The Arkansaw traveler., 1886-03-20
LOST AT THE FLAX MILL.

In the Deautlfui QlStr1Ct OI a0net, on the coast of Donegal, near Lough Swilly the Lake of Shadows-lived two poor families, celebrated far and wide as the best neighbors ever known or heard of.
 If Martin wanted hand with his har
 vest Donnely was ready to give it and ask
 no wages, and the kindness was returned
 when the potato-digging came on. Their wives also lived i'd the greatest harmony,
 and they were such close neighbors that they met continually, for one roof cov- eyed the two houses.
 The long cabin, or rather range of cab ins, stood on the banks of Mulroy, an in-
 let of the Atlantic, so landlocked as to
 look like lake. Behind lowered gigan- tic heather-crowned mountains in front lay the h,gh road leading from the sea to
 Milford, the nearest market town, wind ing road, hard and white from limestone, now Tipping down into a valley, nov mounting up a sharp hill, and always keeping close to the blue waters of Mul- roy, divided from it by shelving bank iestooned with woodbine. Mulroy was studded with many islands-islands sacred to the "wee folks ;" islands in possession of the sea-birds islands where sleepy broad-browed seals basked on warm evenings. Beyond Mulroy rose more mountains, the nearest hills culti- vated to their sunmits, the more distant so pale and indistinct that they were like smoke colored phantoms against the sky. Enigal, cone-shaped mountain, the last point of Irish earth seen by the emi- grants as they sailed to America, and Muckish, the pigs back were most prom inent in the range.
 The Martins and the Donnellys did not know that they were looking at one of the lovliest landscapes in the world. They thought Mulroy wild, desolate place.
 Sometimes the deep silence of the place was broken by the keening oi mourners or chant of priests, and then the children in the cabins would run out to the road, and look up and down.
 A long procession wound from the seacoast, on it's way to wonder burial ground beneath the chapel at the edge of the lake-a holy spot, marked by for est of black wooden crosses. The priest walked first; then came the coffio, fol- lowed by a motley company men in long gray stockings, knee brooches, and brogues, mounted on shaggy ponies, and women seated behind them dressed in homespun and scarlet headgear. The keening woke the mountain echoes, the fairy glen throwing back the sound to the flax mill that stood gaunt and grim by the roadside then the crying and chant ing died away and hocks of curlew and blower circling overhead sang shrill re quiem. Two of the children were won't to follow the procession-Teague Martia and Mary Donnelly. They were insep- arabic, toddling hand in hand to school, hand in hand to chapel, playing together, herding the COWS together on the knowes. They would follow the procession as far as the fax mill, mile from their own door; and would stay there to play. The gossips of the country remarked the tender friendship of the children, and foretold that 1t would end in matrimony.
 The first separation of these little friends took place when they were six teen years old, and Teague was hired by a farmer. Mary moped and fretted when he was gone, wandering sadly to the flax mill, their old play place, and then wan dering back again with her head hanging down. But she found some consolation in knitting his socks, washing his clothes, and carrying the little bundle 10 him on a Saturday at the farmhouse.
 Things did not turn out as the neigh bors exported. The friends did not be- come lovers; they remained devoted friends, but they married strangers. Years went by. The old Martins and Donnellys were "gathered to their fath- CTS" and Mary and her husband, and Teague and his wife, lived on in tLe old cabins, Gin under the roof vi each other," and the good neighborhood was th same as ever. Time passed they grew middle aged, then old the days when they had played at the fax mill were very far away.
 One day Mary was taken very ili--so lil that the priest was sent for. She re- ceived the last rites of the church, and then sent for Teague. He was at a dis. to Milford with cattle to sell would not return home till late. Mary watched the door as long as her sight lasted.
 "Is there DO word of Teague?n was her constant question. His name was the last upon her lips.
 A woeful man was Teague when he lound his old friend gone. He walked beside her husband after the coffin, and saw her laid low in the churchyard mold, and then he came back to the cabins, the Eruest mourner she had. But work had Do be done, though his heart was heavy, and the next evening he took his fax to he mill
 As ne logged along the limestone road h his cart he was suddenly aware of . figure seated beside him on the bundles uf flax. How had she got there? He was thrilled with terror, and it was all he could do to look round to sec who was Ais companion. An old woman2 Yes; md her rcd shawl, the gray hair, the the blue eyes, which had never