Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1885-11-04
A BOX LUNCH.
How It Smoothed the Path OF a
Persistent Wooer.

'Looks if there might be beech-nuts
over there in the grove, sonny" sug-
gested Mr.. Luther Varney, alighting
from his wagon in front of square, old.
fashioned house at the entrance of Oak.
land village. "You may run and gather
some while I'm making my CALL"
"Why can't go in with you, fatherP''
queried the maladroit youth. "Maybe
they've got apples"
mo, no, Willie; you'd be in the way.
/ want to ask Miss Meserve about her
fathers last sickness, aud-and so forth.
You'll have apples enough when we get
to your aunt Bowen's."
The boy reluctantly climbed the fence.
while his father hitched the horse-a
proceeding as unusual rs it was need
less; but one must pardon little irreg-
ularity in two years widower "look-
ing around" Years ago, before he
wooed Miss Pamela Giddings, Mr.. Var.
ney had cast vigorous love glances to-
ward DIR. Meserve's pretty daughter
chances that filled shy Miss Olive with
sweet confusion. Had he been less
bashful, less awcd by her superior
worldly advantages, and had she been
less coy, their earlier romance might
have had happier ending. But in that
case, how would it have Jared with the
good old doctor, shortly after this strick-
en- helpless with paralysisP No married
daughter could have ever nursed him
with the undivided care and tenderness
henceforth lavished upon him by Miss
Olive.
1t was the subsequent year that Miss
Giddings challenged Mr.. Varney's at
tention, so to speak, and he married her,
taking her for better or for worse. If
she proved worse than he had antici-
pated, he had not been the man to say
it. He had faithfully ministered unto
her in health and in sickness; he had
smoothed her path to the grave with due
regret. At her deccase he had sincerely
not even to himself admitting
that her life had chastened him more
than her death. But time, the great
CONSIDER, had now assuaged his grief
and paved the way for a human COM
forter. Not that he forgot Pamela. AT
church he often thought of her as a
somewhat uneasy angel in
the heavenly choir, but he thought also
of his motherless boy. What would he
not do for this dear pledge of affectionP
For Willie's sake he ought to marry
again; and then, looking askance at
trim, rosy Miss Olive in the adjoining
pew, the bercaved man realized how
sweet might be sclf-sacrifice. He had
come to regard this silent Sunday prox-
unity as the browning pleasure of the
week, and abundant recompense for the
long ride and the longer sermon. He
had manifested his reminding affection
for Miss Olive by sundry eloquent looks
and hand pressures, but until this golden
October day he had not ventured to visit
her. Spying him now from her sitting.
room window, the timid little woman
dropped the rug she had been braiding,
and sprang up in a flutter.
"Why will hep In broad daylight,
too! The whole village will be talking"
calculated she, with an instructive glance
at the mirror.
A lady likes to look presentable in
saying "No'' as well as in saying Eyes, y
and because Miss Olive had fully made
up her mind never to be wife, was
that any reason why she should not wish
to remain an attractive spinsterp Shrink.
ing from appearing over-eager to admit
a possible sutton, she dallied till the echo
of Mr.. Varney's knock had died away
before opening the door.
"How do you do, Mr.. Varneyp" said
she, her voice slightly tremulous. Ir
Pamela's lifetime she had called him
Luther.
"Never more rugged, and hope
you're well. Olive. I'm taking Willie
to his aunt Bowen's to spend week OF
two, and as l was passing, l thought
I'd drop in and sec how you were. Sis
ter Bowen always likes to hear from
YOU" he added, with embarrassment
tinged with hypocrisy.
"Oh, my health is invariably good
thank you," said Miss Olive, usherine
her guest into the spick- and-span parlol
sacred to callers.
Establishing his tall person in tn,
largest rocking-chair, Mr.. Varney
crossed his right hand over his left. un
Willingly bringing into bold relief hi
fraycd right wristband.
at seems sad to see that room desert
ed" said he, with sympathetic noe
toward the open-sitting room formcrl,
devoted to DIR. Meserve. "But 20,
can't wish your father back, Olive"
mo, not for his own sake" answered
the daughter; with feeling. "After hi
mind failed, life was no enjoyment I,
him. But do miss him sol He wa
all l had"
II know, Oliye-ycs, / know. Nv,
thought of you great deal lately,
great deal. 1t must be dcsolatc for yo,
alone In the old house, and it's desolat
for me in mine. Olive I've beer
hoping"
"At first 1 felt asst I'd nothing to liv,
for" interrupted Miss Olive, in quicl
alarm. "But don't feel 50 now. No
indeed. OF course must mourn for m,
father, but keep busy, and 1 make
companion of Climona, the orphan
took from the poor-house."
"You always did have cheerful dis
position" remarked Mr.. Varney, look
Ing down with an air of rcproach. Per
ceiving the dilapidated cuff, he artfufI
concealed it by folding his left ham
over his right.
"You are first Selectman again thi
year, they say" chirped Miss Olive
skimming off to safer topic. 9TH
town is bound to retain you In Office"
ION my boys account, / regret 1t,
said Mr.. Varney, rallying his wits. a
have 10 be away from home more'n !
suitable under present circumstances
The poor little fellow needs mother.
Miss Olive rose prccipitately, an
picked up newspaper spread 3
shield her new carpet from the souther
sun.
Father used to say it was thanklcs
business 10 work for the town. sal