The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1890-07-24
Of old-fashioned, lowered

slik, nuu see now nnc III IL. but
fancy wearing such large patterns. Look
a butterfly on a bough, and rose, sad
butterfly on bough again, and thss an
other rose, like wall paper. The diff
Guilty will be-" said Olive, ,pausing to con-
slider, show TO get the pattern into a
patch without spelling it,"
"Tll help you" said Harry; and to
work he went, aud for n pleasant hour or
two he kept cutting patches. A bad and
a butterfly on one, rose on the other,
bud and butterfly, and rose again.
"And he has not spoiled one, mamma"
said Olive, in tone of pride. "Im sure
should have cut dozen butterflies
heads of, il had tried"
So the young things laughed over their
exploits, and then slipped merrily away
TO have their lovers chat where nobody
could listen.
1t was the last The next day, Harry
Martin was missing, and with him large
sum of money from his employers safe
The news spread through the country
town like wild-tirc. Harry was an or.
phan, and the son of an old friend OF the
head of the firm. 1t was understood that
they would bc mcrciful, but his charac.
ter was blightcd forever.
No one doubted his guilt but Olive.
She stcadfastly declared him innocent
Weeks passed on, and there was no
news of him-at least, nonc that reached
the Mumford' ears; bat one night, when
Mrs. Mumforl went out TO the Cow-housc
10 see that Crummic was safe for the
night, some one came out of the dark
ness. and called to her.
"Who is that" cried the lady, her
heart giving one great throb.
"lt's Harry" said well-known
voice. "Oh Mrs. Mumford, let inc sec
Olive"
"lTarry Martin :" said Mrs. Mumford.
'Oh! Harry Martin, you've made sad
home of mine" And she broke into
tears.
"And you all believed it at once1"
said Harry, sadly. ~ didn't think you
would"
"Oh, Harry" said Mrs. Mumford,
Satan tcmpts us all. I'm sorry for you,
but you can't see Olive. It's better for
her you shouldn't. She was very fond of
you, Harry"
"And she has turned against me, too,
thcni" said the young man.
"Iou don't blame her, poor lamb,
said Mrs. Mumford. "a girl like that
can't have anything to do with one that
has diSgraccd himself"
"Love is more stcdfast," said Harry.
civil reports could not have won me
from Olive
Then, without another word, he went
away-and such hold have homely
things upon our memory sometimes, that,
rs he went, he saw the pretty household
picture he had last seen beneath the roof
that now refused to welcome him, ~
plainly rs we see things in dreams; his
love, with her dark curls about her face
and tho needle in her hands. and the
skein of thread about her neck; bright
lamp burning upon the table, and on the
other side, himself cutting out pieces for
patchwork from pasteboard pattern,
and laying in little brilliant pile,
squares and triangles, on which were
rose and butterfly upon towering
branch. butterfly on n towering branch,
and u full blown rose alternately.
A Western editor speaks OF wind
tina; ''just sat up on its hind legs and
howled." Such a wind it must have
Dcon that was bowling through the bleak
Maine country twenty years from the
night on which Harry Martin turned
from the Munfords' door and went his
way alone.
The inn or tavern or hotel, whichever
il was, which bore the name OF 7. Jolli-
yer upon its signbOard, was not expect
ing any guests that night, but, ncverthe-
less, one came to its doors-camc late,
too, as the clocks were striking ten, and
people generally thinking Of bed.
The guest was man of forty, with a
sad sort of iacc-a face with story in IT,
But he was well dressed, and evidently
no poor traveller. He had supper in the
best parlor, and. meanwhile, lire was
made in the best bedroom, in which
when he made his way thither, he found
u buSom, youngish woman spreading an
NA'ih ''huAN' ldic Allou tllc bCu.
Good evening, SIR" she said, turn
ing toward him with manner that be-
spoke the landlady. 81 thought I'd
see that you were comfortable myself. !
never leave everything to chambermaids.
When married hotel-keeper, | made
up my mird to help him, aud there's no
such way of making guests feel dis
couraged as turning them over to help.
And I've given you my prettiest quilt,
too" said she, with laugh. There.
an honor"
The gentleman looked toward the bed
The quilt was patchwork. 1t had a wild,
striped border, but in the center tn,
blocks were all the same-bright chint,
altcrnated with white--a butterfly on d
branch, rose, a butterfly on branch
and a rose again.
The man took a fold Of it up in hi
hand, and looked at it, as men do no
often look at patchwork quilts. Th
woman bubbled on.
"Wc're great for patchwork in ou
family. Such pile as we had of thes
quilts Mt home. Sister Ruth had twenty
when she was married, but | had fifty
My other sister gave me her share, seain!
| that | norrinl "A hotpl- -kppnor and oh