The Republican journal., 1885-02-12
Keeping my Promise.

Now did agree with him, for he had made
his usual call for two hour, and ii half having,
in country phrase, taken to ''stting up with
me so literally that was frequently at my wits
end to suppress the yawn that | knew would
bring troop after it.
He was a fine, manipulating fellow, this
John Crawford. old for his age-which was
rather the boyish period of 22-and every way
worthy of being loved. But didn't love him.
was seven years bis senior; when, instead of
letting the worm of conceaIment prey on his
damask cheek, he ventured to tell his love for
my mature self, | remorselessly seized an Eng
hsh prayer book, pointed sernly to the clause.
"A man may not marry his grandmother"
That was three years ago, and added encour-
agingly:
Besides, John. you are child. and don't
know your own mind"
"lf a man of 10 doesn't know his own mind,''
demonstrated my lover, Il would like to know
who should. But | viii wait for you seven
years, if YOU say so-fourteen--as Jacob did
for Rachel
You forget" replied. laughing at his way
OF mendlng matters, THAT woman does not.
Ike ne, improve with age. But, seriously,
John, this Is absurd; you are nice boy, and
iIhC NOu-Dul IHS ltellUSS toward YOU are
more those of mother than IA wife"
The boys eyes flashed Indignantly. and be-
fore could divine his attention he had lifted
me from the spot where | stood, and carried
me, infant fashion, to the sofa at the other end
OF the room.
II could almost find it in my heart to choke
YOU! he muttered. AS he sat me down with
emphasis
This was rather like the courtshp of William
OF Normandy, and matter, promised to be quite
exciting.
Don't do that again. said l, with dignity,
when recovered my breath.
Nv III you marry me?" asked John. some
what threalenngly
Not Just al present. replied.
The great. handsome fellow" | thought, AS
he paced the floor restlessly, "why couldn't he
fall in love with some girl of fifteen instead of
setting his affections on an old maid like me? |
don't want the boy on ny hands, and won't
have him -
As to your being twenty-nne,' pursued
John, IN answer to any thoughts, '.you say its
down in the family Bible, ard | suppose it
must be SO; but no one would believe it: and
don't care if you are forty. You look like p
glrl OF sixteen, and you are the only girl |
shall ever love-
''Oh John, John at least five millions of men
have said the same thing before in every known
language" Nevertheless, when he fairly breaks
down and cries, relent-for am disagreeably
there that | will either keep my OVID name or
take his.
And John looked radiant at this confession,
Tor love Is very dog in the manger. 1t was Il
comfort to know that if he could not gather the
Hover himself no one else would.
A sort of family shpwreck had waited John
to my threshold. Our own household was sad
ly broken up, and | found my self comparative
ly young III years, with half invalid father a
large house, and very little money. What
more natural determination than to take board
ers! And among the first were Mr.. Crawford
and his son, and his sister, who had lust been
wrecked themselves by the death of the wife
and mother In foreign land-one of those sud
den. unexpected deaths, that leave the surviv-
ors in dazed condition, because it is so diff
cult to imagine the gay wording who has been
called hence in another state of being.
Mr.. Crawford was one of my admrations
from the first. Tall, pale, with dark hair and
eyes. he reminded me of Dante, only that he
was handsomer; and he had such general air
OF knowing everything worth knowing with
out the least pedantry, however,) that | was
quite afraid of him. He was evidently wrap
ped up in John, and patient with his sister
which was asking quite enough of Christian
charity under the sun, for Mrs. Shelgrove was
an unmitigated nuisance. Such talner! bab-
bling of her own and her brothers affairs with
equal indiscretion, and treating the latter as
though he were an Incapable infant
They stayed with us for three years, and
during that time was fairly prosecuted about
John. Mrs. Shelgrove wrote me letter on
the subject, in which she informed me that the
Whole family were ready to receive me with
open arms-a prospect that | do not find at all
ailuring. They seemed to have their hearts set
john in the way he should go. Everything,
they said, depended on his getting the right
kind Of a wife.
A special interview with Mr. Crawford, at
his particular request, touched nle consider
ably
Il hope" said he, "that YOU will not refuse
my boy, Miss Edna. He has set his heart so
fully upon you, and you are everything that |
could desire in daughter. | want some one
to pet. feel sadly lonely at times, and | am
sure you would ill the vacant niche"
drew my hand away from the caress, and
almost felt like hating John Crawford. Life
with him would be one of ease and luxury; but
decided that had rather keep boarders.
Not long after that the Cranfords decided to
go to housekeeping, and Mrs. Shelgrove was in
her glory. She always came to luncheon in
her bonnet. and gave minute details of all that
had been done and talked of about the house in
the last twenty-four hours.
1T is really magnificent" said she, engthen-
ing out each syllable. "Brother has such per-
feet taste. And he is actually furnishing the
nDfary, MISS Edna, after your suggestion. \ ou
see we look upon you quite as one of the fam
iy."
That is very good of you," replied, short
ly; but | certainly have no expectations of
ever belonging to it,
Mrs. Shegrove laughed as though had per-
petrated an excellent joke.
young ladies always deny these things. of
course but John tells different story"
ratified the cups and saucers angry; and
my thoughts ioated of, not to John, but to
Johns father, sitting lonely in the library fur
nished after my suggestion. Wasn't it, after
"a m " IN tba f,,,, nJI,,S
The house was finished and moved into, and
John spent his evenings with me. l used to
get dreadfuly tired of him. He was too de-
voted to be at all interesting, and had reached
the state of feeling which, if summarily order
ed 10 take my choice between him and the gal
lows, would have prepared myself for the lat
ter with a sort of cheerful alacrity.
L locked the door upon John on the evening
in question, when l bad finally gotten rid of
him, with these things in full force; and l
meditated while undressing on some desperate
move that would bring matters to "a crisis.
But the boy had become reused at last. He
too, had reflected in the watches of the night
and next day / received quite dignified letter
from him, telling me that business called him
from the city for two or three weeks, and that
possibly on his return l might appreciate his
devotion better.
felt inexpressibly relieved. 1t appeared to
me the most sensible move that John had made
in the whole course of our acquaintance, and
began to breathe with more freedom.
Time flew, however, and the three weeks
heightened to six without Johns return. He
wrote to me, but his letters became somewhat
constrained; and scarcely knew what to make
OF him. If he wou only give me up,
thought; but felt sure that he would hold me
to that weak promise of mine, that / shoulC
either become Edna Crawford or remain Edns
Darlington.
MIR. Crawford" was announced one eve
ming, and l entered the paror fully prepared
for an overdose of John, but found myself con
frOnted by his father.
He looked very grave, and instantly mag
ined all sorts of things, and reproached myself
for my coldness.
"John Is well?' gasped, finally.
"Quite WELL" was the reply, in such kline
tones that felt sure there was something
wrong.
What it WAS l cared not, but poured forth
my feelings impetuously to my astonished Wis
itOr.
"He must not come here again" | eXclaim
ed. II do not wish to see him. Tell him So
Mr.. Cranfordl tell him had rather remain