Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1881-04-20

as we can see to work, in this hurry
ing time"
1t was rarely the patient woman
demonstrated with her lords dicta-
tions. But this time vision OF the
labor to be performed that afternoon
rose before her and she said meekly;
81 hardly see how | can, john, A.
Lillian is going away and will not he
here to help me about the supper"
Keep ner at home, then" he said
gruffly. sour work cant be pat of
for her to run the roads"
Which elegant harangue was sim
ply equivalent to reiteration OF the
previously pronounced edict. After
the table was cleared, Lillian left with
the gay party of picnickers who call
ed for her, and Mrs. Grey, after see
ing her off, came back to her domain
with the old weary look in her face,
and resumed her arduous toll. She
had failed to finish the weeks ironing
in the forenoon, owing to few little
! hindrances, such as the Swimming OF "a
hundred pans of milk, and the wash
ing of the milk pans, the working and
packing of tub of golden butter Mrs.
Crews butter was excellent, and well
it might be, she worked so much OF
her life away in its production), the
washing and dressing of the children
for school, the chamber work and
washing of dishes for large house
hold, to say nothing of the thousand
little trihes sandwiched between, each
with its compliment of dozen steps
or so. And now she resumed her
place at the ironing-table, clothing the
bars in their white, spotless apparel,
and finishing only as the clock point
ed to the hour of four.
Within the next hour she must pre-
pare the five o'clock supper aud skim
the milk that is awaiting her deXtrous
hand in the clean, cool dairy, that she
may afterward assist in milking, accor-
dinghy to her masters explicit orders.
A hard thing, this slavery, is it not
The sun went down that night in -
great bed or roseate pillows, the pink
flush OVERLAPPING the heavens like a
/ tinted veil The time had been when
Miriam Grey would have watched
such o sunset with the raptuious APP
probation of a sensitive, poetic soul,
when the glories of the panorama Of
Nature spread out before her, called
up such emotions as found expression
in many a sweet and rythmic idyl,
which those who read were not slow
to appreciate, as belonging To high
order of creative and imaginative gsu-
| Jus.
Has the olden FIRE all died ont with.
in her, that she turns away from the
inimitahle painting in full view OF her
window, and bushes herself IN the
petty details of her narrow kitchen,
without another glance!
She has no time to waste on such
indulgeDces. The setting of The sun
indirates that what remains of the
days toll must he finished quickly,
and only the balf-suppressed sign that
wells up from her heart testifies that
she is not content to shut her eyes on
the beauty and loneliness that lie
broadcast over all the sweet Spring
landscape. And this is only one day
one of many, that follow hard one
upon the other, each like unto the
rest, with its UNMARRIED, unyielding
pressure Of toll. its IMPLYING, hurry
ing necessities, that, like q whip of
small cords, lash the victim on in hagg-
ing exertions.
The summer came-Summer over
all the world, balmy and luxuriant ;
Summer airs in at the window Sum
mer roses in the garden; but no Sum
mer came into Miriam Grey's life.
Spring and Summer have gone by.
The days are much alike to her,
whether outside are blossoms or drift
ting snow, since the narrow world in
which she lives admits of no change
of season that hints at release from toll.
Her task-master, after the harvests are
gathered in, and the Winter comes
clustering and wailing over the noun
tains, sits by the kitchen fire and
allows himself rest from his labors
But it is work, work, work still.
Over her shoulder a grim ghoul is
ever looking. and urging her on with
his hollow. pitiless eyes. She won
ders, sometimes, away down in her
heart, unseen and unheard, what there
is In the coarse, unsympathetic. half
cruel man whose name she bears, that
could ever have awakened her love in
the morning of her happy youth.
She loves him yet-not as she loved
him then, for love is rare exotic;
and, although it may not die at once,