Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1885-05-21
trust in Him. Don't ever forget that,
Maggie; Gods ways are always for the

at suppose so; but now am walk
ing in the shadows, and the future i
very dark. / really do not see wher
/ am to CO."
"Let me think" said her uncle, wip
ing the suspicious moisture from Iii
eyes with his handkerchief
Margaret guessed at her uncle's tears
although the deepening twilight oh
scured his countenance.
"Let me see," he continued, "therei
your Aunt Lucinda's step-brother, Cyri
Belknap. You remember him, Maggie
Well, he is as different as can be from
your aunt. Now it strikes me that h,
would like to have you make you
home in his great big house. He is
bachelor, and no one lives with him ex
cepting his cousin, the housekeeper
and O servant or so. Besides, he sale
when your mother died that If you haC
been little older Lucinda wouldn'
have got YOU You see he's great bis
heart, Cyril has, and he is generous tt
fault. Yes, Maggie, it strikes me tha
that is the incest home in the world fol
you-seeing you have to leave me
though God knows there's an abund
ance here. But 1 suppose your aunt
would object to your going there; she
would not be anxious for you to find fa
vor with Uncle Cyril"
"Why, Uncle Joe?"
"Oh, reason enough. She sort OF
hankers after his elegant property, and
thinks maybe he might remember the
girls, which thing may not be if you
find a warm spot in his heart. Oi
course he's no more relation to them
than to you-no relative of any of you,
really-but she has her anticipations. "
But Aunt Lucinda did not object.
Her mind was too full of the present for
a thought of the future.
Although sevvral weeks elapsed after
Lucinda Maynards, still Margaret had
not gone. There were the holidays,
and the work, and company, conse-
quently Mag could not be spared un-
til after Christmas week, any way; "but
one cold bright morning in January
Uncle Joe drove Margaret to the sta
tion in his sleigh, and, putting a purse
of money into her trembling hand,
bade her good-by, and saw her off with
genuine tears.
Down over the hill swept little angry
gusts, whirling the snow in little spiral
clouds hither and thither, while the
fiaring sunset betokened cold, windy
night. The dry leaves rustled and
whirled off by twos and threes from
the scrub oaks struggling along the
solitary road from the lonely little sta
ton at the crossing to the interior.
Down over the hill, also, but not in
such furry, came Margaret, carrying
a heavy basket, and looking anxiously
pecting to see her destination ere long.
Yes, there it was; away in the dis
tance, with the sunset cleaning on its
panes and fretted caves, stood Cyril
Belknap's home, half hidden by dozen
or more great pear trees, whose naked
branches caught the rising wind and
lashed each other savagely.
"Sure enough, there was Uncle Cy-
rils home," and Margaret took better
hold of the big basket and descended
into the winding valley road.
On and on she pressed, with be-
numbed and aching feet, guessing it
was a mile to Uncle Cyrils, when in re-
ality it was nearly two. But how
should she know, having never been
over the road before? Uncle would
have met her at the train, of course,
but she was coming unannounced; she
preferred to do; somehow she had not
the courage to let him know she was
coming in the way she was-homeless.
The man at the station told her it was
"a couple OF miles, perhaps, TO the
Belknap place." and she thought she
might walk that far and carry her lug
gage. When the gray-haired conductor
helped her down with the tremendous
basket. at the desolate little station of
Doster, he noticed her pale, thin face,
and wondered what starved-looking
youngling could want to be set down in
such q place in midwinter for; and
when she started off with her unwieldly
burden, he shut the carriage door with
bang, saying, "Good Lord, and no
one to meet her even"
Poor Margaret. Life's clouds had
never exhibited to her eager vision
much of their silver lining. Orphaned
in her babyhood, she had clung to
Aunt Lucinda; now she had cast her
off "to find situation" she said. "Big
enough to do for herself;" we'll, maybe
she was. Now what would Uncle
Cyril think? Perhaps he would think
as Aunt Lucinda, and send her adrift
also. She remembered him as tall,
handsome man, with a pleasant laugh
and musical voice, when she saw him
last.
All day long the thunder of the train
ho1 10 hnr onI 10
into the crisp air once more seemed like
getting a new lease of liberty. She was
not us ed to the close, heated air of the
coaches, but she was used to walking
in the cold, else this adventure of COM
ing unannounced would have been sim
ply insurmountable.
want to ride ways?" sahg out
pleasant voice, and Margaret paused in
her weary trudge, trudge to look up.
A little old man had reined in superb
span of black horses, harnessed to a
sleigh, with an abundant provision of
warm robes, which looked very COM
Portable and inviting.
Il do not miud, sir, as 1 am very
tired" answered Margaret; "and il you
are going past Cyril Belknap's home 1
will be very glad to ride that far"
Il am going right by there, miss; so
hustle in here; the sun is about down,
and if you are going there, why, you'd
freeze to death before you would get
there"
Yes, sir" said Margaret, settling
herself among the robes and sighing
from weariness.
"You don't live there, do you?"
"No, sir" answered the girl, feebly,
f,o,,, tIo Iox.tba 80 kho .Io,ch