The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1885-03-18

j not Mirandas own mother, and naturally
/ her own girls Ag and Liz, took precedence
| in her eyes She didn't see why that pale
\ faced Mirandy should have al the book
larnin' and traYeliA' thar was goin'." But
| on this point the Deacon, usually mild and
| yielding, had been firm and loyal to the
memory of his first wife, the pretty, gentle
| Eastern girl, whose book larnin'" had been
almost her only consolation in the pine soil:
/ tides OF Romulus, and who had begged OF
| him mot to let Miranda grow up West"
| And the Deacon had promised and bravsly
| kept his word, in spite Of the scolding and
lackTymose complsinings of Mrs. Tiffany
the seco-5 and her girls.
| TV % during the four years did, the Deacon
| visit her at school, and now at last Miranda
is CO mIDg home. 1t is the 14th OF June, and
/ she is TO sail fer America the 10Th, and the
| deacon stands st the gate and lets his pipe
/ out half dozen times as he thinks OF his
| little gal" and wonders nov she will like
1 the new paper in her roOD, and whether
''thet thar mOsQuity curtain hadn't oughter
aben blue instead o. pink"
| Far aWsy in the smoke and noise OF Lon.
| don Miranda is parting from Fitzgerald.
"You know" be said, ~ shall be ok in
New York next year, probably for 60 d. aud
| then shall pay a visit to-whaJ j. iJ?'-
| smiling, "Remus2-Do Romulus, and carry
you eff like the knight of the fairy tale,
4 hope"
You won't like it-Romulus, mean
| she answers the corner of her mouth trem-
bling; 'it-it is so different-I hate it'll" with
| quick passion, land yet" dropping her
| voice ''I hate myself more for feeling So
/ Oh, help me, help me to bear it ALL" she
| cries suddenly, turning TO him with q
| piteous little gesture. He soothes her half
1 impatiently-is IL a shade of annoyance
which crosses his face? And then, You
must be brave, Miranda" he says. She
moves away from him, pushing the hair back
| from her forehead and looking up steadily.
/ YES" she answers, II will be brave and pa
| tent" Then presently, as if longing TO be
assured. "You-you will come; know you
| will, with a little break in the voice she
| tries to keep steady. "Of course" he says,
| lightly. She looks at him half wonderingly.
| This parting, which is so terrible to her, can
| it be bat q small thing to him?
a dreadful feeling of doubt and loneliness
| comes over her. She turns 10 the window
in dumb sgony and gazes into the crowded
street Fitzgerald PAGES the room for few
moments. Then he comes I'D to her. "Mi-
rsnds," he SAYS, "this sort of thing is awful
| you kroT. We mad far better cut it short"
| He takes both her hands. She is quite calm
| ard passive now. It seems 10 her that all
| feeling has left her. Through intense
| suffering she has almost passed into IN
| consciousness of pam; her face is white
| ard still Fitzgerald looks at her curiously.
Miranda, llsteu," he says, gently, I'VE can
| write, you know A little CLEAN of eager
| ness passes over her face. Yes" she an
| sweIs, II had not thought of that" Then
the strange, cold apathy returns. She lets
MN hold her IN his arms and press his lips
| upon her brow without sign or word. She
| hears him say that he will surely come next
| year" che sees the puzzled look with which
| he regards her, she say gOodbY," in an odd,
| hard sort Of voice, which eOunGs strange to
/ her OVID ears and thsn-it is al over and
! she is alone.
A little more has two weeks later the
| Deacon stands on tneklittle wooden platform
! Of RomUlus station, waiting for az incom-
| ing train. His scsnty gray locks are combed
| carefully over his sunburned neck; the palm
| leaf hat has been discarded in favor OF
very stiff, very high, very uncomfortable
beaver; the one suspender is hidden by
| SUndey coat of superI arUral blackness and
| shiDiDess. Altogether the IN-7"-1 is gotten
up smart" according 10 M. Iifany, who
| has sDorted contemDtuOusly at the idea OF
''all this fuss bsin' made for that MiTandy."
| Mrs, Tiffany, however is IN high state of
| suppressed excitement herself, as ere also the
| girls. Ag has purchased the gayest bouquet
| to be had at the Corn er5 (blue satin and gel
| low feathers) with express and declared pur
pose of 'takin' the chine out of Mirandy's
| turin fxinin's', aud Liz hiss "pent the
| greater part of three DAYS IN perfec lg GER
| tain wonderful arrangement of her molasses
candy colored locks, which arrangement is
| declared by her friend, Miss Price, who has
lstely visited Chicago to be the --latest
European style" It is tearfully hot after.
noon. ard there has been no rain for a fort
| night. The little grass plot is brown and
dusty, the sun beats down heTcely on the
yellow, sandy path. Inside the house an
early supper is set out On the table; flies are
buzzing about the wire gauze cover which
protects some sticky looking preserve" and
big bumble-bee, which has come in through
the window and accidentally tumbled
-
get out OF 1t again, much to his own aston
ishment, and is slowly travelling across ths
table, leaving little droppings of
cream to mark his progress. Mrs. Tiffany,
her cOrk.screw curls gathered in knot De-
| hind one ear, her sleeves tucked we'll up to
to the elbow, displaying liberal expanse of
red arm, is standing on the doorstep. Liz,
sttired in a pink gown and profusion of
cheap jewelry, is lolling on horse-hair So
IA reading a dime novel,
And the Deacon brings Miranda home.
Slowly aud YEARLY the days have become
weeks, and weeks months, and the months
have Heightened into years, and two yesrs
have gone by since MiTanda's homecoming.
1t is again an evening in June, and the Dea-
cans pslm-leaf hat is used vigorously to
beat OFF the mosquitoes as he and Miranda
stroll down the quiet, deserted path. "Fa-
Their" she begins suddenly. 81 want you
10 90 something Tor me" Now, that's
kind o. cour ous," remarks the Deacon, ''fer
l was jes a thinkin' Mirandy, what thar
was I could do fer 70 make you happier"
why, fstherp' she cries, with a little at
tempt at a laugh, what has put it into your
head to imagine that I'm not happy? Such
silly old father" "Mirandy," says the
Deacon, quietly, I've knowsd on it for
long tiue-Ive knowed on it for months an
| months. Did ye think l couldn't see the
| looks that's bin a CROWN in yer eyes? Did
| ye think didn't know nv gal was frettiL'P'
30, don't say thatl don't say shati" she
cries, with sharp pain in her voice. ST
didn't know you noticed have tried,
have tried so hard"
That's whar it is. Mirandy," says the
Deacon, tenderly- You hev tried. and 1
can't abesr TO see ye tryin' to be happy.
Don't ye try, Mirandy; don't ye now. That
was what killed yer mother" And the
| Deacon sighs. "Some folks" be continued,
oracularly, kin be happy agin ssrcums.sn-
ces, and some folks can't. Ii warn't in her
natur, Mirandy, and it amt in your'n n.
Don't We try, my pretty, don't We try"
Father. fatherl" she sobs, and suddenly
buried her quivering face upon his shoulder.
The Deacon gently strokes her bair. "Ef
twould do ye any good to tell it, Mirandy,"
be says, hesitatingly. "Yes, will tell you"
she answers quickly. Il meant to have
told you long ago, but at first / put il off,