The Warner weekly sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1885, 1884-11-21

she answers, the corners OF her mouth
trembling; "it-it is so different
hate it," with quick passion, and yet"
dropping her voice, II hate myself
more for feeling so. o, help me-,
help me bear it all" she cries
suddenly, turning to him with u piteouS
little gesture. He soOthes her half i'm
patiently-is it a shade of annoyance
which crosses his face? And then,
you must be brave. MIranda."h says.
She moves away from him pushing the
hair back from her forehead and look
ing up steadily, Yes" she wv
Il will be brave and patient" Then
presently, as if longing to be assured,
''You-you will come, l know you
will" with a little break in the voice
she tries to keep so steady. "Of
course" he says, lightly. She looks at
him half wonderingly. This parting,
which was so terrible to her, can it be
but a small thing to him?
A dreadful feeling of doubt and
loneliness comes over her. She turns
to the window in dumb agony and
gazes into the crowded street. Fitz-
gerald PAGES the DON a few moments.
Then he comes up to her. Mi
randa," he says, "this sort of thing is
awful, You know. We had far better
cut it short" He takes both her hands.
She is quite calm and passive now. 1t
seems 10 her that all feeling has left
her. Through inte1se suffering she has
almost passed into unCOnsciousness of
pain her face is white and still. Fitz-
gerald looks at her c%uriously. Miriam
da, list2n," he says gently, "we can
write, o know" A little CLEAN of
eagerness passed over her face. Eyes"
she II had not thought of
that" Then the strange, cool apathy
returns. She lets him hold her in his
arms and press his lips upon her brow
without a sign or word. She hears him
say hat he will surely come next year."
she sees the puzzled look with which he
regards her, she says "Good-by" in an
odd, hard sort of voice, which sounds
strange to her own ears, and then-it is
all over and she is alone.
A little more than two weeks later
the deacon stands on the little wooden
platform of Romulus statIonwaiting for
an incoming express train. His scanty
gray locks are combed carefully over
his sun burned neck; the palm-leaf hat
has been discarded in favor of a very
stiff, very high, very uncomfortable
beaver: the one suspender is hidden by
a Sunday coat of supernatural black
ness and shininess. Altogether the
deacon is "gotton up smart" according
to Mrs. Tiffany, who has snorted con-
temptuously at the idea of "all this fuss
bein' made for that Mirandy." Mrs.
Tiffany, however, is in a high state of
suppressed. excitement herself, as are
also the girls. Ag has purchased the
gayest bonnet to be had at the Corners
fblue satin and yellow featherst, with
the express and declared purpose
of ''takin' the shine ont of Miriam
dy's Turin fxin's," and Liz has spent
the greater part of three days IN perfect
ing wonderful arrangements of her
enthusiastically colored locks which ar
rangement is declared by her friend,
Miss Price, who has lately visited Chi
,ago, to be the --latest European" style.
tits a fearfully hot afternoon and there
has been no rain for a fortnight. The
little grass plot is brown and dusty, the
sun beats down f~iercely on the yellow.
sandy path. INSIDE the house an early
supper is set on the table, flies are buzz
z1ng about TIE wire gauze cover which
protects some sticky-looking pre-
serve" and a big humble bee, which
has come III through the window, and
accidentally tumbled into the pewter
milk-jug, has managed to get out of it
again, much to his own astonishment,
and is slowly travelling across the table.
leaving little droppmgs Of cream to
mark his progress. Mrs. Tiffany, her
cork-screw curls gathered into a knot
behind one ear, her sleeves tucked well
up to the elbow, displaying a liberal
expanse of rcd arm, is standing on the
doorstep, Liz, attired in pink gown
and a profusion Of cheap jewelry, is
lolling on the horse hair sofa reading a
| dime novel.
A nd The Miranda home.
Slowly and YEARLY the days have be-
come weeks, the weeks months, and the
months have lengthened into years, and
two years hive gone by since MiraEda's
Homecoming. 1t is again an evening
in june, and the deacon's palm-leaf hat
il used vigorously to beat off the MOSQUE
tos as he and Miranda stroll down the
quietsdeserte path. Father. she began
suddenly. i want you to do something
for me. Now, that's kind ~o'cur'ous, I"
remarks the deacon. sfor I was just a
thinkm, Mirandy, what thar was l could
do fer to make yer happier why,
father" she cries, with a little at
tempt at a laugh what has put it
into your head to imagine that T. M
not happy? Such q silly, old fa-
therl" Mirandy, z says the deacon,
quietly, tive knowed on it fer a long
time-Fve knowed on it fer months an
months. Did ye think I couldn't see