The weekly messenger. [volume] (St. Martinsville [i.e. St. Martinville] La.) 1886-1948, 1891-05-02

could not rightly gauge Molly's emo
tons; but she knew something was
wrong.
How could she tell him that she
deemed Molly's startling act to be re-
bellious, indignant attempt to even mat
ters-to show him her indifference-to
go away from him altogether, and let
4 him see how serenely she could do it.
Celia knew not the reason of her pretty
| sisters dudgcon. How, then, then, could
she impart to her pretty sisters admirer
l her vague suspicious!
He was an admirer only-not 4 fiancee.
1t would be manifestly improper. Celia
| remained silent.
"Well, good-by" said Molly's ad
/ mirer.
His tone was funereal so was his ex-
preston. lie drifted down the path as
though it made no difference where he
went to. He OWNED that Celia was
laughing, and he did not care. He felt
| desperate.
He told himself that he would 90 over
] to Celia in minute, if she wasn't spoken
for. He was sick of Molly's freaks and
| whims. In view of this absurd affair, it
/ seemed to him that she always had been
whimsical-which was an injustice.
Teach SCHOOL, district school! She
was out of her senses. What did she
! mean by it?
Harry felt an all but uncomfortable
| wish to 60 back and shake her.
He thrust his hands into his overcoat
pockets and whistled dismally. Why,
he shouldn't even see her again. he didn't
know when.
He was more than dismal; he was an
CRY and sulky. He felt the need of
little comfort and mental ouietude, and
he thought he would 90 around and see
Alvira; and acting on the resolve, turned
into side street and knocked at modest
door.
The week which followed was one
which he never forgot, for in it lay his
first taste of real unhappiness, which
grew into settled gloom.
He went to the lecture alone. He had
been wont TO take Molly Paine to every
thing of merit that came along. He went
sleighing, and felt SO wretchedly lonesome
that he got home as quick as possible.
He went to small party, and grew to
positively dislike the pretty girl he took
in to supper and went home with, because
she was not Molly Paine.
He fused and moped and chafed, and
on Friday afternoon he went to see
Celia.
"Do you expect Molly tonight" he
asked.
And when Celia said no, he got up
and went out like one in dream, or like
a young man possessed of single idea
an idea he had battled against, but
which had overcome him. He went
home, got his horse into his cutter, took
some hot bricks and soapstone and
went off in search of district number |
twelve.
He found it by dint of indus trious in
quiry. Within short space he was pull
ing up at the door of little schoolhouse,
which had been white once and was !
brown now, set in the middle of big,
bare yard.
The snow was up to the fence on
either side, being tramped down In the
middle by many small feet.
"Dismalest hole ever struck" Harry
muttered, and tied his horse at the one
post and strobe to the door.
Molly answered his knock-Molly her.
self; Molly in brown dress and white
apron-looking rather prettier than ever
before and ten times as captivating.
Her lovers heart rose to his throat,
and he stammered over the greeting he
had meant to utter with dignity.
He fancied that Molly gasped and
shrank little. In view of the self-pos-
session he had always known in her, he
doubted it.
At least she recovered Immediately,
and shook hands and said, "How do you
do?" and replied to his inquiry that she
was well, and walked before him across
the room.
The platform held two chairs. Harry
took one. He was rather discomposed. |
He had supposed that school would be
out.
But the round clock on the wall point
ed to half-past three, and he knew the
barbarous four o'clock rule of district
schools.
Molly, who held an open book, was
going on with a recitation, pacing slowly
up and down before her class, her head
high, her lips demurely adjusted, her
eyes clear and bright. And the visitor
was in for half an hour of it.
Oddly enough, he was conscious of
feeling of comfort such as he had not
known for many days. Molly was here,