St. Landry democrat., 1890-10-04

iIetlme, IN storm and shine, but that now
might rest. The sun fell at last on the soft
Whlte mar, the wrink1ed, tired face, with
the mourntul eyes; on the plain black dress
tlat had done service for many a day, and
on the clasped hand with the one ring that
told OF marriage vows and wifehood. Fv-
erythlng hal Il pathetic air of bygone DAYS
to Annie Weston as she sat and watched
this old woman, and it was with increased
gentleness, if possible, that she said softly.
Zone, Mrs. Barr? And did she never
come back to you? Oh, how dreary you
must have been!'
"Dreary, child? Yes, it was dreary a
bit after she'd went away. Me and John
would sit and look at each other, but we
never SAID a word. Night after night John
read his Bible and l sewed, and Esther's
chair stood in its old place, but we never
spoke of her. Why, Miss Annie, I can't
tell. Perhaps it was because we felt some's
II she was forever dead to US, and John
and me, humble as we was, miss. had
never had no shame touch us before. The
days went on, You know, as they must:
nothln' stops the time, and winter was
gone, the long lonesome winter, with its cold,
howlin' winds and blindin' SHOWS. John
was powerful uneasy all that winter, and
iJ ~ ~ LtldS HolltlCt WHY We
never hunted for her, but we didn't know
no place to go to, and we was afraid our
child would come back some day and
find the old home empty. As I was
saying, john was poorly, and macy
a night lay awake listenin' to his breath
in, and | wondered if God were goin' to
take him too. One night as | sat dOzin'
off like by the fire there come a tappin' on
the pane. John and me started and rushed
to the door, but there was no one there, and
we was glad, for it was avid night for any
one to be out in. But we went back to our
chairs with heavy hearts. Where was our
girl on this cold winters night? Dead,
perhaps; and there, miss, [ couldn't stand
1t no longer, n / said to John: 'TO-mOr-
row will he Esther's birthday, pa John
looked up at me with a start and said: To
morrow, did you say, Dorthy? So tits, so
tbs. Sixteen, Dorthy, sixteen. Onlvawee
girl, our little Esther!' That kind of broke
the ice, and we talked after that every dav
OF her. " ell, the SummercOMe again, and
John was PRETTY smart. but it seemed sort
Of to be my turn, for | felt low and Cheer
less. There were a good many strangers
here that summer. John didn't want
them, somehow or other he couldn't
stand the sight of them, thinkil' Of
Esther. But, as I said, we needed the
money, it aiwayscOme handy, though John
wasn't what you'd call a poor man, and
the strangers wasn't to blame. So they
staid here at the house, goin' off to their
business durin' the day mostly, though
some of them stacked their things ND near
the house and painted all day long. Il had
been a year since Esther had went, and we
hadn't beard anything from her. Most
likely we didn't expect to, for mail trav-
eled slow in those days, and we lived hun
dreds of miles from the east, where we
kind a thought he and Esther had gone.
But the summer mad passed and winter
come again. Then the strangers eft here
and Went to their different homes, | sup
pose. That was a dreadful cold winter,
and john and me scarcely ever went out
side the door. 1he snow was piled in great
drifts around the house, and at night the
wind howl d like SO many demons. 1t
seemed most as if that winter Was worse
than the first. l s'pose twas because as
the time went on we missed Estner more
and more. Howsomever, the SHOWS 1T last
melted, the flowers peeped their heads on
the hills again, and the summer tir,e was
come. Esther, miss, had been gone two
years. One mornin'. Miss Annie"--
Call Inc Annie" broke in that young
person.
we thought he'd 60 away and that would
be the end ont. Oh, child, child, can you
know how we loved her, our little girl that
came so late into our lives. lsee her now,
miss, with her tender, trustin' brown eyes,
that had never seen sin or suferin'. You
city girls, miss. with your thousand pleas
ures and sights knows nothin' Of q life like
ours. She was our all, our life, and when
she left US it seemed most as IL God had
gone too"
eyes, yes, dear, 1 know. She left you,
then?'
cay, child, I'm comm 20 that. One
night they'd been up the hills and come in
kinda late. Philip Sidley, for that was his
name, stayed on this porch, miss, and
talked a while, but Esther went straight
in. AS he left to go to bed he said: Good
night, Mr. and Mrs. Barr. ! can't thank
you enough for all your kindness We
thought that a queer speech, for we didn't
consider we'd lone him any kindness.
That night Esther come into our room,
and THROWN her arms round my neck
kissed me again and again and cried:
Good night, darling ma. love you, you
know 1 do, don't your and goin' over to
her pa she Rugged and kissed him, too,
saying, Dear old dad, m dear dadP Then
she went out. You know the rest, miss;
the next mornin' she was gone, and him
too. Gone, without one word to her poor
old pa and mel'
(ro be continued.)
- %
Massage by the Barber.
c