The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1885-02-28

stun gethers no moss Then, with q
thought of her own comfort: "Are we ever
goin' to set the table? Pm jest a-famlshin'
for my supper"
Joshua Dunn, coming in just then, looked
from his mother to his daughter, and said,
in his grave way: "Seems to me, Lois,
you might look after your grandmother a
little closer"
Poor Lois! She had the feeling, so COM
mon to all of us, that the conscious accept
ance of a burden must somehow tighten it,,
and that the secret self-sacrifice must in
some mysterious way be felt and appre-
ciatGd; but here in the first hour of her
| cross bearing had come not praise, but
blame.
She made no answer; her face flushed,
then paled, and with close-shut lips she
walked quickly from the room.
"Joshuay," quavered Grandma Dunn,
eye ought to take that CELL in hand. She's
gettin' more high headed ev'ry day. She's
goin' to be the very pattern of her mother"
''There, there, mother!" answered the
farmer. Let the girl alone. She's well
enough; and the more she grows like her
mother the better it'll please me-" For
Joshua Dunn held in very tender remem-
brance the young wife who had given her
life for her baby's.
Lois did not come down to supper, but
when her father brought in the milk she
came and took care Of it in her deft quiet
way.
He stood and watched her, his one eve
lamb, his motherless child. How dear she
was to him, from her shining brown head
to her willing feet! He was a man of few
| caresses, hut by and by he went over TO
her and laid his rough hand gently on her
head, and said: Fathers good little girl.'
Then, as though frightened at this I'M
wonted exhibition of affection, he gathered
the milk-pails together and hurried out.
The touch and the words eased the heart
ache q little, but that night, lying with
wide wakeful eyes fixed on the square of
moonlight on the floor, Lois said over and
over, the Dunns live TO be ninety, (" "rhe
Dunns live to he ninety" And she was
only twenty. How could she bear this for
seventy years?
But nature is kind to the young, and Lois
had forgotten her trouble long before an
other pair of eyes closed in the old farm
house.
Joshua Dunn pondered long and sorrow
fully. He had not been father and mother
both for twenty years without having his
perceptions sharpened where his child was
concerned, and rendering David Prices
frequent visits, and certain loiterings in
the old porch, and sundry tender chances,
it was not difficult to connect Lois sober
| face with the young mans going away.
In his inmOst heart he was thankful that he
was not called upon to give her up; but
something must be done to cheer her.
If only her mother were alive! But he
must do his best alone.
She should have some ne& dresses; she
must have young company; he would take
her uD to tho village oitener. But alas for
the tender planning. The next time
Joshua Dunn went to the village he was
carried there and laid beside his young
wife.
1t had happened very suddenly. He had
tD h1 n ba inc
not coming in to breakfast, Lois had gone
in search of him, and found him living I'M
der the feet of a horse he had lately
bought, the good, kind face trampled out
of recognition.
Well, we can live through a great deal,
and after the first bewilderment was over
Lois took up her old duties again.
Joshua Dunn had been a well-tO-do man,
and everything was left to Lois. There
was to be no anxiety about ways and
means; there was nothing to do, except to
live, with all the brightness of life gone
Grandma Dunn, in the face of a real sor-
row, stopped fretting for awhile, and Lois
had faint hope that their mutual loss
might bring them nearer together; but
after few weeks things fell back in their
old courses, her grandmother repining
and upbraiding, and Lois caring for her in
a cold, mechanical way.
Then the keen New England conscience
awoke. Was this the spirit of self-sacri
fee? Had she given up her love merely to
do the work hired servant might do, and
with the same feelings? Was she not cheap
ening her sacrifice by Withholding part of
the price?
So the lonely girl goaded herself until by
prayers and tears she grew into softer
frame of mind and the silent Indifference
with which she had borne her grand
mothers sharp speeches changed to pity
e.,
Grandma Dunn noticed the change she
gave no sign; but it made life more tolera-
BILE to Lois. At the best, time dragged very
slowly at the old farmhouse. The morn
ings were bearable, for the care of the
house kept her busy; but in the long sum
mer afternoons, when her grandmother
dozed in her chair, and in the long winter
evenings, when she sat alone by the fire,
she grew to have the feeling that they had
lived in the same way for a hundred years,
and would live on and on indefinitely.
But after ten years had worn away a new
interest came into her life. One day a
paper from Boston strayed up to the red
house on the hill Lois did not know that
the paper held high rank in the literature
of the day, but she felt the difference be-
tween it and their county weekly. One
little story pleased her especially. 1t did
not abound in Opponents, murders and
highly wrought situations, like the weekly
stories, but ran along as naturally as one
friend might talk to another, and the
thought came to her, why couldn't she
write a story?
So one afternoon, when Grandma Dunn
was safely off in her nap, Lois sat down in
the shady porch and wrote her first story.
1t was only the story of a life which had
been lived in her own village. There was no
attempt at fine writing, no romance, no
| tragedy-unless the story of broken heart
| is always a tragedy-but the story was
told so simply and tenderly that it seemed
| like quiet brook running at twilight be-
| tween banks of fern and alder, until it is
| lost in shadow.
With many misgivings she sent it to the
Boston paper, and the editor, man of
quiet tastes, read it himself, then took il
home and read it to his invalid wife; and
| the result was that in few weeks Lois re-
ceived a paper addressed in strange
handwriting, and in it her little story; and
not only that, but letter came containing a
check and few words of praise. With q
heart lighter than it had been since her
| fathers death, she took the paper and let
| ter to her room. She turned the check
over and over-her own money, the first
she had ever earned, and earned in such a
| delightful way Then she read and re-read
her story, and wondered how it sounded to
others. She looked the paper over to COM
pare it with other stories, and a familiar
name caught her eye, and there, among
/ the marriage notices, she read this: "Iu
this city, on the 10th inst, by Rev. Daniel
Simpson, Mary, only daughter of Roger
Leonard, of this city, to David Price, OF