Idaho news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1887-1891, 1889-07-27
The Story OF a Seige,
BY SISTER FRANCES.
CHAPTER /.

How should she decide? This new
love had so grown into her heart that
70 part from it now was like rending
soul from body, To put it from her
was to shut out all the new JOY and
Cladness that had come to her-and to
another life as we'll Should she not
think OF him2 All his old hardness
end doubt, his little faith in woman
and less in man, all that hooking bit
terness that had vanished from his
life when the gates opened to let her
in, would they not return again, seven
fold, should she fail him now?
But the children;-tTO years, was
it; since Mary died? Il did not seem
so long, The chill November day. the
slowly-wearing afternoon, the look in
Mary's face, how plainl,, she saw them
nowl There was small need OF words
between the sisters. This girl of sew
enteen. sitting alone with the dying
woman, understood it all. The gentle
worn sister, lying down to rest. the
burden dropping from those patient
hands! The clock on the stairs licked
solemnly, yet how fast the minutes
iewi
elf Stephen were only here! She
may have something to tell him; some
word to leave, that even he will re-
member
But he did not come; and when ut
once a hush filed the room, Marcy
sat cold and silent at the foot OF the
bed, pressing her cheek against Il,
hard, carved post; with almost rebel
lious JOY in her heart that the end had
come, and her sister was free at lat.
What it meant for her she did rot
strive to think; but. with the
strange strength new-bc.n
sorrow brings, she did rot
pause nor cry OFT; not yet, not yet.
Very quietly she moved about the
room, closing an open drawer, setting
aside pillows, medicine bottles; all
such useles rubbish now: counting the
strokes of the clock. FiUe? Was It?
Stephen would ask her; she must re-
member; Mary died at fiveI
For moment she dropped YEARLY
into the easy-chair, and pressed her
hand over her eyes. But the chill
dren's voices. down stairs, brought her
back TO the keen and near reality.
She could not tell them yet; not until
Stephen comes. So she went swiftly
down to them, playing their noiseless
games in the dusky hall, az their
mothers illness had taught them.
Out in the kitchen was fire and light:
she gathered the little flock together
there, and made them comfortable
with warm supper. trying even to
smile at the happy faces around the
table she would not check the mirth
that was so pitiful, with the dear
mother lying dead upstairs.
Still Stephen did not come: and
when they sat together before the fire.
the older ones asking If mother would
soon be well, she could bear Il no
longer. but told them with a sudden
burst, and they all cried together
softly for while. But as one little
head and another nodded, and even
Tace and Pheeb' began to dry their
tears and grow drowsy, she lighted
them with sweet, coaxing words, M
the chill and echoing stairway, and
sat by them till the tiny hands relaxed
their clasp OF hers.
Stephen Johns was away at caucus
meeting when his wife died. He had
kissed her that morning, as was his
wont, and fingered at the door TO ask
II he should bring her anything out
from ''town." The mournful eyes
answered him with mute entreaty:
but The pale lips framed patient
''no;" and his wife turned upon her
pillow. murmuring TO herself: at Is
nothing; he will not understand.
''Nothingp Good-by. tken; be u
good girl; and. Marcy. sec that she
wants for nothing"
In that debonair good-by. that easy
indifference, and the exhausted look In /
his wife's face as he went out the
door, the story Of Mary Johns life was
told. He never did understand: and ,