The Press., 1890-01-09
THE RUNAW AY.


 "Would they put her in the asylum" she wondered, Eff they caught her."
 Folks would surely think she was craSy.
 She stopped at the seone wall to rest, and looked back timorously at the old familiar scene. .r- Far behind her stretched the meadow, a symphony of olive and green in the late fall Here and there by sunken bowlder stood soldiery golden rod, or berry bushes clotfsed now in scarlet and gold. At intervals in the long slope stood solitary trees. where futter- ing, brittle leaves fell in the gentle chili air. In summer time she remembered well the hay makers rested in the shade, and the jug with ginger water she ma de for the men was kept there to be cool. az
 She seemed, as she sat there, to remember everything The house was all right, she was sure of that the key was under the kitch- en door mat, the fire was out in the st<we, and the cat locked in the barn. s'f r
 She held her work hardened hand to her side, painting little, for it was good bit of g walk across the meadow, and she was 90 years old on her last birthday. The cows feeding looked homelike and pleasant.
 "Good-by, critters" she said, aloud; ''meny's the time I've druv ye home an milked ye, an allus let ye eat by the way, nor never hurried ye ns the boys done" H.'r
 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 fTbriers. 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 branch ing arms like petrified octopus, Co the dusty high road. ,..
 Not soul in sight in the coming twilight. John, the children, and the scolding wife who made her so unhappy would not be homo drive ;.
 Down the steep hill went the brave little figure, followed by an odd shadow of itself in the waning light, and by tiny stones that rolled so swiftly they passed her often and made her look behind with start to sec if . pursuer were coming. ... .--....s.' s.,i.
 ''They'd put me in the asylum, sure, i" she muttered wildly as she trudged along. as
 At the foot of the hill she sat down upon an old log and waited for the train. Ii
 Across the road, guarded by 8 big sign, Look out for the engine," raa two paralhl iron rails, that were to be her road when the big monster should come painting around the curve. .,s .. ..,-
 At last the dull rumble sounded, a shrill whistle and she hurried to the track, waving her shawl to signal. i-.i
 This, in the conductors vernacular, was Q cross roads station, where he was used to watch for people waving articles frantically. The train stopped, and this passenger was helped aboard He noticed she was q bright eyed old lady, very neat and precise.
 ssHow fur?" he asked. l'-i't "Bostin.n }a ssGit there in the morniu'," he said kindly, waiting for the money, as she opened queer little reticule, where, under her knitting, wrapped in a clean cotton handkerchief, was her purse with her savings of long years -the little sums Sam had sent her when he first began to prosper ill the west, and some money shs had earned herself by knitting and berry picking. f At a cross roads, as they went swiftly on, she saw the old sorrel horse, the rattling wagon and John with his family driving homeward She drew back with Q little cry, fearing he might sec her and stop the train, but they went on so fast that could not be, and the old horse logged into the woods, and John never thought his old Aunt Hannah, his charge for twenty long years, was run ming away.
 At Boston a kindly conductor bought her through ticket for Denver.
 'sIt's long journey for an old lady like you," he said. ... t--
 / ''But I'm peart for my age," she said anx- iously; II never he'd a day s sickness since was gal"
 ssGoing all the way alone!'
 with Providence" she answered brightly alert and eager to help herself, but silenta and l thoughtful as the train took her into strange l landscapes where the miles went 50 swiftly Il seemed like the past years of her life as she l looked back on them
 ssThy work is marvellous" she murniared often, sitting with her hands folded, and few idle days had there been in her world where she had sat and rested so long.
 l In the day coach the people were kind ane generous, sharing their baskets with her anf seeing she changed cars right and her carpes bag was safe. She was like any one of S6' dear old grandmas in eastern homes, or tt grizzled men and weary women, like thu l memory of dead mother as faint and fal away as the scent of wild roses in hillsid country ground. She tended babies for tire women and talked to the men of farming ant crops, or told the children Bible stories; bn never a word she said of herself, not one. l On again. guided by kindly hands througl the great bewildering city by the lake, an' now through yet Q stranger land. Tired ant worn by nights in the uncomfortable seats her brave spirit began to fail a little. As tn wide, level plains, lonely and drear. dawne' on her sight she sighed often. ~
 ''It's a dre'ful big wurld," she said to
 gray bearded old farmer near her; '.so big. feel e'enmost lost in it, but,n hopefully ''across them deserts like this long ago Prov ldence sent a star to guide them wise mel
 of the east, an haint't lost my faith" But as the day wore on, and still tEe long
 inonotonous land showed no human habita tion, no oasis of green, her eyes tliinnesl something like sob rose under the -bLac
 karchief on the bowed shoulders and tn spectacles were taken of with trernhlin
 hand and put away carefully in the worn ti ! case. .s...- ,., -fa
 Be ye goin' fur, mothers" said the ol
 farmer. .,....z9s-.. f~j
 He had brought her cup of coffee at tn
 iast station, and had pointed out oi the wa
 things he thought might interest her ts
 "To Denver"
 Wal, wal; you're from New England, 1T I De boundp'
 sErom Maine, :" she aEswered, and then ah grew communicative, for she was always chatty old lady, and she had possessed he soul i'll silence so long, and 1t was relief t tell the story of her weary years of waitinl to kindly listener F..F, l She told him all the relations she bad, wer two grandnephews and their families. Tha ll twenty years ago Sam tor she had brough I them up when their parents died of consimr ton, that kills so many of our rfolks) wen out west He was always adventurous, an