The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1883-06-08

she had secured herself for all time by
burning Prue's letter, but she hat
tossed the wrong envelope into tbs
CRATE. Austin Miller had lived his sor-
row over again after this discovery; he
had walked with it and wrestled with it
without getting nearer happiness, and
! had long ago made up his mind to do
without it. But he had thought it due
to Prudence Hildreth to send her word
that by an accident her letter had come
to hand five years too late; he said moth
ing of Letty's share in the matter, but
Prudence understood all These memo
ries had been revived by Prue's hasty
note asking him to forgive the children
for breaking up the pea-hen's nest!
Her children, too! He was at the point
of carrying the note to his lips, when
his eye fell upon his sermon, and he
threw it into the waste basket. He
looked at the clock; he had been idle
two whole hours. "Of what was he
thinking?n he asked himself; s.where
was be drifting? an anointed priest, the
example and counselor of sinners?n
At least he could go and thank Prue
with a clear conscience; as for the chill
dren, they were already in bed, techni-
cally speaking, and having such capt.
tai pillow fight that they agreed to get
into mischief every day of their lives,
and be punished.
After that Mr.. Miller often found
himself dropping in, on one pretext or
another, at The Elms; to ask Miss Prue
to play over the air of some new
psalmody, that he might join in the
congregational singing; to lend her the
latest volume of religious thought; to
beg advice about the children. Some
times he came bringing those unruly
infants, with their brown hands full of
peacock feathers and their little hearts
full of impenitence. They and the
he ate from their hands and endured
their petting, which was much like
punishment, with heroism; if he stayed
away they hunted him out and brought
him home in triumph.
g Those children might as well live
here" said Jane.
And their father, too" added
John.
"Not bite of sweet-bread can I
keep in the larder; and when they tears
their frocks they goes straight to Miss
Prue, and she mends them before
Bridget scolds 'em, just as if they'd be
her very own"
" A fire stepmother she'd be MAX
ing,n observed John. They do be
saying in the village that it's her cap
she is setting for the parson.'
That's just the way Of the gossips!
If man takes to woman it's always
she that is asserting CT her cap for him.
The parson ought to ask 'em to pick
out wife for him and suit their
selves.
"And then there's others who says
it's her money" persisted John, who,
like fair historian, was bound to state
both sides; "an' that he come here
a-purpose to marry her."
& great deal they knows about it,
cried Jane. 81 heerd him tell her, with
my own blessed ears, that when he was
called to this ere parish he never
dreamed that she lived here. They must
hev knowed each other, you see, when
they was young, afore Miss Prue came
into her great-uncle's property, and
came to live at The Elms; for I hear
'em talking now and again of folks that
don't belong hereabouts. And he says:
DO you remember the day we went
hither and the day we went yon?' And
he says: 81 remember, | remember
and looks away from her face. / thinks,
myself, he must be an old beau of hers.
| sees them together heap, you know,
bringing in the tea-things, and the
lamps, and pottering round"
"At the key-hoIe,' laughed John.
And I've never found 'em love-
making onct, though | steps quiet-1ike,
John, as you know, and it isn't like
opening door to push the portiere
aside.a
1t is true the. Miller children were a
great deal at The Elms, and gave their
father frequent excuse to follow them
and it is true there were few congenial
souls in the parish or village, and what
SO natural that he should see more or
less of his pleasant neighbor, with whom
he could journey back to the past In
deed, they never talked of to-day or to-
morrow; it was Away yesterday whose
praises they sang, whose skies they ex-
tolled, whose pleasures they coveted.
He was nothing like lover, to be sure,
except in preferring her society, and
yet it was a happiness to Prue to see
him there, to know that he would come
tomorrow. 1t was toward night, one
summer day, that Miss Prue, looking
out on the lawn, where the shadows of
the leaves were dancing, saw Mr.. Miller
mo unusual sight-coming toward her
door. He had been out of town week
on business; Bridget had confded to
Jane that he had s'gone away suddin',
after telegraph in yaller wrapper
come to him." but he had been at home
several days without darkening, or to
express her feelings better, illuminating
Miss Prue's door. Naturally, she won
dered what his errand had been; if he
had had call to leave the parish; and
at that thought her heart stood still.
you have been away" she said,
after the first greetings.
Eyes. l hope you did not suffer from
an invasion of young Millers during my
ABSENCE
eve met, but we missed you, she
admitted. II hope your vacation was
a rest and recreation to you.''
my journey was not pleasure
trip, Prue, he said. .My wife died
suddenly at the asylum on the 18th of
the month.
Your wife" gasped Miss Prue.
''Your wife-died -on the 9Th of the
month! Thought - Mr. Mil
ler-I thought she had been dead years
and yearsr'
Il thought you knew" he returned.
Il supposed everybody had heard of it;
it was too sad a story too rehearse often
or needlessly. It was in all the dailies
at. the time. You must have been
abroad then. Amy was in her cradle
when Lefty left me-eloped with her
music-teacher. Two years ago she
went to the asylum, mad as Hamlet.
Prue, Prue, = he cried, s'do you think / |
have hidden anything from youp Is
not the loss of fifteen years of happiness
enough? Shall her ghost divide us
still?f
"And I have been loving another
woman's husband all this time she |
said, moving away from him. Heaven
only knows how far her Puritan con- |
science would have carried her, but |