The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1883-04-19

again, but . little less wildly this time.
David almost asked her another Sunday
night. Then she had made up the pearl
colored silk. She used to go and look
at 1t fondly and admiringly from time
to time: once in q while she would try
It on and survey herself in the glass,
and imagine herself David's bride-a
faded bride, but a happy and q beloved
one.
She looked at the dress occasionally
now, but a little sadly, as the conviction
was forcing itself upon her more and
more that she should never wear it. But
the sadness was always more for David's
sake than her own. She saw him grow
ing an old man, and the lonely uncared-
for life that he led filed her heart with
tender pity and sorrow for him. She
Saturday baking. Every week his little
house wa tidied and set to rights, and
his mending looked after.
Once. on a Sunday night, when she
spied q rip in his coat that had grown
long from the want of womanly fingers
constantly at hand. she had a good cry
after he had left and she had gone into
her room. There was something
pitiful to her, something that touched
her heart more deeply. in that rip in her
lovers Sunday coat than in all her long
years of waiting.
As the years went on it vas some
times with a sad heart that Maria stood
and watched the poor lonely old figure
moving slower than v down the street
to his lonely home; but the heart was
sad for him always and never for her.
self. She used to wonder ut him a little
sometimes, though always with the most
loyal tenderness, that he should choose
to lead the solitary. cherries life that he
did, to go back to his dark. voiceless
home, when he might be so sheltered
and cared for in his old age. She firmly
believed that it was only owing to her
in lover'sincorrigible slowness, in this as
everything else. She never doubted for
an instant that he loved her. Some
women might have tried fastening mat
tiers a little themselves, but Maria, with
the delicacy>which is sometimes more
inherent in q steady, practical natur re
like hers than in q more ardent one,
would have lost her self-respcct forever
if she had done such a thing.
So she lived cheerfully along, corded
her boots, though her fingers wore get
ting stiff, humored her mother, who was
getting feebler and more childish every
year, and did the best she could for her
poor foolish old lover.
When David was seventy, and she
sixty-eight. she gave away the pearl
colored silk to q COUSINS daughter who
was going to be married. The girl was
young and pretty and happy. but she
was pool and the silk would make over
into a grander wedding dress for her
than she could hope to obtain in any
other way.
Poor old Maria smoothed the lustrous
folds fondly with her withered hands
before sendingit away and cried a little.
with q patient pity for David and her.
self. But when q tear splashed directly
on to the shining surface of the silk, she
stopped crying at once, and her sorrow
full expression changed into one of care
full scrutiny as she wiped the salt drop
away with her handkerchief and held
the dress up to the light to be sure that it
was not spotted. Apractical nature like
Maria's is sometimes a great boon to its
possessor. 1t is doubtful If anything
else can dry a tear as quickly.
Somehow Maria always felt q little
differently toward David after she had
given away her wedding dress. There
had always been a little tinge Of con.
seriousness in her toward him, o
little reserve and caution before people.
But after the wedding dress had gone,
all question of marriage had disap-
peored 50 entirely from her mind that
the delicate considerations born of it
vanished. She vas uncommonly hale
and hearty for awoman of her age; there
was apparently much more than two
years difference between her and her
lover. 1t was not only the Saturdays
bread and pie that she carried now and
deposited on David little kitchen table,
but openly and boldly, not caring who
should see her. many a warm dinner.
Every day, after her W Homework
was done, David's house was set to
rights. He should have all the comforts
he needed in his last years, she deter
mined. That they were his last years
was evident. He coughed, and now
walked 50 slowly from feebleness and
weakness that it was a matter of doubt
to observers whether he could reach
Maria Brewster's before Monday eve
ming.
One Sunday night he staid . little
longer than usual-the clock struck ten
before he started. Then he rose, and
said. as he. had done every Sunday eve.
ming for SO many years: well, Maria,
I guess it's about time for me to be
goin'."
She helped him on with his coat. and
tied on his tippet. Contrary to his usual
habit he stood in the door, and hesitated
a minute, there seemed to be something
he wanted to say.
"Maria."
swell, David?"
"rm gittin' to be an old man, YOU
know, an I've allus been slow-goin';
couldn't seem to help it. There has beer
a good many things I haven'tgot around
to-" The old cracked voice ~quavereG
painfully.
"Yes, 1 know, David, all aboutit; yor
couldn't help it. wouldn't worry q BIZ
about it if I were you."
You don't lay up anything agin me
Maria?"
"No, David"
Goodnight. Maria"
Goodnight, David. I will fetch you
over some boiled dinner tomorrow"
She held the lamp at the door till thu
patient, tottering old figure was out O
sight. She had to wipe the tears from
her spectacles in order to sec to read hel
Bible when she went in.
Next morning she was hurrying W
her homework to go over to David's-
somehow she felt a little anxious about
him this morning-when there came {
loud knock at her door. When she
opened it a boy stood there, painting fol
breath; he was David's next neighbor'
son.
Mr.. Emmons is SICK" he said, ian
wants you. l was goin' for milk wher
he raped on the window. Father an
mothers in thar an the doctor. Mother
said. tell you to hurry"
The news had spread rapidly; people
knew what it meant when they saw