St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1890-09-28
bETTERNEvER KNOWN
What Became of the Pretty
Dairymaid From Dakota's
Cottonwoods.
An Unmarked Grave in the
Potter'S Field Tells No
Secrets.
She Came to the City Because
City Girls Had Envied
Her.
The Old, Old Story and the
Customary Newspaper
Paragraph.

She came from the country-from q
quantity fashioned log house in grove
of cottonwood trees. 1t wasn't much of
a place to look at, yet such as 1t was, it
belonged to the old people who lived
there with their three children, two boys
and girl grown to man and woman
hood. The city people who came that
way went into raptures over the quiet
beauty of the place, with its summer COW
ering of ivy vines and morning glory.
How we envy you, they said to the
pretty dairymaid as they saw her come
in from the meadow with her cans of
milk depending from the yoke
which seemed light as feather
on her strong young shoulders.
How we envy you, they said,
and then she looked at the dainty cos
tunes they wore, at the waving plumes
in their costly headgear, and wondered
whY-why did they envy her that yoke
which CALLED her flesh as she walked.
and that gown of common country print
those everlasting cottonwood trees and
sll the rest of the mOnOtonOuS surround
lngS. She laughed as she thought how
willingly would she change places with
envy her. why?-she did not know.
And then the glorious summer days
grew shorter. and the leaves rustled in
the wind like whispering spirits; the
IVY and the morning glory died with the
blight of an early frost. and the bare
stems chung there like grinning skele-
tons whose bones were whitening in the
sun, that gave less and less of warmth
an III ln& into
apace. The dry leaves fell in showers
from the cottonwood tops and lay ankle
deep all about the place, and then the
sun went down ere the last pan of milk
had been put to cream, and the little
iairymaid, tired with her labors, leaned
against the rOugh-hewn door post, and
gaZed out at the distant sun that was
just gliding downward behind ridge
of prairie far away. 1t was such beau
tiful sight. The far-off hill was bathed
in golden purple. A lingering ray of
the spot where the little country maid
stood dreaming. 1t shone upon her
curling brown tresses and made them
seem of molten gold; it lit up
her face for moment and then, waver-
ing. receded through the trunks of the |
big trees in the grove and was gone for |
ever: She had. felt its presence, this
child OF the countryside knew that it
accentuated the homeliness of the
queerly patterned country gown she
wore. and magnitied the clumSinesS of |
the big field shoes that encased her
tiny feet. She hitched the brown frock |
up a little and looked down at them.
They were big, clumsy, awkward-why |
did those city women envy her? Why? |
why?
Winter had come at last, and there
was quiet and sadness in the little log
house in the cottonwood grove. For
the first time in her young life the little
dairymaid was absent from her place
by the big heartLStone. The old folks
gaZed sorrowiully at the little old chair
made of willow rushes, which had been
hers so long. 1t was empty now. She
had gone to the city, the winters were
so hard, and the wind blew through the
chinks at might. Il tear ran down the
old mans furrowed cheek, and the two
brothers gazed into the glow of the
blazing logs, but spoke no word of her.
Spring would soon be there, they told
the old people, and then she would be
back again-but they missed her-oh,
SO sadly.
Spring came, and with it the trees
took on their plumage of brilliant |
green, the sun SHINE as brightly as be-
fore and the cows lowed softly for the
gentle hand they had known-and still |
the dairymaid was not there. Weeks |
rolled on and became months, and there |
was churning to do and ever so many
things that her willing young hands |
made light Of in the happy days of a
dead and gone summer, but the spring
time waned and summer came, and the
fields of grain waved bright golden in
the MONDAY sun, and the little yoke
lay rusty in a corner of tue
cabin-she was not there. Why
did she not write to them? they asked
themselves, and the echoes sadly whis-
pered why? And then at last, when the
ripe wheat was waiting to be cut, and
the hay was bleaching in the fierce glare
OF midsummer, the two brothers started
cltyward to look for her-to find the lit
tie dairymaid and bring her back again
to her old home in the cottonwood
grove. 1t was all so strange to them,
this busy, bustling city, with its crowded
streets and glare of gas lamps. The peo-
pie pushed and jOStled so, and the
streets all looked alike. but they found
the address she had given them. She
had only been there short time, the
people said. They did not know where
she had gone; it was many months
since she went away. Never mind, they
would find her, and the brothers went
out again into the glare and the crowd,
and the everlasting rows of houses.
Where should they look for their little
dairymaid? The tall buildings frowned
down upon them from all sides. and the
windows shone in the night as the sight
less eyes of the dead. Where should
they look for her here? They asked one
o. The blue-coated police officers. and
l6prQ6 yUhU no lonnhQd of CT,
p query. Once they thought they had
TO Nd her. Three women were driven
in hack to the door of
wi house, and as they alighted
one # them looked so like, so very like,
the title dairymaid. But this woman
h.s older, her dress was too costly, she
wore Jewels, and staggered as though
drunk. And so they wandered through
the crowd, pushed and buffeted, until
at last. weary and fOOtsore, with faces
haggard and sad, they returned to tell
the story of their failure to the old peo-
pie i'll the log cabin. And the mother
bowed her aged head in prayer that
night. She prayed that God would
guard from harm the darling of her
heart, and the old man listened
as she prayed, and whispered
amen, while the tears trickled from his
eyes and down the old, blne jerkin he
had won for full five seasons. And as
they prayed they trusted that their lit
tie dairymaid would come back to them
safe and happy, and the mother sat in
the doorway at eventide and watched
the old path from the meadow where
she used to come. The grass had grown
rank upon it-and where was she?
In the city the crowds still jostled and
Tested and swore, and every now and
then drunkard fell into the clutches
of the police, or fight furnished
diversion for the brawling multitude.
And hen the latest sensational suicide.
A girl had jumped into the river from
the levee and drowned. Had they found
the body? Yes; it was at the morgue,
the Chestnut streeG dead house. Well.
who cared? Didn't somebody do the
same sort of thing every few days, and
wasn't it after all the easiest way of
10 mic md d.