The new North-west. [volume] (Deer Lodge, Mont.) 1869-1897, 1883-04-06

thought of running away from them; what
be would think Of man who did; what most
: people would think; what she would think.
Sbe!-ah, she had 1t all to find out yet.
There's no place like home"
said Tommy's little fiddle,
so, no place like home"
Now this fiddle Of Tommy's may have had
o crack or so In 1t, and cannot assert that
Tommy never struck false note; but the
man In the corner was net fastidious as Q
musical critic; the sickly light was Pickering
through the car, the culver on the red flats
was quite out OF sight, the train was Shrek
ing away into the west-the baneful, lonely
west-which was dying fast now out there
upon the sea, and 1t is . fact that his hat
went slowly down over his face again, and
that his face went slowly down upon his
arm.
There, in the lighted home out upon the
fats, that ha drifted by forever, she sat
waiting now. II was about time for him to
be in TO supper; she was beginning TO wonder
. little where he was; she was keeping the
coffee hot, and telling the children not to
touch their fathers pickles: she had set The
table and drawn the chairs; his pipe lay
filled for him upon the shelf over the stove.
Her face in the light was worn and white
the dark rings very dark; she was trying to
hush the boys, teasing for their supper; beg
ging them TO wait few minutes, only few
minutes, he would surely be here then. She
would put the baby down presently, and
stand at the window with her hands
Armies hands once were not SO thin-raised
to shut out the light-wstching, watching.
The children would eat their supper; the |
table would stand untouched, with his chair |
In It's place; still she would 90 to the win |
dow, and stand watching, watching. Oh, the |
long night that she must stand watching, |
and the days, and the years!
"sweet, sweet home,"
played Tommy.
By and by there was no more Of "Sweet
Home"
"How about that cove with his head
Topped down on his arms ?" speculated
Tommy, with business-like air.
He had only stirred once, then put his face
down again. But he was awake, awake in
every nerve; and listening, to the very curve
Of his fingers. Tommy knew that, It being
part Of his trade to learn how to use his
eyes.
The sweet, legal passion Of the music--il
would take worse playing than Tommys to
drive the sweet, loyal passion out of Annie
Laurie--grew above the din of the train -
"'Twas there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true"
She used TO sing that, the man was think
ing-this Annie Of biz own. Why, she had
been his own, and he had loved her once.
How he had loved her! Yes, she used 10
sing that when he went to see her Oh Sunday
nights, before they were marred--in her
pink, plump, pretty days. Annie used 10 be
very pretty.
"Gave me her promise true"
hummed the little fiddle.
"That's . fact" said poor Annie's hus.
band, jerking the words out under his hat,
" and kept IL, too, she did"
Alb, how Annie had kept It! The whole
dark picture of her married years--the days
Of work and pain, the quivering mouth, the
tact and the planning and the trust for to-
morrow, the love that had borne all thugs,
believed oil things, hoped all things, uncom.
plaining-rose into outline to tell him how
she had kept 1t.
Her face IL Is the fairest
That e'er the sun shone on"
suggested the little fiddle.
That IL should be darkened forever, that
sweet face! and that he should do it--he,
sitting here, with his ticket bought, bonnd
for Colorado.
"And ne'er forget will IT,
murmursd the little fiddle.
He would have knocked the man down
who had told him twenty years ago that lie
ever should forget; that be should be here
tonight, with his ticket bought, bound for
Colorado.
But II was better for her to be free from
him. He and bis cursed ill-luck were drag
on her and the children, and would always
be. What was that she had said once9
"Never mind, Jack, eau bear anything
Is long Is have you"
And here be was, with his ticket bought,
bound for Colorado.
He wondered II 1t was ever too late In the
day for fellow to make . man of himself.
He wondered
"And she's o. the world to me,
And for Bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me down and dee"
sang the little fiddle, triumphantiy.
Harmon shock himself, and stood up. The
train was slackening; the lights Of way
station bright ahead. IL was about time for
supper and his mother, so Tommy put down
bis fiddle and handed around his faded cap.
The merchant threw him penny and re-
turned to his tax-list. The old lady was fast
asleep with her mouth open. ....
"Csme here" growled Harmon, with his
eyes very bright. Tommy shrank back,
almest afraid Of him.
"Cone here" softening, 81 won't hurt
you. tell you, boy, you don't know what
you've done tonight"
"DoDe sirP" Tommy couldn't help laugh
ing, though there was twinge Of pain al his
stout little heart, - he fingered the solitary
penny in the faded cap. "Done? Well,
guess I've walked you up, sir, which was about
what meant 10 do" II
eyes, that 10 It," said Harmon, vefy dis
tinctly, pushing up his hat, "you've walked
me up. Here, hold ysur cap"
They had pulled into the station now and
stopped. He emptied HE purse into the
little cap, shook II clean Of paper and copper
alike, and was out Of the car and of the
train before Tommy could have said Jack
Robinson.
"Ay eyes" gaspsd Tommy, "that chap
had ticket for New York, surel Aethuss-
lahi Look hersl One, two, thrse-must
have BEEN crazy; that's II, crazy" n
"He'll never find out" muttered Harmon,
turning away from the station lights, and
striking back through the night for the red
Oats and home. He'll never find out what
he has done, nor, please God, shall she."
II was late when be came In sight Of the