Connecticut western news., 1889-08-14
THE RUNA WAY.

THE RUNA WAY.
 1Would they put her in the asylum" i" she wondered, eff they caught herr" Folks would surely think she was crazy.
 She stopped at the stone wall to rest, and looked back timorously at the old familiar scene.
 Far behind her stretched the mead ow, symphony of olive and green in the late fall. Here and there by a sunken boulder stood soldierly golden rod, or berry bushes clothed now in scarlet and gold. At intervals in the long slope stood solitary trees, where fluttering, brittle leaves fell in the gen. tie chill air. In summer time she re- membered we'll the hay-makers rested in the shade, and the jug with ginger water she made for the men was kept there to be cool.
 She seemed, as she sat there, to re- member everything. The house was all right, she was sure of that; the key was under the kitchen door mat, the fire was out in the stove, and the cat locked in the barn.
 She held her work-hardened hand to her side, panting little, for it was a good bit of walk across the meadow, and she was eighty years old on her last birthday. The COWS feeding looked home-like and pleasant.
 "Good-by, critters" she said aloud; ssmeny's the time I've druv' ye home an milked ye, am allus let ye eat by the way, nor never hurried ye as the boys done."
 With farewell glance she went on again, smoothing as she walked the scattered locks of gray hair falling under the pumpkin hood, and keeping her scant black gown out of the reach of briars. Across another field, then on through leafy lane where the wood was hauled in winter, then out through a gap in stump fence, with its great branching arms like a petri- fled octopus, to the dusty high-road.
 Not soul in sight in the coming twilight. John, the children, and the scolding wife who made her SO un- happy would not be home for an hour yet, for East Mills was long drive.
 Down the steep hill went the brave little figure, followed by an odd shad- ow of itself in t.e waning light, and by tiny stones that rolled so swiftly they passed her often and made her look behind with a start to see if a pursuer were coming.
 "They'd put me in the asylum, sure, she muttered wildly as she truged along.
 At the foot of the hill she sat dowr upon an old log and waited for the train.
 Across the road, guarded by big sign, ''Look out for the Engine," rar two parallel iron rails, that were to bt her road when the big monster should come panting around the curve.
 At last the dull rumble sounded, {, shrill whistle, and she hurried to tn, track, waving her shawl to signal.
 This, in the conductors vernacular was crossroads station, where he wa used to watch for people waving ar ticles frantically. The train stopped and this passenger was helped aboard He noticed she was bright-eyed ol' lady very neat and precise.
 '.How fur?" he asked.
 s.Bostin."
 .sGit there in the mornin'," he sai, kindly, waiting for the money, as sh opened queer little reticule, where under her knitting, wrapped in a clea cotton handkerchief, was her purs with her savings of long years-th little sums Sam had sent her when h first began to prosper in the West, an some money she had earned herself b knitting and berry-picking.
 At crossroads, as they went swift ly on, she saw the old sorrel horse, th rattling wagon, and John with his fan lily driving homeward. She drew bac with little cry, fearing he might SC her and stop the train, but they wer on so fast that could not be, and th old horse jogged into the woods, an John never thought his old Aunt Hal nah, his charge for twenty long year was running away.
 At Boston kindly conductor bougl her through ticket for Denver.
 ssIt's long journey for an old lac like you," he said.
 ssBut Pm peart for my age," she sai anxiously; .sI never he'd days sic ness since was gal"
 "Going all the way alone?"
 ssWith Providence" she answert brightly, alert and eager to help he self, but ailent and thoughtful as Il