The Kootenai herald. [volume] (Kootenai, Idaho) 1891-1904, 1891-12-12

prayer meeting, and after the time of the !,
ride was all settled Harmon, who was the
only professor in the party, tried a little to
have il changed. But Virginia Wake de-
clared, with a wicked shake of those jingling !
curls, that she could say her prayers just as
well in a sleigh as she could cooped up in that
stupid harm of a meeting house.
Everybody thought afterward she fixed
the ride for that night to show Mercy Avery
the power she had over Harmon Page
"Well, the party started from Amityville
long about o'clock. They were all in big
two horse load, except Virginia and Harmon.
''She had arranged for them to go ahead
in his cutter alone, and I'll admit they
were a splendid looking couple-he, with his
fine eyes and teeth, and she, in a rich Grim
son hood that set Off her dark beauty to per-
lection.
"Our route-for ! was one Of the party
lay straight up the hill toward Deacon
Avery's just as we turned into it, whI
should we meet but the deacon and Mercy.
"They were late, for the meeting was alus
appointed for early candle lighting but
Mercy had probably waited awhile for Har-
mon, who, for a year back, had taken her to
Thursday meetin' as regular as the day came
round.
"She sat up straight and queenly, beside
her father as they passed, and seemed not to
hear the malicious sally Virginia called out
to her
1--WE, in the back team, were near enough
to catch the SEQ nful glance she threw from
those deep eyes gray as steel that night.
As for Harmon, he turned white TO the
lips, and for mile hardly answered the
banter that Virginia kept up. After that he
seemed to grow perfectly reckless, laughed
and joled louded than any of the rest, and
was so careless that he drove ON a stone wall;
and we, following, were all upset in heap
together, and had hard work to get tied up
so as to make our way home toward morn
ing, more dead than alive.
at was a sorry day for Harmon Page. He
was waited upon by a church committee,
headed by Deacon Avery, who denounced
his whole conduct toward Mercy as unchris-
tian and highly inconsistent in church
member.
''He didn't have mnch to say for himself,
and they churched him On the spot. He was
pretty down in the mouth but kept up some
hope, till he saw Mercy Avery.
"He had refused to see Virginia Wake, and
that night he went up ths familiar hill to
Deacon Avery's stone house.
"Mercy herself came to the door, calm and
and showed him into the sitting room. There
was a steady light in her gray eyes, though,
that made Harmon uemble, and, without
beating about the bush a bit, he came right
to the point, and asked if all might be for
given and forgotten and they become as
good friends as before He worked himself
into passion, cried, and took on like child,
they said
''Buu law, it didn't move her am atom.
She had the genuine old Avery grit, if she
was mild hammered, and she told him that,
as long as the church had put him out, she,
of course, couldn't in conscience take him
back
"He pleaded and entrcated until 10 o'clock
at night. a late hour in them days, but it
didn't make a mite of difference. She wouldn't
overlook what the church had considered
gross breach of faith, He went out a crushed
man, and from that time his spirit seemed to
leave him utterly
And what about Virginia Wakegp l in
terrupted, unconScously cutting my finger
in my eager interest.
sob, after the girl had done all the mis-
chief possible public opinion toward her
changed main quick, and she left town in
a few days, and was never heard from in
these parts again"
Nhu 1aiHlon TdSes WnaI became OF
him."
'He never got over the shock. He became
silent and melancholy and finally had TO be
taken 10 the Retreat. He grew worse, and
the sight OF a handsome woman with red
cheeks and black cuils would always throw
him into his most violent tantrums He died
in the asy lum at last. -
"Now, L think that was real mean," said 1,
wrathfuliy winding cotton around my bleed
ing thumb. 'lf Mercy Avery hadn't turned
him Off. his life might not have ended so
sadly. l think she ought TO have taken him
back"
''Ah, ha said Grandpa West, quizzically;
edo you mean thati'
"CeItainly," said /, with dignity, ''why
shouldn't II
''Oh, nothing" he replied, ''only if she
had, Harmon Page would have been your
grandfather instead Of me-"
MY grandfathel--why them" said /, in
some confusion, Mercy Avery must be"--
''Mercy West, your grandmother" said
grandpa, chucking me under my chin
Confess now that ais well that ends we'll .
II suppose SO, said | reluctantly. Lizzie
NJ. Whttlesey in New England Magazine
Why the Letters Never Came.