The Warner weekly sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1885, 1885-03-13
It is still the Lord His Day.
III.

slender little woman had climed into an
old rickety, open buggy. [ have told
you that | never saw her face, but !
make no doubt that at that moment
her face beneath the faded sum
bonnet was beautiful; a lovely light as
of first youth and first love, played
over the lonely palor of her cheeks; her
sunken ewes shone and q bonny smile
parted her lips as she leaned forward
and gathered up the reins and started
the bony, slow-moving horse ON thu
long and wearisome journey. For the
boys" bond had been signed. To-mor-
row they would be set free for q time
at least-and q respite meant everything.
No need now to look beyond
the overwhelming gladness of the one
thought that tomorrow they-he-
would be free, and she would be there
to receive them once more into light
and air and life!
Fifty miles, why, that is nothingl
Across long and lonely reaches OF
rough" whore the old horse ploughs
his way painfully through the heavy
sand, stumbling every now and then
upon the shin-oak roots that twisted
their loose, ugly knots over the road ;
through bits of brown, dreary prairie,
where the uncertain wheels creak I've
great clods Of black earth, Jumped by
the cold into solid masses as hard as a
rock; down the ravines deep washed
out, where shadows lie heavily and
where wild things, with eyes that shine,
creep stealthily from crevice to ~crevice;
over soggy, bottom-lands, strewn with
wrecks of overloaded froighters. where
the crows cav in the big cotton Wood'
and discuss angrily the pale passer-by.
Fifty miles, why, that is nothing.
It is cold and the wind stings her
face like so many needles; her bare
hands are blue and stiff and her feet
are numb. But do you think she feels
on her forehead the frozen air which
presently melts into o binding rain, as
she sits far forward on the seat and
urges the old horse along.
Amule-rabbit, with long, pointed ears
and glittering coat of fur. gathers him
self up at the side of the road prepared
to speed away, but aware of he unsee-
ing eye, settles himself comfortably in
his bed of dry grass and stares out at
her; a couple of deer, tawny and sleek,
lying in the shelter of the hollow, lift
their heads and drop them again as
she goes by. The few horsemen she
meets pass her without the customary
salutation, awed into silence by the re-
moteness of her gaze; yet turn to look
sfterward, remembering the joyous
smile upon her lips.
And night falls and those awful phan-
toms are somewhere yelling their faces!
The next day is well worn when she
crosses the low fiat and ascends the
hill at the foot of which nestles the
town. It is still cold, but the clouds
have broken and a sudden flood of light
bathes the valley, and turns the win
dows to coppery gold. A bird some.
where In the distance, as the jaded old
horse breaks into a stumbling trot,
throws out upon the frosty air q success
sion of joyous notes that are caught up
and answered by another still further of.
She pushes back her bonnet and draws
q long. restful- breath. All, there is the
big stone school-house and the snug
little cottages on either side of the street;
and there is the low Lighthouse so full
last summer of merry laughter and
music and light-why, what a crowd
about the jail-docr! Oh, yes, they are
there to welcome the boys; why, Of
course, and how kind Only she longed
to be the first to meet him.
The old horse slackens his pace and
creeps on; she leans out eagerly, let
ting the lines fall, and clasping her
hands, while the color comes and goes
on her pale cheeks. She does not see
theml But her her eyes are dimmed
no doubt by the wind and rain and cold.
Stand aside there gentlemeri She
has come to meet them; do you not un-
derstand?
She is lifted gently down and her fai-
tering steps are supported as she moves
blindly forward. The plying crowd
parts; two or three men rise hurriedly
from beside the things that lie white and
stark and rigid upon the ground.
Well? Well, the meeting is over.
M. M. Davis, in the Current.