Cheyenne transporter. [volume] (Darlington, Indian Terr.) 1879-1886, 1883-07-12

ers. There was fringe of beard like
silver wool extending from ear to cal
around the full, old face, in which {
look of gentle meditation that woulc
have done credit to medieval monk
struggled to reconcile itself with the
hard seams and wrinkles and the weath
er-beaten texture that age and the buf
feting salt winds had brought there
His brown, knotted old hands, calloused
with the fierce strain of many stancf
cable in n heavy sea, were folded peace
| fully upon his breast. Indeed, gentle
peace and contentment was VISIBLE in
the whole appearance of Capt. Abijat
! Penniman, and probably lay still deeper
in his heart as he sat there in his owl
home porch; with the last ship tha. hC
would ever sail long ago safe in hei
port, and let that salt wind that had
the power to move him SO blow futilely
over his face.
The city boarder sat little way from
him, in little wooden rocker. There
was none of the peace of the old man's
face in hers; her hands were on the
ropes yet, evidently, and her ship all
at sea. She had Il thin, pale, alert face,
and her black hair was put plainly
back in way that signifed that the
care of her personal appearance was
rather n necessity than an anxiety.
There was a deep wrinkle between her
eyes that showed distinctly in the half
light. She looked like a person with
history, as people say; very likely she
had one, most of us have. She was all
in white, and had a white fluffy shawl
closely gathered about her throat; she
did not rock, but sat almost rigidly still
the tension of her nerves seemed too
strong for her to relax them in that
little womanly way. Her thin hands,
little blue from the sea wind, lay, in
hat stiffness which is not repose. in her
lap.
The city boarder, whose name was a
keen, concentrated one like herself
(kenO, was curious contrast to Capt
Penniman, who sat SO peacefully by her
side. There was, in reality, distance
between them vastly wider than the
extent of that shimmering sheet of
steel; no ship that the old captain had
ever sailed could have ever surmounted
it.
Miss Kent had been staring fixedly
out to sea; now she turned her gaze
indilterently up the long stretch of
sandy road on the right. A few rods
away, on a line with the captain s
home, and also fronting the sea, was
one of those conventional New Eng
land sea captains mansions. white, and
square, and massive, two stories and a
half high, with tluted posts at the four
corners, and balustrade extending
around the roof, where the captain $
wife could stand safely with her spy
glass when her husbands ship was due
in port.
"Who lives in the next house, Capt.
Penniman," asked Miss Kent.
1t was one of those utterly Indifferent
questions that every one asks at times
She did not care in the least who lived
in the house; it was extremely improb-
able that she ever would care; but she
had the uncomfortable feeling that a
long silence between new acquaintances
gives one, and felt it incumbent upon
her to say something.
She had been here only n few DAYS;
she was all alone and not very strong;
and she had pitiful longing to have
these people like her and be friendly
So She softened down her clear, eager
voice and keen face as best she might,
and asked the question, with quick.
nervous smile on her thin lips, of Capt
Abiiah
He looked contemplative at her for a
moment, and then at the house in ques-
ton; the lights had just glimmered out
from two windows on the side toward
them.
"Cap'n Knel Whitlow lives thar" he
said at length, with thoughtful drawl,