Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1890-01-10

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"oh dcar.' sighed Jane, after she had
/ Jumped with pleasure over a new doll that
/ Phin Bonney had handed her, by the road
side. one autumn day wish you eould
bring mamma something to make her hap
pyr
Certain, little one, certain What had
| better bring herr
oh, no. Gou cant bring her anything
| / only meant that l wished you could.
Why cant II
'oh, y0u could't I know you couldn't
! And then mamma told me | mustn't ever
ask you for anything"
"Nonsensel-I mean to always mind
| your mother, little one.
But I'll tell you what, Uncle Phin,"
added June, Frightening, 1T might do her
| good if you should call and see herr She's
| been so lonesome lately,'
Certain, my dear, certain! Ch'kl Get
upi'
The very next afternoon Phin Bonney
appeared at the Faddens' with an armful of
chrysanthemums.
''For you Mis- Fadden," said he, awk-
wardly.
"Oh, MFR. Bonney, how thoughtful and
| generous you are!''
"And by the way, Mis- Faddcn, I've
| been .hinkn' that it might Ye n sort of ex
citement for ye tn take ride down to the
/ village once in while. Yer welcome Ia
| a ride any time, you and Jun. It shant
| cost ye cent"
Mary blushed and felt an unaeeountabe
| embarrassment.
! 'Its very good of you, and-and please
understand that thank you heartily" she
/ said
Certain, ma'am, certain-tbat is, I'm
much obliged" !" said Phia, backing out Of
| the door, in a state of mind wholly unlike
any that he had hitherto experienced.
! He drove over the crest of the hill and
down through the valley, thinking of the
| forlorn look in Mary Fadden's eyes and
her checks.
Poor thing' said he, Poor thing
aud such nice sort of person"
H. tickled the white horse with his
whip, chucked to the chestnut and logged
along.
Poor thing" he said To himself again
he crossed the bridge over Stoilord's brook,
II mile beyond.
Suddenly a look of intense chagrin came
upon his face; he yelled fierce Whoa"
and pulled up the horses with such "A jerk
that they snorted.
Thunder and guus" he bawled, "Yon-
We done it this time, Phin. Bonney"
To their indescribablc amazement the
white horse and chestnut were turned
squarely about, and the Karratunk stage
began To retrace its course.
.'Oh give me IA home by the deep,
A cot by the billowy sea,
Where the wild breakers roar
ON "A sern rocky slore,
Oh, that is the dwelling for me,
For mel
Oh, that is the dwelling for met
r0ared Phin. somewhat out Of tune IA he
drove back, and the familiar words literal
~ expressed the yearning of his heart. He
really wished to he transported, tor he felt
Mt that moment as if he could never look
his old friends squarelY in the face again.
He had committed the unprecedented and
objectionable sin of df3"in~ atrai"ht by
Aunt Hannah Couksnn's wIIhout leaving
her m0lnsses jug.
Poor Phn! He said he didn't gee how
it could have happened-and still, he
q l.. 4 II ~
it appeared at first, the Longer he thought
about the more excusable it seemed, con
siderng the circumstance. ''Rnt | dun
no, said Phin, IL dunno!"
That evening, as the elder Mrs Fadden
was pairing and slicing apples with Mary
in the kitchen, she varied the taciturnly
with which she usually devoted herself to
such solemn operations, by breaking into
conversation
ut looks 10 me, Mary as ef you're
dreadful sot on it for society" said she.
"What do you mean27
"Why, havin' 40 much to do with phn.
Ronney"
"Oh, he's real good hearted and nc.
comodating man, and he is 90 fond of
| Jnne"
but he doesn't come from very good
stock, and | don't think he's proper per
son for you and June tn be so free with;
and, besides, the neighbors are talkin'"
What
at don't look very becomin', you know,
for you to be reccivin bouquets and things
| from him when Franks been dead SO short
Il time"
Don't, Mother Fadden, don't say such
thing as that" Mary protested. Her voice
quivered-and the sharp pain, that now
came oftel, came again.
"Well" said Mrs. Fadden--as If she
were an operating surgeon, aud the case
required that the knife be thrust still deep.
"a want one thing understood, and
that is, il anything happens, I'm To have
June"
An indignant rctort rose Ia Marys lips,
chamber, she Tell on her knees.
"Oh, God, spare me-spare mel" she
cried
| But, as the year crept on, as the Novem-
ber winds tore the last leaves from the oaks
| and the December SHOWS ahroudcd them,
| il grew harder aud harder to bear the lone
lincaa the coldneas and dislru5t that made
up her life with the FaddenS.
She couldn't have borne it all but for
June-and more than once lhc shuddcred
Ia find herself forgetting June and wishing
th q the end might come
| Christmas eve came around again and
brought one of the worst storms that had
ragged in Maine for many winters. II was
n wild and dismal night. The wind howl
ed and shriekcd madly a. it hurled the
akurryng snowflake into huge drifts.
owe sha'n't get any mail tonight" said
| Squire Fadden." ''N0 team could live in
such a storm. Phin. will have to stop in
| Strenmvillc'
Late in the evening, when June had gone
to bed, Mary sat sewing in the cheerlesa
parlor of the farm house, alone. "What IA
| gloomy Christmas cvc" she thought; and
then her mind reverted to that night when
the Star burned so brightly in the East and
there came To mankind glad udings of
great Joy. Glad tidings of great joyl'
The words kept ringing in her ears, as if
she heard the angel say them. What II
=.