Connecticut western news., 1885-04-01
An Old Maid.
BY LAURA COLLINS.

BY LAURA COLLINS.
 A lowering morning which made one wish for the sunny South or for Italy, or any place which would make one feel happier than could this dismal morning in Wisconsin. And then to think that this train could not make connection with the eastward bound train It is hard enough to stop at such miserable little junction at any time, but to spend three hours here this dark morning must prove the very refinement of torture. There are dozen passengers who must wait and who prepare to make the best of their stay here. One couple, ev- idently just married, find the clouds of a very rosy color, and they walk out of the smoky old depot to make tour of the town, talking eagerly the while. Two young fellows wander uneasy about, reading all the old tattered posters, glowing inducements to go West, and ancient timetables, which invariably decorate the stained walls of country depot. These young fellows finally utter exclamations of impatienee at the dreary monotony, and go across the street to the hotel, hoping to find some thing there more congenial to them. Two ladies at once take their departure for the hotel, and other people stroll out about the depot, and there are left two persons, a man and woman, who, after a little time. settle themselves to reading to pass away the weary mo ments. He reads his paper, she her hook, and occasionally. -womanslika. she casts look at her silent companion, wondering what loved ones are awaiting his arrival and whether he is impatient to greet them, or if he feels mans stoicism in regard to it; wondering, too, how it is that each woman thinks the masculine lives connected with hers so full of manly graces and beauty, and who could find manly beauty in those rugged features? Then she turned her gentle eyes toward the window and looked out at the dreary landscape, looked with eyes which saw not outward objects, but were interpretive solely. An old maid, commonly supposed to be the type of diacontent and unrest; but here, evidently, the type fail ed, for this face expressed the utmost of content. Life had been filled with much of sor- row for her, all her bright plans had failed of fruition; one after another she had bidden good-by to them and had turned bravely again to face the coming of new future, future to be peopied again by her bright fancies-the old fancies all dead and gone from her ex- cept as they fingered in memory. An old maid she is, so far as years go, bCt no home is happier than her little ideal home. She has filled its rooms with bright little faces eagerly calling to mother and the dream-father is strong, earnest, helpful and loving. Her dream home is happier far than many fine lady's real home; although she has not pictured any grandeur about it. Oh, no, she dreams that the carpets are faded from much sunlight and worn from the tread of many little feet, that there is much planning to ''make both ends meet" but she has imagined unsel- fish living in this ideal home, and loving unselfSaness can make all trials in re- gard to ways and means seem very slight indeed. Her companion in this depot is an elderly person, a stout, large man, with keen eyes and 8 mouth at complete odds with the eyes, not belonging to them apparently. Often eyes do not harmonize in coloring with the rest ol the face, but generally expressions are strongly akin. This man had a sen- sitiye mouth, one with amournful droop to it. Those who looked at him caught themselves wondering which would con- quer-keen, hard eyes, or sensitive mouth. He read for some time, then gave quick look at the thoughtful face near him, and said, abruptly: "Not g very pleasant arrangement, this."
 ] A quick flush passed over the gentle face before him-a flush which his keen 
 eyes noted instantly and understood-a flush which told of the girlishness yet left to this lonely woman.
 "Not that it matters much to me where am," he continued. "Life cant give me anything harder than I've had. ?
 "That is sad thing to say, she said, in her timid way.
 "A true thing, though" !" he respond ed, and the corners of his sensitive mouth dropped little more. 'T feel as if had nothing left to live for. My wife died year ago and" here the voice broke. Distress ever calls some souls out from their reserve, and hers was such one, and she said, quickly:
 "Ah, but you have all those vanished days and months and years to remem Der, all the loveliness of her life to thinl of now."
 'sHow did you know her life wa. lovely ?" he queried little sharply.
 She hesitated moment and ther said, simply:
 ssIt must have been, OF you would no, miss her from your living 70 much. "s