Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1884-10-15
MIRANDA.
From the Chicago Tribune

1t was sunny evening in June and Rom
ulus Corners looked its best. Not that
it's best was anything to boast of, for it was
not much Of a place, consisting of a dozer
or so struggling houses, two ''genera
stores" and a meeting house, on the line Of
the Boshawa and st. Paul railway. All the
buildings were of wood, and most of then
were painted dark and hideous brown,
though here and there veranda of vivid
green or brilliant blue doorstep marked
the dwelling Of some usually ambitious
Corner. All dwellings at the Corners agreed
that old Deacon Tiffany's house was "tht
smartest in the lot" and this certainly coulc
not be denied; it stood on small piece Of
rising ground overlooking the railway track
a somewhat conspicuous position, where the
eleven different colors which ornamented its
front could not fail to be observed of all
travellers. These eleven colors were the
pride of the deacon's heart; he would stanc
by the hours and contemplate with PLACID
satisfaction and modest pride the green anc
yellow stripes of the veranda, the slate-col
ored cornice, or, best of all, the gorgeous
new bow windows ''to Mirandy's room. p
The deacon certainly had, as was said ad
miringly at the Corners, can eye for color. y
Even his beehives were all painted either
yellow or blue, and instead Of being cluster
ed together in corner, as is generally the
case, were scattered promiscuously about
his garden, according to new and origina
plan conceived by their owner, to whom
their appearance afforded the keenest salts
faction. 1t was his greatest pleasure in life
to stand at the gate of summer evening
attired in a striped flannel shirt, palm
leaf hat and pair of trousers depending OF
the apparently frail support of one suspen
der luxuriously smoking long -stemmec
corn-cob pipe, and contemplating with in
nocence and profound admiration his many.
colored domicile and its surrounding bee
hives. The prospect might have been slight
ly marred for some people by the effect O.
Mrs Tiffany's "washings." which were in
variably in full view on either side of the
house-it was popularity of Mrs. Tiffany
But the deacon didn't mind on the con
trary he rather enjoyed the sight of
few lilac calico gowns and ''rising sun
kinder brightens things up, ye see," he uset
to say. But fond as he was of bright col
ors, and generously as he had been able tt
crafty his taste, it did ones heart good t,
see how careful he was of his less fortunate
neighbors' feelings. He would stroll dowl
to the village of an evening, and gazing mild
ly at the particularly dull and dingy shad
of brown which ornamented the residence
| of his friend, the blacksmith, would hyper
critically remark that he s'didn't know bu
what such color as that want best for tn
eyes after all, and that ''ef it hadn't beel
for Mirandy's comm home he didn't know
as he would hev that thar shade of blue ont
the bow window, but gals generally has
leanin' to blue"
Miranda had been away four years. Firs
at school in far-distant eastern city, an,
then, without coming home, she went ava
to Europe for year, partly as governess t
the two little sisters of former schoolmate
partly as companion to their fussy invalit
mother. Mrs. Tiffany strongly disapprov
ed of these proceedings. She was not hi
randa's own mother, and naturally her owl
girls, Ag and Liz, took precedence in he
eyes. She ''didn't see why that pale face
Mirandy should have all the book la1nin
and travelin' thar was goin'." But on thi
point the deacon, usually mild and yielding
had been firm and loyal to the memory 9
his first wife, the pretty, gentle eastern girl
whose book larnin' had been almost he
only consolation in the pine solitude of Rom
ulus and who had begged of him ''not to lie
Miranda grow up west" And the deaeo
had promised and bravely kept his word, il
spite Of the scolding and lachrymose com
plainings of Mrs. Tiffany the second and he
girls.
| Twice during the four years did the dea
con visit her at school, and now at last Mi
randa is coming. 1t is the 18th of June
and she is to sail for America the 10Th, ant
the deacon stands at the gate and let's hi
pipe out half a dozen times as he thinks O
| his s1ittle gal," and wonders how she will
like the new paper'in her room, and wheth
er ''thet thar mosquity curtin hadn't ought
eraben blue instead O. pink.
Far away in the smoke and noise of Lon
don Miranda is parting from Fitzgerald.
sYou know" he says, 81 shall be bacl
in New York next year, probably for good
and then I shall pay visit to-what is it p
smiling, ''Remus ?-no Romulus, and car
ry you off like the knight of the fairy tale
l hope"
s'You won't like it-Romulus, Imean"-
she answers, the corners of her mouth
trembling; tit is so different-I hate itn
with quick passion, 'and yet," dropping
her voice, 81 hate myself more for feeling
so. o. help me, help me to bear it all !!
she cries suddenly, turning to him with ;
piteous little gesture. He soothes her hal
impatiently it shade of annoyance
which crosses his face? And then, "You
must be brave, Miranda" he says. She
moves away from him, pushing the hail
from her forehead and looking up steadily
eyes," she answers, 81 will be brave and
patient" Then presently, as if longing tt
be assured, 'You-you aoM come; know
you will, - with a little break in the voice
She tries to keep steady. 'sOf course" he
says lightly. She looks at him half wonder
ingly. This parting, which is so terrible tt
her, can it be but 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
streets, Fitzgerald PAGES the room for 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 il
Short" He takes both her hands. She i;
quite calm and passive now. 1t seems to
her that all feeling has left her. Through
intense suffering she has almost passed into
unconsciousness of pain; her face is white
and still. Fitzgerald looks at her curiously
miranda, listen,'' he says, gently; "w'
can write, you know" A little gleam O
eagerness passes over her face. "Yes,o sh'
answers; 81 had not thought of that" The1
the strange, cold apathy returns. She let
him hold her in his arms and press his lip;
upon her brow without sigh or word. Sh'
hears him say that he ''will surely COM
next year," she sees the puzzled look will
which he regards her; she says goodbye
in an odd, hard sort of voice, which sound
strange to her own ears, and then-it is al
over and she is alone.
A little more than two weeks later th'
deacon stands on the little wooden platform
of Romulus station, waiting for an incoming
train. His scanty gray locks are combet
carefully over his sunburned neck; tn
palm-leaf hat has been discarded in favor Q
very stiff, very high, very uncomfortable
beaver; the one suspender is hidden by
Sunday coat of supernatural blackness ant