Barbour County index. [volume] (Medicine Lodge, Kan.) 1880-current, 1882-12-15

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AmOrys s. three miles out of her way.
THAT Lucy Amory may see that Won
don't disdain my company. For You
see, said Sam. who was not as black
rs he was painted. or as many liked TO
suppose, 'sLucy can make me what she
will; without her shall be nothing and
nobody; but they've told her all kinds
OF wild things about me; they've told
her she might as well jump into the
river as marry such a scapegrace. And
perhaps If / made her q little Jealous
you know there no harm in that, is
there? ALL fair in love; and. perhaps,
If the old folks see me driving about
with Miss Becky ThorDe. my stock may
go up. and l may be saved from the
burning as Parson Amory says"
And Becky had consented: how
could she refuse to do a service for
s CHI true lover? So slight a thing.
too! She had often traversed the same
road since on foot, on her daily rounds
of toll and mercy. Sam Eustis had
married Lucy Amory years a %, and
was the foremost man in the county to-
day. Stran g how that friendly drive
had interfered with Miss Becky's pros
poets; how the simple fact of carrying
home Mrs. Eustis' needework should
have determined her fate, and devoted
her TO life of hardship and the 'Old
Ladies' Home" at the end Talk of
trihes! Poor Miss Becky she remem-
bered that Cnce or twice the opportu-
nifty had offered when she might have
made it up with Larry: but pride. or
sort of fine reserve, had locked her lips
Larry ought TO know that she was
above silly limitations. Once. when they
met at Lucy Amory's wedding, when
they all went out into the orchard while
the bride planted young tree, and the
guests looked for four-leaved clovers,
she had found whether by ac-
cident or design she could not tell-on
the grass beside Larry; their fingers
met over the same lucky clover, their
eyes met above it. and for an instant
she had it on her tongues end 10 con-
fess all about the drive and its result,
to put pride in her pocket, but Just then
Nell Amory called to Larry.
"Oh a no rid spider-on my arm,
Larry! Kill him quick-do! Oh-oh
oh! l shall de-I shall faint" And
that was the end of it,
The old orchard. with its fragrant
ounce bushes. its gnarled apple trees,
its four-leaved clovers, was thing of
the past; a cotton mill roared aud thun-
dered there all day long. where the
birds built and the trees bourgeoned
thirty odd years ago 1t no longer os-
sOmed. except in Miss Becky's memory.
She had turned her Thoughts to ia ING
| plants, when she was lett to her own re-
sour ees, but one cruel winters night
/ XII led all her slips and the capital was
lacking by which she might renew her
stock. Since then she had gone out for
daily sewing. had watched with the
sick, had been in demand for tempo
rary housekeeper whenever tired ma
tron wished an outing; but latterly, her
eyes no longer served her Tor fine work,
and sewing machines had heen intro
duced; she was not so alert in the sick
room as of yore; she moved more slow
ly, and her housekeeping talent was no
longer in reque I: lded to this, the
bank where her little earnings had been
grow ne. one day failed and left her
high and dry. Some of her friends had
travelled To pastu es new, some had
married away, some had ignored or for
gotten her. AS for Larry Rogers, he
had been away from Plymouth this
many year. Somebody had sent him
abroad the year alter Lucy Amory S
marriage to develop his musical genius.
He hal grown into famous violin
list, playing all over the country to
crowded houses, before the finest people
in the land. 1t was beautiful romance
to Miss Becky to read in the Plymouth
Record about ''our gifted townsman;"
she seemed to hear the echo of his vio-
lin when the WIND swept through the
pine boughs. She had no bitter
thoughts; she did not blame him be-
cause she sat in the shadow, because
her lie had been co'Orless. She sanp
aga the old tunes he had taught her,
and made little sunshine in her heart.
All of happiness she had ever known he
had brought her. Why should she
compla nP And now she was going TO
the "Old Ladies' Home"
1T isn't exactly what / expected In
my YOUTH" she said to the old doctors
widow.
"No; but you'll have n nice room and
bright fire, and the neighbors Will
drop in to see YOU and make it seem
home-like. Now, there old Mrs.
Gunn. Nothing can persuade her to 90
/ 10 the home. she says IT s only n gen
teel aims house, after all; AMI so she
rubs ong with what little she can earn
and what the neighbors have a mind to
send in, and they have to do it mighty
g.nger'y. too. just as il they were ask
ing ia or OF her. Lor', she doesn't
earn her salt"
IL dare say" returned Miss Becky.
snow, il il hadn't been for the rheuma-
tism, l could earn my living for years
I yet, and may be get sOmeth no ahead
again. But it Sc ms as if the rheuma-
tism laid in wait for the poor and friend
less"
lyon o1ght to have married when
you were young. Becky" said the doe
tor widow. who had forgotten all
about Becky's lo.e affair. and labored
under the impress on that she never had
a chance, an impression which matrons
are apt to entertain concerning their
single fir ends. Miss Becky had been
spend ng some weeks with Mrs. Doctor
Dwight. who had moved away from
Plymo tn after her husbands death.
She was there chic ly in order to put
some stitches into the widows ward
robe. which nobody else would do so
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