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

| had less book -larnin' and more common
sense, Job Peters's folks would 10, liked
her deal better, and she wouldn't a, been
badgered to. death by 'em." Then. with
sudden lrrelevancy; "Ye ought to hev
married, Lois. There ought to be children
about the house. Ye'd "a done better to
hev taken that David Price that used to
hang round here. Somebody was a-telin'
of me the other day that he was reel ore-
handed out to Ohio. But CELLS never kdow
what's best for 'em." And she weni off
| into an inarticulate muttering,
For moment Lois felt wild imnnl 4 to
tell her grandmother why she had not
married David Price, to lay open before
| her the long years of loneliness, the starva-
ton of heart, which had been endured for
her sake; but the lifelong habit of reticence
was not easily broken, and the words died
away without utterance.
| Afterward she was glad of this siknce-
| for that night the querulous voice stopped
| suddenly, and the chain that had bound
Lois for twenty years was broken. She
was free. But what was freedom worth to
| her? The Zest was gone out of life she had
grown away from her old friends and made
| no new ones; there was no tie to bid her
| to HillsbOrough, and she felt the fullextent
of her loneliness when she realized the fact
that she had no ties in any place in the
wide world. But she could not stayin her
old home; so after awhile she sold The farm
| and moved away to a small towp near
Boston, guided in her choice onlyby the
fact that from this town had come some of
the friendly stranger letters. Here she
settled herself in comfortable home, and
faced resolutely the thirty or forty years
| which in all human probability lay before
her. The people about her proved indy
and intelligent; she found more cogenial
society than she had ever known beRre;
her pleasant house became ass>r<scGof
quiet sociability, and she enjoyed kind
Of autumnal happiness.
One afternoon, some eight years after her
coming to Springvale, Miss Lois, sitting in
her chamber, writing, heard the gate creak,
and looking out, saw peddle. coming up
the walk. He walked feebly, and she no.
tlced that as he neared the steps he
Strengthened himself with an effort. hee
little maid was ont, so she laid down
her pen and went down to him.
The man stood looking through the open
door into the wide old-fashioned hall. 1t
looked very cool and inviting after his hot
tramp, and Miss Lois, coming down the
stairs, fair and sweet in her soft gray
| dress and lavender ribbons, seemed part
Of the peace and quiet of the house.
She saw that he looked hot and tired,
| and asked him in, setting the large hall
chair for him. He dropp3 into it YEARLY,
! and opened his stock without the volublity
usual small wares, and Miss Lois made her
selection of pins, needles and tape with
the careful deliberatiOn of a New England
| hOusekeeper.
Suddenly she turned very white, and laid
! her hand on the stair-rail as though for
support. 1t was over in a moment; and
when the peddler looked at her again she
wore her usual calm face, though the hands
| counting the money trembled little, AS
he was gathering his wares together she
asked him, Have you been long at this
business?"
mo, ma am" he answered, rising stifly I;
| 'onlY year or two. | used TO do good
business in Cleveland, Ohio, and had a
house as pleasant as this, and a wife and
child; but | failed in business; then my
wife and child died, ard | had long sick
ness. After | got up fromit | tried several
different things, but finally came to this
| Thank you, ma'am," putting the money in
| his thin pocket book. "You look like some
body used to know in Hillsborough, where
| | was raised"
But Miss Lois made no answer, except
'Good afternoon" as he went down the
steps.
When the gate closed behind him, she
| went up to her chamber, unlocked a
| drawer in her bureau, and taking from it a
| thin package of letters, sat down with
| them in her hand.
| There was no need to read them; she
| knew every word in them. They had come
at long intervals during the first nine years
| of waiting: she could tell the very day the
| last one came. She sat there very quietly
until her little maid called her to tea; then
| she put the letters back in their place
smoOthed her hair. and went down. And
neither Polly nor the friends who came in
| the evening suspected that Miss Lois had
| seen ghost that afternoon.
HI,nY Del,
| the grocery in great excitement. A peddler
had had bleeding there the night be-
fore; they had made him a bed in the back
room, and that afternoon the Selectmen
were going to take him to the poor house.
Polly had seen him with her open eyes.
Miss Lois finished FASTING the paper over
the last tumbler of currant Jelly, then
washed her hands calmly, took off her
| apron, and went up stairs. In few min
utes she came down with her hat on. Pm
| going out for little while, Polly" she
said; land while Pm gone you may make
up the bed in the east chamber"
| Polly was amazed. OF course nobody in
the town would come to stay all night; and
Miss Lois had had no letters for few
days; besides, there had been no extra
cooking. What could it mean? But, being
an obedient little maid, she did as she was
bid. making was an exact science
| with Polly, who had been carefully trained
| in it by Miss Lois; so the feather bed was
rolled and thumped until it stood up a
| great fluffy mound to be laboriously and
| critically leveled with the broom handle,
| POlly's arms being far too short for the
purpose. Then the lavender-scented sheets
were carefully laid on, with due regard to
wide hem and narrow hem, the homespun
| blanket with its herring bone border, was
| spread without a wrinkle and tucked under
the smoothly rounded edges, and over all