The Warner sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1885-1???, 1888-08-17

IA'e 49, J 49, ~ w. -OND fNN%J
"It's impossible" said /. "You
don't understand anything about
the oversight and are that a great
farm needs if you think that"
"Well, we could sell the farm you
know"
Sell the farm" I cried, starting up,
My fathers, my grnndfatner's, my
great-grandfather's-'
Your NOah's your Adams"
GLOW do you dare talk so to me,
Mark Myers, about my home,'
cried, more vexed and more.
Il shouldn't think you had called
my home a prison and a dungeon, y
he ret Orted.
"Well, it is! the glOOmiest, the
"Now hush, my darling; hush, you
little vixen" said Mark, laughing,
with his hands on my lips, "or you'll
say something you'll be sorry for"
"Nou've said something you'll be
sorry for" | cried-"caliing me a
vixen. l may he a vixen, but
if you were a gentleman But
the Myerses always were tyrants,
and Pm glad I've found you out in
time-sO calm and so cool, and so
fixed in your own way. And I'll new
er, never, 90 and live in your Old pris-
ou-hOuse," | cried, growing angrIer
and angrier, Heaven only knows why.
And you may Just whistle for your
dog, and 20 there yourself, and go
alone. | never want TO see your face
again" And before he could grasp
me and prevent me, had flashed i'll,
to the house, and had shut and bolt
ed the door.
He waited then; he waited, l should
think, an hour. And | sat inside,
burning with anger, and with an UNI
conscious sense OF shame, very likely,
and a bitter disappointment, and
a wild, unnamed fear. And at last he
rose slowly and looked at the win
dOws, and turned away and called old
Roland, and went slowly down thelane.
And he never came back. | could
see him walking along, ever so slowly,
in the clear moonlight, with the dogs.
nose in his hand, till the road turned
into the wood that mounted the hill.
And when he had gone l just threw
myself on the floor, and all but dis
solved in my mad tears. And Ididn't
know what the tears were for-wheth-
err for fear of losing Mark, or for fear
Cf losing my home, or for fear OF Civ
ing up 10Y will; but it seemed to me
that the end Of the world had as good
as come.
We were both orphans, we bothhad
these great properties, and we had
both better have been beggars.
That was June, and the tuIl moon.
l didn't sleep any that night hard
ly know why; q presentiment OF evil
kept me waking, although l was so
tired. | remember that moon now,
hanging in the purple sky, with her
wide wings, like q great boding ghost.
Every time / looked out, there she
was. By-and-by she began to brighten
me, and I shut her out, but layF axe
all the same, my mind in a wild whirl.
The next evening, in the long after
glow OF the sunset, | tripped down
the lane to the wood, sure that l
should meet him, as ] had always
done, on his way to me; but the shape
/ had been used to see bounding down
the path / did not see again. / went
close to the shadow of the wood, but
only old Roland came and put his
nose in my hand, and waited with me
while | waited, and went back with
me a little way when | went back. 1t
did not occur to me to think that
where Roland was his master wac not
far distant. And l went down the
lane no more.
After that, then, one day crept by,
and another, and life continued in
thu old way, and all the business of
the great farm thrived in the hands
of Bryan, the directing overseer, and
all seemed to be mere idleness. The
moving machines were humming all
day in the meadows, and the huge
loads of fragrant hay came laboring
into the barns, and thunder-clouds
made panics, and the lightning fell, as
it always did on the wet low grounds,
and burneds one or two hay-stacks;
and then the ~gundelows went down
the river for the salt hay, and came
back, days afterward, with their dark,
square sails set atop Of their square
loads OF thatch; and one by one all
the concerns OF ripening and h9rvest-
ing had their season, and past, and
August was over. And Mark had
once been up to the lane again;
and September had gone. and the
harvest-moon and the hunters moon
had poured its silver floods OF light
out of q great lonely heaven; and still
Mark had never come.
/ suppose Mrs. Wells. my next
neiehbor, know all about And
Mrs. Sawyer, ON the other side, OF
course knew all that Mrs. Wells did.
They were very good to me, and they
and the girls were always running in
to sse nae, or sending for me TO run IN
and see them. / don't think I was
to carry things of with q high
hand, and know / wasn't hanging
my head and crying over what was
not to be helped; ! simply made up
my mind to the iEavssable. was
going to have Mark beside me
any more. and ! must endure it, and
get through life as we'll as I could
! had this farm on my hands. and all
the people who had their living from
III and ] must do my duty. And per-
haps in time fate would be kinder,
and give me a fever sor cough, and let
me lie down and die; and he swould
come then and look on me, and re-
member how / held loved him. and be