Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1884-11-28

was the nearest market-town, where
they hauled their truck on ox-wag
ons once a year, bringing back sup
ply of meal, a gallon or two of whiskey,
and calico dress for 1.-The woman"
now began to talk irritably of going
tout west" where the country was
not so thickiy settled. Gradually the
plain of waving grass gave place to
fields of corn, and, one by one, little
implanted cottages sprang up Ike
solitary mushrooms all over the pral-
RE
But to Mary Benton that one seem
ed the beginning of it all-the day
that brought the line of prairie
sci ooners and the young man on his
black horse, canterIng along in front,
with his face to the setting sun and a
shadowy film of a moon hanging IN
the eastern sky at his back.
That was Herbert. Mary was just
16 then, and it was not long before the
black horse became accustomed to
spend his Sunday evenings paving
the ground in front of the sturdy
hitching-pos at Farmer Benton's cot
tage.
THAT hole'Il do fur a suller when
we build, Mar" the old man remark
ed, nudging Charity loosely. But
when Mary was Is they Were married,
and black jim was interrupted before
he had extended his excavation suf-
ficlently for ''suller."
Then Herbert moved down to the
new town. through which the ''keers'
passed twice every day, and started
his little paper. Children came one
after another into the neat little home,
but as the years went by, little hill
locks in the new 'burying-ground''
were shaped and covered with prairie
sod. She had worked, and struggled,
and suffered so long, and God had not
even left one child to comfort her now
that the work and struggle was over,
ard the suffering multiplied ten fold.
But He knew best! They would
probably be as much ashamed of their
ignorant, awkward mother-as their
father was! But 1t was hard-it was
hard
They had been almost equal in the
start-Herbert and Mary. Perhaps
his education was little better of the
two, but now ne boosted in eloquent
words of being q self-made man; one
who had risen from the depths of pow
erty and ignorance, and had gone to
school IN his boyhood days with patch
es on the knees of his homcspun panta-
looms. 1t was SO wonderful and inter
esting, and so heroic in the elegant
Herbert Agnes Pennoyer to glory ia
hIC N N
struggle for higher ground, his fine
new friends remarked in very audible
whispers. There was no prompter be-
hind the scenes to say:
MARY Lyddy made you. You have
absorbed her life, and strength, and
intell!gence-every possibility of her
past and future In your own race
toward the goal of success. You have
reached it; but where is she2 Away
back at the end of the trail under the
wild cherry trees!'
When Herbert departed from Con
necticut settlement, having far out
stripped the country with which he
had started to grow up" he did not
take away with him the same light
hearted, fresh-faced Mary he had
found there. The struggle had left it's
scars on heart and carewOrn face
The pretty shyneSs of the girl had
given place TO the shrinking, painful
embarrassment of the woman CON
scious of her own ungainlinesS, and
unaccustomed to any society that
coulJ be termed such in the common
acceptance of the word. They had
been poor for long time, even after
Herbert had begun to soar mildly
that is, they were too poor to afford
Mary becoming costumes in which
she might pose at Herbert's side in
the fashionable society he felt it his
duty to affect. Thus he gained GER
tain Indispensable polish at the hands
of the polite world, while Mary's
hands, grown worn and stumpy at the
hnger-ends, put one on the family
cookiRg stove at hOme.
The children were all gone now,
and the sod was thick and studded
with prairie flowers on the five little
mounds back in the old Connecticut
settlement Active success had come
to Herbert; passive misery to Mary
She had servants now, but she always
felt little uncertain about what to do
with them. She might have had fine
dresses, but what was the use2 She
was so hopelessly plain that it was a
mere waste of material
1t was not long until Herbert ceased
To say; Are you going with me to-
night, Mary" From that it was an
easy slept finding excuses, and, later,
obstacles, to keep her at home; to all
of which Mary acquiesced only too
readily. She had expended all her
spirit in pushing Herbert up the rising
road, and now she sank without a
murmur. without a struggle or pray
er into hopeless, apathe tic medlocrity.
The old father and mother were gone :;
the homestead had passed into the
hands of strangers; not even her
name was left to her. Herbert, with
his usual genius for development, had
evoluted 1t into Marian for state oc
caSlons, and to the world she was
merely the wife of Herbert Agnes
Pennoyer, without any individuality
Of her own whatever. Back at the
old Connecticut settlement they had
always called her Mary Lyddy. How
strange it sounded now-Mary Lyddy
Penncyer! 1t was ldfashioned, but
SO was shel O, that she had never
left the peaceful old home on the
pralriel 1t was because the park re
minded her of it that she sometimes
came there for quiet hour-to rest
her eyes with the cool green of tree
and shrub and the sparkle of little
fountains.
Perhaps the singing words of Mar
ion Chisholm had spurred her dulled
senses into un wonted activity; per
haps there was yet dormant posi-
blllty remaining that might arise from
the sacriicial ashes. Be that as it
may, as she sat there a horrible
thought sprang, full armed with GER
taiuty, into her mind
Weary, one day, Of her endless
knitting and crochet work, she picked
up magazine that Herbert had left
on the table. Looking over its
pages she came upon little story
with neither signature nor initials at
tached To furaish a clew to the
authors identity. There was strong
undercurrent of passion and despair
too realistic to be lightly passed over
by the dulleSt reader-Such a one
even as poor Mary; and, contrary to
habit shn ,ooj - fr,,,, b,,in,;,rr 20,