The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1884-08-14
A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.

1t was as peaceful scene as one could
wish to behold on a summer Sunday morn
ing. There was scarcely enough breeze to
stir the leaves of the great elm trees to a
rustic; but for the family wagering
shadows which they cast upon the lawn,
one would not have known that they moved
at all. The lawn had been rolled to a
Sunday smoOthness; the audacious little
ciOverS that lifted their heads there yes
terday had all been shipped off, and
!ong-legged robin, who was hopping over
IL, seemed TO realize his own boldnesS,
cooked his beadupon one side, looked shyly
around, and uttered not chirp. From the
hen-house came a subdued cackling. The
old red rooster, who was renowned for his
voice, had not, since four O'Clock, been
heard TO utter mote. There was droning
of insects which seemed not like sound, but
q part of the silence.
NicOdemus, the hired man, who had just
brought round the old-fashioned carrya Ii,
said it was still because it was $50 tarna-
ton hot" But Miss Eldridge and her
niece Phyllis, who were going to church in
the carryall, called it ga Sunday hush"
The old carryall, which had a chronic
creaking in all its joints, had, by almost
superhuman efforts on Nicodemus' part,
been oiled into quiet. Old Bucephalus-
whose knees would have been the better
for oiling-stOOd in dropping attitude,
without sufficient energy to switch off the
flies that alightedupOn him. Miss Eldridge,
who was about to get into the carryall, was
a trim, well-preserved little woman, on the
farther confines of middle age, who fairly
radiated decorum. From her dove-colored
bonnet to the toes of her cloth boots, she
was prim. Her dove-cOlored Grape shawl
was embroidered in a stiff pattern; the
nosegay of cinnamon pinks and southern
wood which she carried in her lace-mitted
hand was arranged on geometrical prin-
eiples.
But benevOlence shone from Miss FL
bridges face; one felt sure that her SYM
pathies were not regulated by geometrical
principles.
Phyllis, Miss Eldridge's niece, was
eighteen, and just graduated from young
ladies' seminary. When she went away to
school she was miniature edition of Miss
Eldridge; now she had blossomed out into
rebellious curls and dimples and founces
and sashes. As she stepped out of the
door she brought a frivolous little rustic
into the Sunday hush.
Miss Eldridge looked at her with little
sigh. She smiled-Phyllis was very nice
to look at, there was no denying it-but she
sighed as well. There may be beauty of
which one can not approve.
Suddenly there burst upon the tranquil
scene the boy from the telegraph office,
red-faced and painting, with a yellow en-
velOpe in his hand. The telegraph was a
new institution in Greenvale, and not lib
.rally patronized. Excitement, and
sense of the great Importance of the occa-
sion, had conspired to reduce Tommy
TruewOrthy, the postmistresS' son, to
state of utter collapse.
Miss Eldridge took the yellow envelope
with hand that trembled. A telegram
had never before come into her tranquil
life. To her mind it could be nothing but
an ill omen.
"It's for the SQUIRE" gasped Tommy
Trueworthy.
ave will carry it to your father; come,
Phyllis" said Miss Eldridge, and drew
Phyllis into the house.
And Tommy Trueworthy was disguised
at his own officiousness. If he had said
nothing Miss Eldridge would have opened
the envelope, in her excitement, without
thinking to look at the superscription, and
he might have learned what his mother so
much wanted to know-juSt who the peo-
pie mentioned in the telegram were. SO far
she had not enjoyed kilograms as she had
expected; they were so brief as to be puz-
zling.
In the squirrels room, where he reclined
on the sofa, the victim of Sprained ankle,
Miss Eldridge put the telegram into his
hand. She was a model of patience, but it
did rufiie her to see him put on his glasses
and survey the superscription for fully two
minutes.
me, sure enough" said the SQUIRE.
For PHYS sake open it, papa" cried
Phyllis.
With the greatest elaboration, and as
much calmness as though he lived in an
atmosphere of kilograms, the squire opened
the envelope, and unfolded the inclosed slip
ofpaper.
"John is very i'll at Norwich. Go to him
at once, for the sake of old times.
R. MASoN.o
Miss Eldridge drew long breath of re-
lief. There was nothing the matter with
their young scapegrace, Jack, who was
tramping in the AdirOndacks, nor with
brother Charities girls. who had gone
abroad. But she reproached herself for her
feeling of relief the next moment. Some
body's John was i'll, and in need of help,
"Who is he, JohnE" she asked.
For answer, the squire slowly and DELHI
erately read the telegram again.
"'R. Mason My memory is failing,
Hester, as told you the other day. must
know, but Pm blest if l can remember.
who he isl For the sake of old times.'
John must be somebody whom l knew long
ago." and the squire dropped his head and
knitted his brows, in the effort torecall the
friends of those old times.
Between his college DAYS and his unex-
pected settling down in Greenvale, to fol-
low in the footsteps of his father, the squire
had 'had his fling" He had been out into
that gay world which Miss Hester regarded
with Misrepresentation and dread. Reports
of his wildness had travelled to Greenvale.
Miss Eldridge never favored any illusions
to those old days. She felt that it was ex.
tremely doubtful whether John" were a
proper person. But still he was very i'll,
and in need Of help. For only moment or
two did Miss Eldridge hesitate.
"Y on can't go, John. l think had bet
ter" she said.
ITO Norwich: Ten miles in this heat!
Well, it's just like YOU, Hester; and I ac-
knowledge it would be a relief to me, for
my memory is so treacherouS. John NAV
be some fellow who has done me a good
turn. Mason! Mason! l don't remember
the name, but the telegraph operator NAV
have made blunder."
"John's name may not be Mason,n sug-
gested Miss Eldridge.
Awkward for you not knowing what it
is" said the squire. "But there's but one
hotel in Norwich, and he's probably there.
as my unknown friend doesn't specifv.n
You don't know any John who has any |
relatives or friends in Norwich:' said |
Miss Eldrldge, beginning to be conscious |
that there was difficulty as well as un- |
pleasantness about her undertaking.
Cant for the life of me remember that !
ever have had friend named John. It's |
a common enough name, but can't think |
just now of any man that ever knew |
named Johnw
"Never mind" said Miss Eldridge sooth- |
ingly, for the squirrels bewilderment was |
beginning to develop an irritability to |
which he was constitutionally subject. 81 |
shall probably be able to tell you all about |
him, so that you will remember him, when |
come back" |
"Going to take Phyllis with you, amt |
your" said the squire.
II suppose l must. don't like to go |
alone, and there is no one else," said Miss |
Eldridge, but she showed feeling of dis |
may at the prospect.
To guard Phyllis was the great object of |