The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1890-10-24
A MODERN EVANGELINE.

heaTt thr0bbing under the coarse checked
kerchief there lived the same fidelity and
devotion we find so touching in the beauti
full Acadian maid But in this story of my
Evanzeline there is little of the poetical OF
picturesque, only stern and bitter reality.
For to begin with her name was Mary
Anne Kelley, and she was plain, almost
pathetically so, with a thin, colorless face
but out of this looked a pair of honest
gray eyes, which appealed to you to be
| gentle with her, because Of the very pa
thence and meekness with which she was
prepared to receive harshness and hard
ship. 1t was the same look you often see
in the eyes of homeless dog, to whose
share have fallen only life's blows and its
barest bones. She was lame, too, this poor
heroine of mine, and altogether a very for
lorn and pitiful looking object as she came
limping slowly and painfully up my gar
den walk one hot August afternoon and
tapped on the swinging door of the kitchen,
where fretted and fumed over currant
| jelly that would not jell
IF ye phase, mum" said voice tim
idly
/ looked around impatiently, but the in
truder was too humble and forlorn for me
TO frown at her long, so / tried to ask
pleasantly, "What do you want?"
IF ye phase, mum, might ye have need
of gyurl?"
/ had desperate need of one, but the one
before me was so unpromising, viewed in
the light Of a prospective servant, that 1
hesitsted. However, as | have said, my
need was desperate, so with a heartfelt
sigh over my lost Norah, whom the milk
man had lured from my kitchen to install
her mistress over his own the week before
/ turned to Mary Anne and told her she
might come for day or two at least,
when, if / found she suited me and she
! liked the place, we would make new ar
engagements. She was so grateful for my
! grudging consent that really felt ashamed
| of my ungraciousness, and only for a re-
mote experience with a young woman /
| had taken on trust, and who in return had
taken my new winter wrap, / would have
| left the question Of reference unbr0ached,
! but when / asked her for them the girl
| said:
eff ut's character, mum, that We names,
I haven't wan; but if We wull thrust me
/ now''-
She was so wistful that could not turn
her away, so visibly weakening, inquired:
Chow long have you been in this coun-
tryi"
"a year, mum, last All Saints day."
Nearly two, then. What have you
been doing all this timer Have you never
been out to service beforef"
"Oh, yis, mum; but niver fer long at a
tonne" Then noting, suppose, that her
statement had made bad impression, she
added, with a flush staining her thin cheek
for a brief moment: I've been a thramp-
ing Of ut most of the tonne. I've been a
lukin' for some I'M, num-"
/ would like to have asked her who this
some one was, but had more urgent work
than the gratifying of my idle curiosity
just then for her to do, so it was not until
some days later that l heard the story Of
Mary Anne Kelley's 'thramp" While
ignorant of many Of the simplest house
hold duties, she had proven herself SO
ready 10 learn, so dOcile and anxious to
please, that after her days Of trials were
over had been glad to keep her, and we
were deep in a basket of peas, Smelling
them while we talked, when Mary Anne
opened her heart to me. 1t was a homely
and a commonplace story enough, but the
girl told it with so much unconscious
pathos in her voice and face that l felt nv
eyes grow misty at times, and a real re-
spect sprung up in my heart for the simple,
Ignorant creature, with her earnest face
bent over her work and her rougheped
fingers busy with the shiny pea pods.
Mary Anne Kelley and Patrick Donahue
had been raised within stones throw of
each other in "Ould Oireland," and sure
he was just the handsomest, bravest lad in
the whole county, and Mary Anne had
given her heart to him while vet they
played together about their cabins; but
the girls had run after Patrick so that the
lad was fairly bewildered with il, and be
had been too busy with others to discover
the faithful heart beating so near him.
But one day it happened that in crossing
the river, swollen by the winters rains.
with the 'squire's cart, Patrick had been
swept away by the raging water and, be- /
coming entangled in the reins, would have
drowned had not Mary Anne, who saw it
from the bank, thrown him the end of her
long peasants cloak and drawn him in.
In order to reach him, though, she had |
been obliged to wade out into the stream I
some distance. and the horse, struggling !
to regain his footing, had broken her ankle I
by kick of his leg
After that Patrick had come daily TO ask /
of her how was her health, and to say over
and over again his thanks to her till he /
grew to love her back again, and Mary !
Anne had welcomed the lameuess which /
had won her the man she loved Then had /
come few days of paradise till her lover, /
listening TO the stories of an American,
who, sight seeing III the country, had en-
gagged Patrick as guide, had grown discon- |
tented with his lot in life, and was keen to /
be off to America, where fortune was TO |
be had for the asking. And at last be had .
hidden adieU 20 his native land, and left I
poor Mary Anne with kiss and a promise |
10 send for her when he should have as ked .
for his fortune and gotten it,
She had heard from him but once since
the morning he had left her standing at
the stile, which had been their trusting
place, straining her eyes after him, and in
that letter he had told her that the fortune
had seemed as far off in America as in Ire
land but that he was on his way west.
where he had been promised work and
good pay, and that as soon as he was set
tied be would send her money TO paw her
passage over. She showed me this letter
written on coarse blue paper, and worn
with constant unfolding and refoldinC,
but put it back in the little pouch Of wash
leather she wore about her neck without
Offering 10 let me read it. II was too sacred
for strangers eyes to peruse
She had waited patiently, she said, con-
tinuing her story, for PatEck's promised
passage money, when at last she had
stroke Of luck from an unexpected quarter.
An old uncle, who had been considered a
needy pauper, had died leaving her elO0.
the hoardings of lifetime, and with the
miser's legacy Mary Anne had come TO
find her lover who had avidso,lv- b.., - 1