The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1891-01-22

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IT%-AS --=5T[. I'D people, rs we called
- -. 49, hem, ] being but 1G
were talking of old
times and old people
most Of them dead. The other children
were deep in dominos, and ! was looking
out of the window in the twilight Aunt
Nancy, j supposed, was in the kitchen, 60 j
Went TO find her.
She wasn't very pretty. must say. She
was good hight, but so thin that she might
as well have been foot taller. But she had
a real sweet face; her nose had no particular
shape, her lips were straight and thin, and
her eyes were the soitest blue imaginable.
When she looked at You, you Just had TO
smile, even if you felt like crying. She was
mighty gentle for those parts. She never
laid hand on any of us children, and sooner
than scream she'd walk the whole length of
a field TO tell the help when she wanted
them. She knew n lot, too, for she was
always reading, ard ] believe the reason she
liked me best was because ] used TO like TO
hear her read.
] went ont TO the kitchen, but there was
only Martha, knitting and singing 10 her
self Then ] went upstairs TO Aunt Nancy s
room, and without knocking walked right
in. There she sat on the floor, with bundle
Of letters on one side of her and a little
brown curl in her hand There were tears
on her iaee, and when she saw me she got as
red as a new baby and pulled her apron over
the things.
Can stay, Aunt Nancy" / asked. ats
dreadinlly lonesome dOwn-siairs;" and in
my heart ! was curious TO know about the
letters and the little curl.
She hestated a moment, and then said
gently:
Well, yes, if you want 10. Lock the door
and sit quiet while put these away
What are they, Aunty?n
They y're-they 're-my-scn
"Sentments!" ] explained; "then there's
r story about them. DO tell me, Aunty, and
let me see them.n
] didn't expect she wOuld tell me- and ]
was nightly surprised that any one 80 old
as Aunt Nancy should have any sentiments,
as she called them. had one, little white
rosebud that Tom Sprague gave me at the
huslling last Fall, but didn't suppose Aunt
Nancy had ever had any lovers. / was think
ing about this way when she put the letters
back into the cedaT-WOOd box, and sat down
near he fire, holding the curl in her hand
and letting a photograph lie on her lap.
IL isn't much OF a story, Nan. It's about
when ] was a girl; that was 90 years ago,
for tomorrow III be 40 Twenty years. and
/ yet il seems like yesterday. / thought that
now, after % years, / could at last bear 10
read Jacks letters through and burn them
and the little curl. But the dear words
bring him back 10 me just as he was the
night he said good-by. Twenty years ago!
| / was only % then, aud we had always been
lovers. ] remember how tendeTly be helped
ne over the rough places aud carried me
across the brooks, until put on long dresses
4 aud he could do mans work in the fields.
Then his father died, and Jack fell off hay
wagon and hurt his leg-hip disease the
doctor said, aud half the time he had 10 lie
IN bed His poor old mother would have
died for want Of food if the neighbors had
not been 50 kind 10 them. Poor Jack grew
worse aud worse and at last, thinking he
wonld never be well, he wrote to his fathers
/ brother, who had grown rich in the city, aud
| the Old man came. When he arrived was
IN the kitchen tidying up, and he turned me
out
Next night Jack came over TO say
good,by: j remember his very words:
- We're going away. Nancy
o Jack! WheTe?'
60 Uncle John is going 10 take us 10 live
/ with him i'm the city. He says he dorAt
want his brothers wife 10 live on charity,
and he'd like his brothers son 10 be re-
/ Specialize
"' Then he's hard, jack
- Hard as iron, Nancy. ] would never
/ have written 10 him If ii weren't for mother
but / can't take care of her; this pain will
kill me s80n'
Then he put his hands over his face and
cried. j know it wasn't proper, but
couldn't help 1t, just put my arms around
his neck, and drew his head down TO my
T shoulder
80 Never mind, Jack, never mind. you'll
/ get strong yet, and then you can take care
Of yunr mother. ] wish we weren't so poor.
/ Don't cry So jack And with that began
I 20 cry too.
Then he took TO comforting me, and tell
+ ing me how hard he'd try TO get well aud
make living, and before he went I'd prom
l ised 10 wait for him until he was able to
come back and marry me.
lie wrote to me from the city, but every
/ letter told me how harshly they were treated
and that he could not leave his bed al all
! now. Uncle John swears about the bills
and the expense we are 10 him, but he has
/ hht btcA AoAbDiH III tlt CITY lOI me- luIct OF
them. wish he'd just let me alone so /
could die.'
AT last came a letter saying his uncle
bad seen him with one Of my letters, aud
had teased him about his country sweet
I heart, saying he was sure there wasn't line
in the letter that hadn't a misspelled word
Jack was angry, and told him to read
and see. So be began: My dear Jack
! d-double-e-T, dear-pll read no further,
thank you; I'm convinced. That letter YOU
may answer, but If ever another line passes
between you, you leave my house, and your
mother with you
Jack wrote me about il, and the letter
/ was all blurred with tears don't know
anything about the spelling, Nancy, and
j don't care. I'm sure it's right If you wrote
u IL. IL ID were not for mother dearest, you
know well that / would never stand such
! insults, but for her sake ] must say good
by. 1t may be years hence, Nancy, but if
j live, some day I'll come 10 claim you as
my own. So be true TO me, as / swear will
be trne 10 you
waited nine years after that, with
never a word from Jack. One day the min
lister came 10 see US, and ] was the only one
al home.
80 Miss Nancy said he, { never see you
without a book; what are you reading
now?'
81 had been studying all by myself dur
ing those nine years for thought would