The Arkansaw traveler., 1883-08-18
DOROTHY DEAN.
tN~t1 1Ese-

low, brown house. empowered Tn shade. vines clambering Up the porch, old fashioned flowers in the door-yard. a gray cat asleep in the sun, and Dorothy Dean standing by the gate with the milk strainer in her hard. l; was June morn- ing. and Dorothy with her soft black eyes, her shining hair, the peach bloom on her cheeks and her round white arms bare to the elbows, matched the morning.
 Dorothy" called q sharp voice in high key from the buuey: don't idle your tune. There's loo much 10 do for you to finger gossiPing there al the gate
 '' les, mother. I'm coming the sirl replied. hu; she was m no haste ,o go. How could she be, with Harry Morgan standtlng hy. and talking to her in those low tones which mean so much, looking at heT with those dark blue eyes. so clear and honest. and. alas for the empty days and the shadewed sunshine of the sum- mer ,o come. bidding her goodbye \ moment more and Enoch Ponds stage would loom ln sigh, arouxd the turn in the road. ard Harry would jump Tn and go riding away
 The words they were u,erng were few and common place enough. Anybody might have heard them.
 You'll think of me Saturdays when you 90 up 10 the church to practice, won't you Dorothy: You'll have no- body to blow the organ."
 Father'll let Chapln go guess. or I'll ask one of tie Hart boys
 "Bat you'll miss me. Dora:'
 Miss you, Harry: I'll miss you evtrym here. You know that"
 The stage was in sight. Mrs. Dean. ftown on her face, had again appeared at the battery door.
 Mind. Dorothy, you belong to ne" suddenly cried the young man. s,oopins down from his hel sh, of six feet two and kissing her sweet lips. Neither was ashamed of the salute, though they knew tha, Mrs, Dean in the doorway could see them. and that the stage was almos, there. Had they not been lovers all thelr lives. and did no, the whole village know they were engaged: And the village knew as well tha, young Morgan was going to the city to enter his uncie's shipplng-house, and try 10 make his for tune, so that he could return and marry Dorothy.
 I'd have a little in oiesty, D oro;hy. # were you." said her mother. You might have kissed Harry good-by las, night"
 "She did. over and over," said Chapin. who was sitting sy the window with a booli his hand. II peeked in at q crack in the door. ard heard lots they said
 You peeked, did you.' retorted his .hA,tf .,,.,-l-l.. business. I'll teach you to peek the lad was amazed to ind his ears boxed, and his book thrown out under the apple tree. He marched sullenly oil. his moth- CTS discipline awakening sense of hat red and injury in his heart as 1t often did.
 Mother, you are too strict with Chapin, said Dorothy he's only twelve years old"
 ''I guess know how to train my own children without your advice" answered the mother. The boy don't have enough to do. Chapir, put away your book and start of to weed that onion-bed. Do you hear? No lettering now"
 Mrs. Dean was one of the women who looked with disfavor on books. Reading she considered sub:erfuge of the lazy Tha, she had two book-.oving children was, in her eyes, special aggrava,ion.
 Dsrothy moved about, securing tins. stirring cream, moulding the butter at las, into hard. firm balls with deNterity which came of long practice. Bu, she was not happy. Her heart was following Enoch Ponds stage over the hills of poughkeepsie. and then she embarked on the boat and went to New York in fancy.
 Mrs. Dean saw her absen,-mindeiness, but not to sympathize.
 Mother, what ails you and Harry Morgan?' Dorothy said. after awhile "Yeu know I'm to be his wife one of these days. Why should he not kiss me?" ~ T neither like Harry Morgan nor one of his tribe. A vain. conceited. beygarly set. What mate is David Morgan's lad, with his airs and his poverty, for your fathers daughter:
 s.Mother, IS Harry to blame because his folks are shiftless: You must own that he is not in the least like them.'
 ''I own nothing ef the kind. What is bred in the bone, say l, will come out in the flesh. His wife, indeed! His wife you'll never be till the long grass grows over my grave. Mark well my words.'
 Dorothy shuddered and sighed. But she was used to her mother, and her nature was essentially a wholesome, glad hearted one. She was tos healthy for morbid fancies, and too satisfied and trustful in her love to cherish any fears thatit might come on evil cays, or be blighted by disappointment Only she felt lonely. Lonely all that busy day, and lonely when night came, and lonely morning and evening for many days.
 "You're fretting bit. my dear," ," said her father senderly one afternoon when the September winds were sweeping through