The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1888-03-24

down the road by Satan's pit"
mo, sir" persisted Washington Rock,
"Martin Derrick's on his way to nowheres
but to Her"
"rhats So" said Jefferson Rock.
"Bet your Sunday mornin' brown
bread ont" said Madison "he's after
Her."
YES" said Monroe, she's after Annie
Laurie"
Gin he war;" suggested Dawse, the
Scotchn an, after severe silence, is
there lad in thes Sc quarries to hinder
the lass?"
The men did not look at each other;
no one answered the old man. They
were poor qusrrymen, plain fellows; she
of whom they spoke was not Of their sort;
teacher, angel, idol, but woman not for
them. They thought Of her as they
thought OF the evening star, which look
ed down into the quarry through break
in the clouds from great height, pierc
ingly seeing everything, but touching no.
where. Yet there was not a man among
them who could wish her married.
"Mayhap it's light ye are, boys" said
the old Scotchman, softly, as if he had
been answered. "Gin 1 had the chusin'
of mon for Her me ain sell, I'd soon
TAX him frae the ither warld nor this"
Annie Laurie sat in her little music
room alone. She had the thoughts that,
like wild birds, venture near the heart
only when one Is al lone and still.
Annie Laurie was ffty-one years old
-ilty-one tomorrow, for Christmas was
her birthday, too. She had passed the
years when one is heroine. Lite was
behind her. She was a heroine to no.
body now except to the quarrymen, poor
fellows, who idealized, she said, little
common humanity, or perhapsa bit OF ex-
perimental Christianity SO easily that one
could cry TO think OF it.
She thought of it that evening, sitting
there by herself, and twisting bon-bons
for their Christmas party. She had done
a good many things for the quarrymen,
as all Stoneport knew-womanly neigh
borly things, wsrm-hearted, courageous
and characteristic. Stoneport expected
them of her, but it was the first time she
had ever invited the quarrymen, her own
particular quarrymen, to a party. She
was as excited about it as if she had
been fifteen instead of fitty-one.
1T is the pleasantest thing ever did
in my life," she said to Mrs. Tombs; sit
is delightful p
Mrs. Tombs lived with Annie Laurie
maid, mother, guide, philosopher, house.
keeper and friend-her vocation was
complex. She was said to have pretty
cheerful name-Kste or Jenny. or what
not; but Mrs. Tombs, and only Mrs
Tonbs, she was and would be. 1t was
supposed she conceived herself thus
either to maintain that personal dignity
which deies position or that which comes
from it; whether one was to forget that
she cooked the dinner, or remember that
she had been married, was never clearly
proved. Authorities differed on this point;
Miss Laurie yielded it without inquiry,
and merrily called her Mrs Tombs. An
ME Laurie was often merry in her man
ner for solitary woman.
at took you to think ont" said Mrs.
Tombs. 81 wouldn't stone raisin for
'em, nor for no mortal human, without
it was to amuse you. But. Lordy, if it
amuees you p
Mrs. Tombs had suecumbed on twist
ing bonbons. She said it gave her an
indigestion in the brain to think of it.
She had gone away TO look after some
heavy moral responsibilities in the mat
ter of chocolate frosting. Annie Lau
RE could hear Mrs. Tombs singing in
the kitchen,
DAY of wrath that dreadful day."
by wsy of Christmas carol, while she
whipped the eggs. Miss Laurie her
self, alone IN the mushroom, was sub
merged in waves of colored paper and in
the tide of her own thoughts.
These tonight were the long thoughts
of her years, the quiet thoughts with
which peaceful middle-aQe comes to an
nigerssry days. Annie Laurie had not
always been quiet; she was too hand
some a woman, even at fifty to have
had a quiet life; and then her eyes we're
too dark. They were deep ss we'll as
dark, and bright as we'll as deep; they
flashed as easily as September sea. She
had Astounding health, and sang like
morning star sometimes even now; her
hair seemed to have turned gray more
because it became her than because she
was growing old. She had an erect fig
ure, richly nodded, and q firm must
cians's hand. Her face was vivid and
strong; when she was moved in the right
way it was sweet.
Strong or sweet, or brave or merry,
it was impossible at Christmas time and
birthday time not to remember. How
a woman remembersl She had often
prayed for a mans power Of forgetting,
and then prayed to be forgiven for the
prayer. She knew that she would not
have felt she was half a woman if she
could forget. She would have scorned
herself as if she had done something
rude. It was the way she was made;
it was like the depth of her eyes or the
quality of her soprano. Who was to
help it? She had loved one man and he