The pioneer express. [volume] (Pembina, Dakota [N.D.]) 1883-1928, 1883-11-30

dashing lad of twenty -one, then; there
were silver hairs in his black locks, now,
and he left dead past buried under the
sweet magnolia groves. And here was
Moses Sewell, just the same as ever,
only a trifle yellowerand more dried up.
eyes," Clay said; quietly, give come
back. And you are right when you say
that fortunes don't grow on every bush.'
"Goin' tolyour urcle's house?" said Mr.
Sewell, leaning over the bars. "He's
dead and buried, poor fellow. Always
had q weak chest you know. And the
gals amt no younger. The three old
maids We call 'enl-ha, la, la, hal"
And again the old farmer chuckled
himself into a state of semi suilocation
"Comc in and see us" said he. "My
daughter Aurilla," she's come back q
widow and does tailorin' and plain sewin.'
The old woman's stone deaf but she's
dreadful quick at catchin' a persons
And of he trudged over the patches
ofsweet smiling spearmint, his broad
figure vanishing Into the gloom like 1,
shadow.
"Three old maids, eh?" repeated Jer.
ONE Clay to himself. "Clara and Bess,
and little Kate, the golden-haired beau
ty, the soft eyed poetess, the wild little
eprite who was a mixture of Undine and
Queen Nab. Then, surely, Father Time
has not atood still"
The light shone out, as of old, from
the red-curtained easement, the great
fire of logs was blazing on the hearth,
and the three cousins greeted the re-
turned wanderer with unaffected
warmth.
They were changed, of course. Whit
else could have been expected? The
beauty had grown sharp and freckled
and her lovely hair1had lost it's burrish,,
and she was not quite us tidy as she
used to be in the old days about her
ribbons and frills. Soft-eyed Bessie's
sweet voice had degenerated into a
whine; she had grown round-should-
cred and lost one of her front teath;
and little Kate was stout, middle.aged
woman, who reminded one Of Undine
no more.
But they were cousins still-the girls
who had played and romped and
6irtediwith him in due arithmetical pro:
Of steadfast friendship, and he told them
been buried for five. years under the
and beauty even cried little.
to the North" he said. Il left 1 them Il.
New York, and if can get some genu-
inc, whole souled woman to take charge
of my home, I'm thinking of settling
here in Elm Mountain. Clara, dear you
used to BE- fond of me in the old times!
charger"
The beauty seemed to grow smaller,
II cousin Jerome had come home mil
iionaire, she would have jumped into
his arms.
But Clara Nicely was not Economically
inclined. To her, love in a cottage pos.
sessed no charms.
II couldn't Jerome she answered,
quickly. "I'm not very strong, and i
couldn't assume any responsibility of
this arduous nature. Besides, I'm not
fond Of children. I'm greatly Obliged to
you, Pm sure, but I'll rather not.
Jerome Clay bit his lip.
"Of course" he said, cit is for you to
decide. But if Jessie"
The poetess shrugged her shoulders,
aud laughed light, shrill-sounding
exclamation.
Cousin JEROME" said she, "it's lust
9s well to be frank about these matters.
! wouldn't marry poor nan-not if I
loved him like Romeo and Juliet. It's
bac enough to scrape along as we do
here. with only half what one requires
to live on decently. But to plunge into
poverty. with two or three children be.
longing to another woman no, thank
YOU"
Tor time, as may easily be perceived,
had eliminated a great deal of poetical
element from Bessie Neely's soul.
The qalndam Undine did not wait for
the question, as far rs she was concern.
ed but added, promptly, that she quite
asre ed with her sister in all these mat
tiers.
ITS such pity you didn't stay here,
where you we're well off, Jerome" said
she. in the plying, patronizing manner
winch your genuine man most abhors.
Dear pa, you know, always disnp.
proved Of your going south. And you
~ hlsht nave got the situation Of agent to
me White Castle Place, at eight hun
dreu year, and a cottage found, if
you'd only been here on the spot. Pa
used USED r to know the old agent, and could
Jerome smiled.
"White Castle?" said he. sThat's the
big house on the hill, where we chill
lren used to peep at the roses and
white grapes through the glass sides of
The great greenhouse. A grand place,
IS remember it.
And the position of agent is most re-
'ponsible, and highly considered"
broke in Bessie.
Jerome Clay went away feeling rather
depressed.
1t is not the lot of every man TO be
hrice rejected in one evening.
''They think am failure in life."
aid he, half smiling, halfsighing. "WeIl
perhaps they are not wrong. Peoples
IDEAS differ"
Aurillia Haven, the old farmers
laughter, had been q wild hoyden of
chooleirl when Jerome CLAW went
outh. She was silent pale woman OF
hree and thirty now, who did the
'tailoress'' work Of the neighborhood,
nd had hard work to get along.
But her dark brown eyes lighted up
When Mr.. Clay spoke of his far-off home
nd her cheek glowed scarlet when Mr..
;ewell chuckled out:
$50 the three old maids wouldn't
AVE nothing to say to you? Ha, ha,
"Do you blame them?" said Jerome,
"Well, no." confessed the old man.
Gals naturally want to better them.
elves nowadays. If you'd come back
With your pockets full of gold, they'd
ing different song, you'd see.''
Aurilla looked pitying.y at Jerome
LAY. She, too, had found life q failure,
nd in her quiet way did all that she
ould to comfort the tall, quiet man,
Who had hired the spare chamber in
Ter fathers house for q few weeks, since
lis cousins had altogether omitted to
invite him as their guest ct the old
,lace.
She was not pretty-never had BEEN
nut she had q sweet, oval face, with
ringed eyes, and mild, wistful express.
ion, which Jerome Clay liked.
And one day she spoke ont what was
n her heart. .s Z. II
Mr.. Clay" abe said, 81 can't help
Of those poor, little, mother.
hem here, I'll take care Of them. / Il.
Iayl liked children, and il shall coat
q. nothing Ms =, IN, la1 =
~ H.