The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1889-03-08

ant gardener OF her wealthy uncle, and
had gone away with him to Iowa
They had not prospered. She held nt
communication with those at home
This year, after their baby came, they
decided to seek fortune farther west
And now--now the baby was gon,
and her new loss had brought back
the old one.
Harkl A voice speaks without.
''Is any one i'll herei There was 6
request on my sla'e'--- -q ...av
A oryl Such queer, wild cry it il
that cuts across the strangers words
The man in the "dugont' leaps to his
feet, as does the woman without
Through the doorway, against the
patch of sunset sky he can see her
standing with arms ou,Hung. .3u
"Williel' she cries again; "Williel
The doctor from town speaks hoarse.
ly one word only-her name. There
is absolute silence for a little while.
Then he bursts out fiercely, passionate.
ly:
"Why couldn't you have waited--I
did you no wrong! When l left you
the week before we were to have been
married, and went up to the sity, got
into trouble. ] was no saint. l never
pretended l was. This was drunken
quarrel. l shot a man. l was un.
known, and gave false name. was
held to await the result of his injuries
held two months. | couldn't write
you the truth of the affair. My part
in it was too disgraceful. 1 wouldn't
lie. So was silent till / could tell
you all and ask you to forgive me.
The man recovered. was discharged.
went straight to Vanceton. / heard
you had married some clod hopping
idiot and gone away with him.
"He is good' she says slowly.
The other laughs harshly. "And
you love him, of course!' ...
Col" she cries in weak, womauish
fury. "Go!'
"Do you love him, Cora?"
She is ill, trembling. His brutal in
sistarc" forces a reply. She slips
dowa by the "dugout" and covers
there with her face hidden. sob,
Willie! Oh, Willie!' The tone says
all. 1t is full of love, but love that is
only pathos, passion, despair He
turns, walks slowly away across the
prairie. He is mechanically unhitch-
ing his horse when heavy tread
comes toward him. In the clear sill
verness preceding twilight two men
face each Other. One speaks calmly:
81 heard what you said. Answer me
this: If she were free tomorrow
would you marry hers"
Quick as flash comes the reply:
"By heavens, yesi"
Then Dr. Herbert, gentleman and
student, drives back to town. and John
Hilton goes TO the "dugout"--- to his
wife. She is still in the same place,
the same position. He gets her hat
and shawl and carefully puts them on
her. Then he leaves her awhile and
harnesses up the horse.
"Come, Cory; I'm agoin' to drive
you into town. There's goin' to be a
storm. seen the clouds to the north
tonight. An this place leaks dread
full. You must stay at the hotel a
while, eff we have to sell the team"
Without word, stupidly it seems,
she ooeys him Through the delicious
June twilight they drive the five miles
into town. Once he speaks. "Keep
this!" he says, and gives her the can
vas bag containing all their worldly
wealth. At the hotel he procures her
a comfortable bed, a soothing drink.
She falls asleep. Once, Twice, thrice,
he kisses her. Then he goes out,
climbs up on his huge wagon, heads
the horses southwark. The storm he
prophesied is blowing up. Lances of
lightning stab the darkness. Now
and then sounds faint, distant rum
BILE. A soft, strong wind arises. 1t
flaps the loose canvas of the caravan.
On the rib roof the first heavy drops
of rain begin to patter. On. Across
the state line, over the railroad track,
up the bluff, along the level-right
along, 1t is here the "dugout' stands?
The lightning gives him answer.
The night wears on. The storm In
creases in volumes. The prairies are
rain washed, wind swept. A terrific
uproar lasts till dawn. Then the tum-
ult dies down. Peace comes again
upon the weary world. Aud the
sun rises. Its radiance glitters across
the wet, green grass. Warm grows
the air. The hum of insects becomes
audible aud sweet bird songs are every
where.
But what are bird songs to one who
sleeps? And surely he is not awake.
he who stirless, silent, drenched lies bv
the little grave upon the breast of the
prairie. Clutched in his hand is some
thing which shines in the sunlight.
Come away! Let thrush and lark and
linnet sing never 80 lowly, sing till
their hearts are empty and their full
throats voiceless, tn y caunot waRen one
quiet sleeper nor change the peaceful
current of his drcams!-Kate NJ.
Cleary in Chicago Tribune.