Evening capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1888-1893, 1889-04-20

wiped them OF mechanically with his rough.
strong hand. He did not know whether
they were from pity Of her or of himself;
he know not which was the stronger with
in him; he was not clearly conscious of
either, but Of dull unhappiness such as he
had never known.
He looked down at his clothes with faint
shame; they were not his best ones. He
had ready-made suit at home but these
his mother had made. He wished they
looked better The light in Bissel's window
cast his long shadow on the white ground.
1t wavered there, shrinking and lingering;
then it pushed on and up to the door.
1t was not the custom in Fence Corners
to rap; it would have been looked upon as a
useless formality. He stepped into Bissel's
large, scantily furnished, rag-carpeted best
room.
He gasped as he stood there. He had
vaguely hoped for little reprieve, but she
sat there by the lamp, alone, bending
over some work She rose at his entrance
and came forward little to offer her hand
but he did not see 1t, and she dropped it
back in awkward haste.
"Won't you take chair2" she said.
She brought one forward. Thornton sat
down. He dropped his hat as he did so, and
still. He would have tried to speak, but he
knew he could not; his tongue felt thick
and immovable.
ITS showing, amt it," said the school
teacher; she bore the marks of dIffidence
herself in her timorous voice and look.
Thorton nodded; it was all he could do.
He stared at her ixedly, almost vacuously.
His mind wandered back and strove to
anchor itself to something. Once he had
spent an evening at Bissels, on the occasion
Of a sociable, and taken her hand in one of
the games; once he h ad overtaken her, in a
wagon, on her way to school and given her
a lift. That was all. He thought it might
have been less hard for him if there had
been something more, but that was all his
morbid self-distrustfulnes had allowed
him.
The ticking of clock on a corner-stand
filed the silence. 1t was round, nickel
clock, and it ticked so loudly as to force
itself upon them.
"That's my school clock" said the teach
er. al am all ready for tomorrow. There
are my books over there with it and the
register.
The school director dropped his miserable
eyes to the faded stripe in the carpet at his
feet, but he did not see it; his hat shook
with the trembling of his hands.
likely" the school-teacher went on. His
misery impaired itself to her in a degree of
nervousness, and she let her work drop. 81
had twenty-five this summer; there's al
ways more winters, amt therel"
He managed to say yes. His eyes were
wandering about the room now, his lips
parted as if for air. He saw new pane in
the window, clumsily puttied-a camphor
bottle left on the melode on--a break in the
cane seat of a chair-a small tub filled with
white asters still in bloom. He continued
looking at hese.
"They're real late, amt theyY" said the
girl. "Theyre mine, potted 'em myself
and guess they'll last best part of the win
ter; I've heard they will, took care of. Do
you want one9"
She put down her work and went and
picked one. Then, with a shy laugh, she
took her scissors and went back to them.
"May be your mother'd like few; she
hain't got 'em, has she7" she said.
She made bunch and tied it with her
black thread. Thornton watched her; a
slight girl in a cheap and wellworn dress,
her dark hair in a girlish braid, and her
eyes mild. This she was, but who shall tell
what he was! His agony rose, eliminated
as she turned to him; he clutched his hat
till its stiff brim cracked. She was coming
toward him with the flowers.
"There, may be she'd like few, she re-
peated, faint-heartediy; but he did not hear
her He felt his face afame like fire, and
a choking IN his throat He struggled to
speak, and did make an inarticulate sound,
at which she looked at. him in wonder.
He looked up at her pitifully-and then fell
stumblingly on his knees at her feet and
buried his face in her skirt, and cropping
for her hands, pulled them down till they
pressed his throbbing head' and rested
there, her happy, wondering tears falling
upon them.
"Bashfulq" said Dave Kinney to Hanks,
the store keeper. ''rd like TO know what's
YOUR tdee o. bashfulness. WY, jim Thorn
ton walked out o. this store that night and
up to Bissel's straight as string, and told
that school-teacher that, owin' to circum-
stances that he didn't have no control over, |
she couldn't have the school this winter, ner
likely there couldn't nobody else neither, |
but il it'd be any consideration to her, she |
could have him; told her that right up and |
down, and didn't make no bones of it. II |
Jim Thorntons bashful, WY, the teler that
amt IS what I'd like to ee"-Emma A.
OnnAr in Leslie's Newspaper.