The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1883-01-13
NOT TONIGHT.
christian lutelllgcnccr,

'.Gius-Gius! Bother them foreign
names. Go, Beth, yourself, and call
The lad from the meadow lot. When
Silas is well rid of his rhcumatics and
can get round again, I'll have no such
trash as him pottcrirg round the farm.
He positively amt WORTH the salt he
eats. A gentle enough lad. too. bnt ne
amt no spirit-no spirit
Beth, who has been arranging some
luscious fruit in Il bowl Of yellow deli,
springs up with alacrity and takes down
her broad-brimmed hat from the high
0eg where it usually hangs suspended
when not doing duty Is n covering for
he bright brown head.
Nov, don't loiicr.' calls Mother
Lawson warnincly. Its o "ngish walk
10 the meadow LOT, an YOU know after
shutdown who'll be there
There comes no added color into
Beth's cheek, and she does not drop her
yazc from the long vista OF green lanes
lown which her feet must presently
pass,
"Do YOU mean John Masen?" she
queries at length, STOPPING and pluck
ng an innocent white daisy to fasten in
The bosom of her dark blue gown"
Surely, an who clsc?' responds her
mother sharply. "Do you think some
prince, all spanglcs and jewels, will
ride up to the door on a milk-whitc
horse to claim your royal fayorP The
high notions Of girls nowadays is y
caution. Never q prince had kinder
heart than John, an some day you'll
learn TO value such 'cording to their
WORTH
A bright-eyed robin, hopping on the
ioor-st0nn in search Of stray crumbs,
and the purple butterflies ritling sweets
from the hearts of the crimson roses,
are the only listeners to the iratc ladys
last words, for Beth is already on her
wav down the lane, crushing the short
crisp grass under her hurrying feet,
and many pretty yellow bnttcrcup
that grows between.
"Giuscppel Giuseppe'
The dun COWS lift their heads from
their feast of clover AZ the fresh young
voice rings out on the sleepy air, and
comes to the bars to gaze AT her with
loving eyes as she goes by. Another
time Beth would have stopped to pat
their glossy coats, but tonight she
passes them by unheedcd and keeps
straight on her way.
Giuseppe! Giuseppe"
The pillow stands motionlc,s III tina
meadow lot, and the patient grey horse
pricks his ears and listens in vain for
The voice that usually summons him to
resume his weary round. Close by.
prone Oh the brown earth, lies a slim
form whose lacc i, hidden from view
nv tnttcroi straw bat drawn partially
over il.
A. the Wind bear 10 hi, ear, the
sound of his own name. n ,h,v,r runs
through tho thin frame, and he lifts his
mead only To- let it fall back n moment
later on the damp mould.
Beth, clearing the iivc-bar gate witt.
bound that brings every nerve Of her
1.-THE graceful figure into action, sccsthc
grey horse standing between the hill
rolled burrows. aud maryel- exceedingly.
The next moprNl her keen eyes de-
tect also the lad rccumbcnt form, and
The face which hr yajnly strives to hide
from view by tn hats tattcrcd hrim.
'Are You i'll, tiuScppe?'
A petulant Voice i, had often been
when its owner YEAS crossed orthwartcd.
4 coaSing, laughing voice when adj
dressing the grcy-haircd father whose
IDEAL she is. A Saucy hooking voice
hat stirred strangely the slow pulses OF
1,,k,, Munu.p'S kAnnJt hrnrt
II is none of these now. Only Il very
soft, pitfpl tone tina; asks half-fcariu|l,
in the gloom of the meadow-lOt;
"Arc you i'll, Giuscppc?'
The lad lifts the tattcrcd hat from hi
face with one long. brown hand ant
Jays the other over his eyes rs if t'
hide them from sight. But Beth put
her own soft fingers quietly over it an,
draws it away again. There are actua
tears in the great dark eyes; eyes look
ing so longingly up into her face.
as il the old hunger Giuseppc?"
A half smile CROSSES the lads duskN
face. 1t pleascs him To hear her us
his own quaint foreign mode OF cX
preston.
"Yes il is the old hunger Tn
English words fall brokenly from hi
lips. After the howingmuscal accent
OF his own Southern tongue, il Is diff
cult TO form the harshcr syllables of on
colder and more formal language.
Beth has evidently forgotten to re
move her hand from his, and when h
rises to his feet-a tall. delicate, over
grown lad, whose shoulders are alread
beginning to bend beneath their weigh
Of unaccustomed toil-hc still holds
in close clasp.
Il hate it--this life" he says-nc
angrily or passionately; there is too sa
longing in his heart for that. IAN
yet it is better than the life fed from
think 1 must be living in dream. A
day long, as I follow the plough. m
fingers seem TO press the magic string:
and the music that surges through m
brain fills all the silence around m,
But at nighfall tho vision fees, and til
old WEAKNESS comes back"