Idaho news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1887-1891, 1890-02-08

afternoon in the early autumn, Rob,
ert, Kathleen and |. She was look,
ing unusually handsome in dress
of soft India null. My lover had
| just paid her a well-merited compli.
ment, for which she was about to
make a gracious reply, when Aunt
Martha came to us.
Robert" she said, placing her
hand fondly on his shoulder as she
spoke, Twill you gather some grapes
for me? find that some of the
punches hang too high. The girls
will go with you and hold the bias.
ket."
He rose to comply with her request.
Kathleen was at his side in mo-
ment, while / refused to join them,
teigning a severe headache.
''They donot want me-" REASONED
within myself.
watched them as they walked
away together, he carrying the little
wicker basket and she tossing her
bright curls with that coquettish air
that came so natural to her.
l cannot tell you what tempted me
to follow them. 1t must have been
some evil genius. Slowly | followed
down the pathway, taking every pre-
caution, however, not to heobserved.
Seated upon a little rustic bench,
could see every movement of my
lover and Kathleen.
How lovely she looked standing in
the orchard, the sunlight falling
athwart the lovely upturned face, on
which a smile restedl Never was
seen fairer vision. Her sleeve of
soft texture falling back showed the
shapely outstretched arm.
Sometimes a peal of merry laugh
ter would fall upon my ear. They
did not miss me-not even Robert,
he was content with Kathleen. -
The basket was full to Overlooking,
and still they fingered. One bunch of
luscious grapes, the last gathered,
was in Roberts hand. He stopped
to place it with the others, when
their eyes met, their hands touched.
Was dreaming? Alasl no. / saw
him stoop and kiss her fondly. /
waited no longer. With q cry of
pain turned and fled to the seclu-
sion of my of my own room, where /
sobbed out the trouble of my young
heart. with only God to help me.
| went away quite unex pected. /
was homesick, l told Aunt Martha.
| left a letter for Robert, giving no
explanation of my conduct, simply
telling him it was better we should
part. | was proud girl and would
not stoop to acknowledge rival.
/ remember taking the ring he had
given me from my hand, and what a
struggle it cost me to place it with
that letter-the last | should ever
write to Robert.
/ came home to mother, who was
quite an invalid and needed all my
care. / never heard from Robert
save once, through Aunt Martha,
who wrote:
''Of course, Matte, you've not for
gotten Robert, whom, to speak can
didly, you treated rather unkindly.
He has gone to New York to practice
medicine He is doing well. y
An old newspaper had fallen into
my hands, where an account was
given of a brilliant reception. Among
the guests were the names of DIR.
Robert Preston and wife. l knew it
was Robert and Kathleen. | made
no inquiries, and receiving no further
information took it for granted that
Aunt Martha's Kindness of heart
prevented her from referring to the
past. / closed my heart forever. The
world will never know me as dis
appointed woman. | thought, fiatter-
ing myself that had quite succeeded
in deceiving humanity in general, I'M
til the gossip had come upon me with
her idle words, bringing to life the
bitter past that l thought l had
buried years ago.
Going to service, Miss Kenwood!"
1t was my neighbor who asked
me the question. Marcia Hall
"a dear little girl with the
utmost faith in mankind in gem
eral. | smiled family as / caught
sight of thenew bonnet with it's dainty
flpDons, evidently got up Tor the new
cuFate.
Young and foolish" thought l.
swat until she is twenty-six. and I'll
wager she will not buy new bonnet
for all the new curates in town"
Slowly we walked to church on that
bright Sunday morning, Marcia,
chatting gayly and |, dressed in the
plainest of dresses, walking silently
beside her.
| had not fully recovered from Mrs.
Briggs's unkind remarks, and was
determined to show her my disincli-
nation to ''set my cap" as she termed
it, by appearing in an exceedingly
unbeccming gown. / was really dis
appointed, on catching alast glimpse
in the mirror, to find that notwith-
standing my plain toilet and my
twenty-six years was still a pretty
woman, and to hear my mother say
as stopped to kiss her, ''How well
you're looking, Mattiep'
How crowded the little village