Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1889-10-03

withouteven q word or token Of affection7
The tears dropped on the long lashes and
bitterness settled over the white face-so
very white now in the deepening twilight.
II her young heart was breaking from
neglect and want Of sympathy, what difIer:
ence did it make; what difference, indeed
She was only an orphaned niece, moneyless
and friendless, finding shelter under the
aristocratic rooftree Of Uncle Wilton, sim
ply because it could not very well be other
wise. People would have censured, you
see.
Cousins Kate and Clara were in the
drawing-room entertaining friends, and the
soft light came through the drawn curtains
OF flmy lace with a dreamy radiance suit
ing well the slow, sleepy music Of the
guitar some one was playing inside.
The girl paused to look In at the cozy en-
joyment hungrity. How she loved music;
but then she could not sing. No; the mu-
steal veinof the Wiltons had failed to throb
into her life for some reason.
She couldn't sing, she couldn't dance,
neither could she appear well in society; so
Aunt Marie said ''there was no use bother
ing with the little, ignorant beggar." =
The big tears, hesitating on the dark lash
es, FLASHED down on the crimson shawl, and
Babbette turned away with q choking SEN
station in her throat. vrrs~3 rr~
Out across there, though, where the lights
twinkle through the trees, lived dear old
friend, the gray,haired rector. How many
happy hours she. had passed In that pretty
cottage; the little study with its modest in
grain carpet and softly -shaded lamps; with
its marrow, green shutters opening out on q
long, old-fashioned piazza By day, and closed
on the little happy world at night, was q
paradise to the lonely girl 30 IL
Doubtless the low rocker in its snug cor
ner waited her coming tonight as often be-
-.
where the soft sweet music mellowed the
air and doated out on her desolate night.
No, there was no room for her anyway,
had she chosen to have remained indoors.
Her place must be among those in the
dreary by!ways Of lifel sisl5titti.
But the rector, kind old man, was com
panionable and friend. She would step in
and have another Of those long,, serious
talks she delighted in. Poor mani He, too,
was alone now, with none but the house
keeper to look after him. His wife slept
over there in the church-yard, and his son
-weri Babbette didn't mind of ever see-
ing him. siI1 off 80
He was away to college somewhere, but
the rector had told her that he would be at
home shortly. After his coming, Of course,
Babbette argued, she wouldn't feel as free
to occupy the willow rocker at the rectory,
for-i Well, she was now eighteen and real
her in ankle dresses and long, childish curls.
Turuing from the music and merriment
within her uncle's drawing groom, she drew
the crimson shawl closely under her dainty
chin and went awayin the darkness. Cross
ing the lawn and shutting the wicket gate
behind her she ran swiftly along under the
greeping cedars toward the rectory.
Tapping at the study door she was ad-
mitted by the gray-haired clergyman, as
usual. who drew the familiar rocker for
ward and, pushing his books aside, turned
around for the talk he knew was expected
to be forthcoming. - b
"And tonight am eighteen" said Bah
bette. letting the shawl drop from her
shoulders with a weary gesture, land what
have accomplished, or where is the pros
pectlve niche for Babbette Wiltona"
Her fingers clasped and unclasped them
selves in an aimless nervousness, and the
choking sensation welled up into sob. s.,
The good old man placed his trembling
hand on the brown curls. Daughter" said
he, ''be of good cheer; violets are lowly,
but dare say the brilliant and stately bios
SONS of the hot-house would not be missed
as much as they"
A step sounded in the hall The rector
looked up. ut is my son, Max" he ex-
planned. "He came home yesterday; 1
didn't tell you, did II Maxp' calling,