Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1889-04-03

the broken window, yet pausing a mo-
mont 10 take look at the little square
nower-bed no had made in the corner
Of the fence, or to trim branch OF the
maple tree that shaded the house, al
ways humming song as he worked,
with an occasional furtive look down
the lane, as II he half expected to sec
Mandy coming. At noon heard the
twang OF his banjo, as he rested for a
little while in the doorway. In the
evening he came shuffling TO the kitchen
door, and asked to see me.
miss Lucy, would We min givin' me
few hollyhock seeds, an some OBJ dat
larkspur an sweet mint in dc gyarden'
ncbber had no idee OBJ maxim flower
bed till now. but know Mandy II want
little gyarden OBJ her own to work in
whom she haint got nothin' else TO do"
Take any thing you want, Uncle
Ike, and make your garden as pretty as
you can" / said. IL shall give you n
curtain for your window, and il you care
to use IL you may have the little stove
in the wood-shed. Don't stop to thank
me-" ] added, smiling at the quaint
courtesy he gave me, "but plant your
flowers ut once, for who knows but that
Mandy may come to-day"
For week afterward Uncle Ike's face
beamed with happin SIS and hope. And
ms had no particular need Of him just
then, allowed him to spend the greater
part OF his time down at the cabin,
where he busted himself making things
nice and comfortable against Mandy's
arrival. Every day, when the train
| stopped mt the station n half-mile away,
no would mount his old gray mule and
ride down the road to meet his "ole
oman" who no was ''sartin" would
come on that very train; and II no
always came back crestfallen and dis
appointed, IL would be only to brighten
up again the next day. And so for
many weeks he worked on, always pa
tient and accomplishing, and seldom
expressing doubt MS to Mandy's final
coming But / knew that he was be-
ginning to lose hope, and when found
him doing something that he confessed
to have just remembered, was sure he
was only working TO drive away his
gloomy thoughts.
The summer came, and with the
warm, sweet days Uncle Ike grew
moody and restless, and noticed that
he no longer sang at his work. Only
Mt night would he take his banjo, and,
sitting In the cabin door, play softly
the quaint melodies that were his only
solace In his loneliness. Sometimes
Robert and l would find him sitting I'M
der the haple-trec, his banjo by his
side, his face buried in his hands, while
no rocked himself from side to side as
II in bodily pain. And every day /
took the soiled yellow envelope and
studied the blurred post-mark, hoping
10 be able TO read IL, so / could find
some means OF communicating with
Mandy, but always without success.
One evening in June, Robert and /
walked down to the cabin just as the
moon began TO shed asoft, silvery light
over the quiet valley. Uncle Ike had
complained OF feeling sick, and as he
had not been up 10 the house to finish
his daily chores, we were little un-
easy about him. We found him lean
ing idly over the little gate, looking
straight before him, and on his black
face tear glittered in the moonlight
His weary attitude and the sight OF
that tear, gave me feeling OF in
describable sadness. / had never bo-
fore seon one of his race weep, except
the frantic howlings and lamentations
that form part OF their religious wor-
ship; and now, as looked at Uncle Ike,
was touched at the gentle patience
with which he bore his disappoint-
ment, and longed to say something to
comfort him, but hardly knew how to
begin.
I'm afraid you have been working
too hard this summer, Uncle Ike" I
said, at last.
faint dat, Miss Lucym he said,
slowly, as he lifted his hand furtively
to his face, and brushed away tho tear
that glistencd there" faint dat You
know when de body gifts ole an worn
out, de heart is apt to stop beatin' at
any time, like clock dat's run down
an can't be wound up no more. And
dat's de way hit is wild me, Use pretty
nigh worn out,-'dough did feel right
spry fore de hot days set in. Now,
sense Use glib ub lookin' for Mandy
his voice growing tremulous and low,
Il amt had de mind to do my work wild
de propah sperrit."
Don't lose heart, Uncle Ike, for
Mandy may come yet" said Robert,
cheerfilly.
mo, Mnrse Robert, she won't nebber
como now" and Uncle Ike shook his
head solemnly. Oars sumthin' here"
laying his hand on his breast, "dat tell,
me my Mandy Is dead nebber knowed
her TO break her word befo', wild no
body. much less wild ole Ike. Mandy
haint forgot me, but we'll nebber meet
again till we meet up yonder on dc
shinin' shoah. An ebry night pray
dat dc timo won't be long"
but you have been contentcd with
out Mandy all these years." said, 80
Why should you spend your remaining
days In gricving after hcrP"
May be could quit worrin', honey,
II IL want for dat letter.; but hit jis'
seems as II dc Lord put hope in ole
Ike's heart dat He ncbbcr meant TO
como true!" and the old man looked
across the valley with puzzled look
In his blcarcd eyes.
81 wish could help you," / said,
with a sigh, rs ] turned to go.
Tank yc, Miss Lucy, but hit amt In
de power oh any pore mortal 10 do dat
hit jes' rests wild the Lord TO help
mel"
''IIow fast he is failing" remarked
Robert, a. we we walked slowly back
to the house. III don't think he will
| liva IN see another summern