The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1883-12-13

Ill cAos A141oR VIII 1ldA1y ~ dltu
reign at the rectory some day, and visit at
the dear's n all the county families -"
l dropped an angry tear, and, ashamed of
myself, closed the shutter and left the
room, crossing softly the wide landing and
entering the darkened chamber where the
dead man lay in the stiffness.
Igazed at his face; noble and stern in
regSss
your life for yourself, not to have accepted
it from the hands of Others" I thought.
Goodbye, goodbye" I laid my hand
gently on the cold forehead. AS I did so,
the worn string of The bracelet rave way
and the beads slid from my wrist into the
disturbing the dead, and, horror-struck, as
at a sacrilege, I fed away. Next day was
the funeral.
Hilda and I wished to go to see the last
OF our kinsman, but we found that the old
world views of Fairdale society were
against the proposition, so we gave up the
idea.
Everything was done in strict obedience
to precedent to the qualification of Mercy
and Fairdale's opinion. We watched the
gloomy procession forming, from behind
the closed shutters.
"Look at that woman by the steps, Hilda.
| Who can she BET"
"Some casual passer-by. It is not a
Fairdale face. All! there is the coffin with
our wreath of white roses. I do hope the
4 pCOPAoh Z vi Y ~ L v PoPAo
"She is sobbing so pitifully! l wonder
If it is anybody he has been kind tor"
"There is Sir John Hartley's carriage
yes, and the Crossholme carriage, and l
believe the Earl is there himself-how
very gratifying. Dear unclel he deserved
all the respect that could be shown him.
Your woman, Dora? Oh, 1 dare say she
has had some recent loss. She was in
mourning, wasn't she?"
"She did not follow them-she went down
the Crossholme road"
In the afternoon I could bear the closed
house no longer.
"Come to the churchyard, Hilda. No one
will see us to be scandalized."
The Mallowdales had a vault under the
raised chancel of the ~irregularly. built Did
church. The entrance was already bricked
up, and on a projection of the stone-work
hung a memorial wreath. Hilda looked at
the tawdry white flowers and brilliant
green tin leaves with much disfavor.
81 didn't think such a horrid thing was
to be bought in Fairdale," she said. SIT
must have come from st. Bride's-sent as
an advertisement by some of those new
shops-rubbishy thing!"
"Leave it there, Hilda. 1t may have
been meant in kindness"
/ Hilda turned homewards.
"Let me stay longer" pleaded. ST will
just go through the copse as far as the
Crossholme road. I am pining for air and
| sunshine"
i 30 i crossed Un0 CnurclYarQ, ana fingered
a few moments in the golden corn fields be-
yord. Then over the stile and down the
dry sandy path I plunged into the warm
green shade of the fir trees. 1t was a little
frequented path. / was almost startled to
hear a child's voice crying, and to sea
black sitting on a fallen tree. She rose be-
| fore / reached her and moved wearily on,
trying to quiet the little child in her arms.
"She is young-she is old-duite old.
Not a Fairdale person. She doesn't walk
like a countrywoman. She isn't a tramp
from st. Brides" So I thought as 1 fol-
lowed her. She suddenly sat down again,
as if lead beat, and began to hush the child.
"Hush, hush, Mimi, love. Grannie can't
carry you, if you scream So"
"Grannie!" I said to myself, in amaze.
The little knob of hair behind was grey,
certainly but she wore a fringe, and her
dress was ~youthfully cut, and trimmed
with a picturesque sort of frilled tippet
about her shoulders.
She looked full at me with her big dark
eyes. Curiously attractive eyes, though
red-rimmed and swollen. I stopped. Hilda
was not at hand to consult as to the pro-
priety of the doing, so I spoke.
"Your baby seems to be troublesome.
Can l help your"
"She is starving with hunger. I never
thought I should not be able to buy a drop
of milk in this village" she replied;
politely slurring over an adjective uncom'
plimentary to my probable residence. 81
never brought anything with me, thinking
I should be sure to find shops, or, perhaps,
a farmhouse; and now she must wait till
get her to Crossholme." .
"To Crossholme! |" I exclaimed. "What
a journey. And you are taking the longest
road" sAssss
ger, with an odd look. The child, who had
been gazing op~en-mouthed at me, now re.
commenced her planning. She vas about
two years old. very pretty, with eyes like
yellow hair. knew Fairdale well enough
to believe the woman's statement.
81 know where to get something" 1 ex'
claimed, with sudden recollection. "Wait
here for ten minutes" and off / started al
a run, back the way I had come. Another
path through the corn-feld ended in Hob.
days Farm, and Mrs. Holiday, kind soul
on hearing half my story, pressed me tc
help myself to half a gallon from a brim'
ming pail; and then loaded me with a
.hunch of seed-cake, a slice of sage-cheese
and a pocketful of rosy apples. Back
sped to M new acquaintance.
She was still rocking the crying child
whose mouth we stopped effectua1ly with
cake and milk, first thing; and then I broke
down the bracken and made a little nest,
where she sat, munching peacefully, while
Grannie stretched her tired arms with a
sigh of relief.
"She is my daughters youngest child
and 1 thought q day out of London and
smoke would do her good. We must wait
till seven O'Clock for our train at Cross
holme," said she, YEARLY.
"You had better rest here, them" 1 sug
gested, tossing the apples to Mimi. "This
little one is getting drowsy. You car
leave the milk-can at the first cottage OF
the Crossholme road, as you pass"
the lady, Mimi" Mimi kissed the tips o.
her fingers with an airy little grace, though
almost at 1.-THE same m herhead nodded
forward, and the wedge of cake dropped
from her other hand. I loosened the rib
IONS of her big bonnet, and tried to settle
her comfortably, while Grannie continued
"And now, please, tell me how much yor
paid for me?'
1 began to explain, but stopped, utterly
amazed. She had put her hand in hel
pocket and drawn out a little red-leathel
purse, gilded, gilt clasped, with portrait!
of the Queen and Prince Albert still recog
nizable on the back; and the hand tina
held it was braceleted with a string o.
brown berries and garnet beads!
She tossed it into her lap and drew fortl
another, a big and useful purse. The1
something in my looks struck her.
81 don't suppose you ever saw a purs,
like that. 1t was bought at st. Brides, a
Brides Fair, years before you were born
The Queen was Just married, and they wer'
all the fashion,"
L uOuG Know WnaD maze me 90 SuCl
thing, but 1 drew from my pocket the fel
low purse to hers, found in my uncle's OLE
bureau, and held it out to her. She looked
at it and then at me, with whit,
cheeks and scared eyes,.
"What is it? Do you know meP Ar,
you has daughter?"
81 am John Mallowdale's niece. VIII
are you, and what brings you here?"
sob! l have done no harm! I hav,
broken no promise. 1 felt 1 must see hin
once more. John, my john" and she burs
into bitter weeping.
After a few moments she grew calmer
and, speaking with a sort of sad dignit,
that impressed me, said: "You mus
please listen to all the truth now, or els
you will be making guesses, maybe, at
~falsehood."
She took up her purse and opened it
There was a pocket in the green silk lininl
from which she drew a small glazed card
HMr. John ~Owd - in nrint on If an,