Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1889-06-01
NOT AN ORDINARY GIRL.
El OLIVE HARPER.

Down the roadway walked the Young
girl whose forlorn condition had called
forth these remarks, her bare feet pur-
Tle with cold, but she seemed to have
forgotten their existence, for though
I she kept Ter cows before her in the
road Il was mechanically, as she was
absorbed in a book that She held open
in her hand.
Her name was Mercy Lord. but
somehow PEOPLE in that little village
had gotten into the habit of calling her
Lords Mercy, partly from the fact that
she was the only child left to her
broken hearted mother out of seven,
and also in grim sense of humor as
showing mo kind of mercy some peo-
pie receive in this world. Her father,
| Thomas Lord, was what the farmers
around called driver" and he was
! one, indeed. and whosoeyer lived I'M
der his rule was driven and driven to
work until nature gave way. But ho
was as tough rs n inc knot himself,
! md could work from before daybreak
to dark and still 10. feel tired, so he
would never allow any one else to COM
plain of fatigue. His Ioor wife, broken
in health and spirit, sank into an in
valid's chair, ard would probably have
died had it not been for Mercy, who
loved her mother with an affection as
rare as beautiful.
But little chance had the poor child
to show her love, save by the kisses as
she flew in and out, up and down at
her work. which seemed to be enough
for five young girls of her age How
she ever completed her tasks her poor
mother did not know. A large farm,
all the hands to cook for, the house to
keep in order, the cows and sheep and
o,her animals to attend to, the dairy
and the hens to look after, and all the.
spinning knitting, making and mend
ing TO do, and this burden on the
shoulders of girl of eighteen. But
she did it, and without complaint
The hardest thing Mercy had to bear
was that her father was miser and
did nos believe in girls dressing her
self up" rs he said, and he allowed
her but one calico dress and one pair
of shoes a year, and no money to get
ANYTHING else with. and so she was
never more than half-clad, and could
go nowhere nor enjoy any of the limo
cent pleasures of other girls.
Another gill would have grown hard
and sullen, and so, perhaps would
have done Mercy had il not been that
she did not think of her depIivations
at all. For Mercy lived in another
void, that of books and study. Up
il the garnet was whole chest full of
books that had been left there by n
Young man who had for time boarded
with her parents, and these books were
| Mercy's solace and help. From her
mother she had learned to read, and
the rest was easy to this fresh Young
brain, and every one of its energies
WAS devoted to the mastery of the
studies, and wherever Mercy was she
had in her pocket a grammar or some
other school book until she had learned
all of these, and then she entered into
the wonderful realm of the past ages,
as shown in geology; she knew every
plant, tree and flower by its scientific
| name, and the stars and elements held
| 10 lorger any secret from her that the
best of books could teach. The mo-
ments when she could study were
snatch2d one by one, when she churned
or Knitted or spun or drove the cows,
and on Sundays and sometimes Il little
in the evenings, so that few. indeed
were the girls of her age who could
! boast of so excellent or thorough an
education. She studied because she
loved to study. and no PARTIES, visits or
suitors diverted her mind, and she
found her only comfort and pleasure
in them except that which came from
her intercourse with her fading mother
All the girls from the village and
those from the farms around pitied
Mercy because of her round of cease
less toll and her despicable old father,
but she knew nothing of their pity nor
wanted it. She was, if not happy, at
least content, and though her poor
hands were bare and rough there was
not one among them all who could
write as beautifully as she.
One day her mother felt that she
must make her peace with God, for
sic knew that her time was nearly
spent, and the minister was sent for
and he came out to the farm to spend
the afternoon and talk and pray with
the invalid. Mercy lowered near her
mother as much as she could in the
intervals of her labor and heard the
minister talking, and her mother say
ing that her only regret was that POOR
Mercy should be obliged to keep along
in the same old rut and die at last of
hard work before her time, and he
tried to console her as best he could
glancing carelessly at Mercy the while
After he wen-. Mercy began to think
of herself. She suddenly became
conscious of the hardships of her life,
and she also became suddenly con-
ccious that her dress was mean and
poor and old and faded, and that she
was barefoot. The red blood mounted
to her hair and tears of shame to her
eyes. Her father was "well-to-do."
and here was she, his only child, bare
footed, without collar, without ruff
files, without any of the pretty things
that other girls have to wear, and the
lack of which she now felt for the first
time. When he was entirely out of
sight Mercy went upstairs and took
her fathers shaving glass, the only
one in the house, and looked at her
face. She saw large brown eyes, full
and deep, long lashes that swept her
cheeks, wavy brown hair. very
sweet mouth and snow-white teeth,
ard a rich, red color on her sun
Drowned cheeks. She thought moth,
ing of her figure or she might have