysterious. Her finely shaped
head might have been storehouse of
knowledge and great thoughts, but it was
empty. She could neither read nor write;
she knew nothing of the world exceptin its
most sor did aspects of dire poverty, drunk
enness and brutality. She had never set
foot in a chr rch, and had no idea CT God
save that she had heard and believed that
there was something above those skies
which were now SO golden with sunlight,
now so black with thunder. Occasionally
such natural impulses of good as were in
the girls heart would well up in short
Bratnwaite: mark, you'll not get drunk
I b fofhor Thoro'u M cCo0 in 1yink.n mr.
mark, if were mon, I'd learn summit
and become scholard."
This is what Margaret Pencorrow was at
eighteen, and on the night alluded to in
the first line of this story, when her worth
less father stood, drunk as usual, on his
watch, and unheedful of the storm that was
gathering.
The storm broke presently with frightful
fury. Long streaks of lightning rent the
skies, and the waves were dashed upon the
shore with roaring as loud as the thunder.
In.despite of tie deluge of rain the crew Of
the ifeboat came to the shed to get all in
readiness, and a great many other fisher
men and their wives trooped out of the cot
tages; but this was only because sleep on
such night was impossible. Most of the
eyes that looked Stewards with expectant
chances were rather hoping for profitable
wreck than eager for chance to save life.
Margaret stood in the shed with Mark
Brathwaite beside her, Harold Trecorpe be-
ing on the other side Of the boat. The &C.
casional glow Of the pipe he was smoking
lit up his rugged face and made it seem
devilish as he cursed the ill luck that had
fallen upon Polloot, and expressed his con-
viction that the ifeboat had "witched" the
place, driving wreck off it. ''Dong 20, F"
cried he, striking his fist on the boats side.
you've done US harm from the day 20
COON here! Yo hev'."
Suddenly there was cry from every one
under the shed: "a light; blue light
Look, there's another!"
Far off in the of1ing there was ship in
distress sending up blue lights. They rose
swift and pale. then burst into a bright
CLEAN and vanished. Harold Trecorpe ut
tered a shout of exrltation. Its a big
ship, cried he, "Aere, gle US the blue
rockets, wench'
"What for the blue rockets?" asked Mar
garet, who was standing near box Of fire
signals. Eye must burn three red lights
first to warn EN- the coasts dangerous,
Then three blue 'uns say the lifeboat's
coming. That's what my lord told me-"
"Cuss your lord and 20 too, blurted out
Harold savagely. as he ran around to the
other side Of the boat. Here, lads,
bear hand and heave this wretch OUT
"Harold, I'll fire light in yo'r face if 70
come near me. Mark. keep that mon off, :"
cried Margaret, painting, and selling the
lantern from Peter Pencozrow's drunken
hands, she held a rocket at Haro1d's face
as if it were pistol.
But there were others besides Harold
who wanted the ship to be wrecked, and
several of the lfeboats crew were among
them. They were willing enough to go
out with the boat by and-by but they want
ed the vessel to be wrecked first. These
scoundrels drove Margaret and Mark Brath-
waite back, and it was resolved among
than that no LIGHTS sh0n1d be h11nad at all