Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-05-16
LGoPYRIeHr 1881. BY 4NKelLoe4 Mo-.

1eeI ana a gray SOmDrerO covered ner
head. In spite of her uncouth dress,
the girl was strikingly handsome, with
chestnut brown hair, clear blue eyes, q
red mouth and . firmly nodded chin.
There was an air of dignity and resolu-
ton about her, and fearlessness In her
gaze, which at onSe challenged admira-
ton and respect.
''Hello, Barb, you are out late, said
Capt. George, approaching the girl,
who slid lightly from the cayuse and
gave 1t cut with the switch she held
in her hand. The shaggy little beast
10th, for he knew himself to be near
home.
''Pve bin down the valley fer medi-
cine fer pap. Am Just gettin' home,"
she answered, and, although she spoke
the rude vernacular of the region, there
was a certain refinement In her tones.
Barb" as she was called by the en-
tire camp, was the daughter Of Sandy
Ellis, one of the better class Of miners,
who, in his young days in Scotland, had
been the master of village school. He
married pretty English girl whom he
met upon a summer journey In Derby
shire, and lured by stories of fortunes
sought the western gold mines as his
quickest road to wealth. His delicate
wife soon succumbed to the hardships
of frontier life, and left him with Barb,
a child of seven, some ten years before
our story opens.
Barb had picked up some education
and had Inherited refined tastes from
her mother, and as she grew older was
comfort to her lonely father, who:
guarded her with jealous care from the
rough associations of the various min
ing camps to which he wandered In
search of wealth.
Capt. George and Ellis were chums,
drawn together by mutual tastes and
mutual dislike of the vicious life OF
miners camp. Their cabins were near
each other whenever their rude home
had happened to be. A year ago they
had come together to share in the tells
and triumphs of Las Cheritas. Sandy's
toll and trfumphs, however, would soon
be over, for even the healing air of the
mountains had no power to stay the
progress of consumption, brought on
by winter of severe privation, and it
was plain to Barb that she would soon
be fatherless, as well as motherless.
With the proverbial hopefu1ness
which is phase of his malady, Sandy
was confident of his recovery, and
Capt. George seemed to share his be-
lief. Barb was not deceived as to tho
truth, and as she rode slowly along this
particular evening she thought of her
+ future with sad forebodings. "Come,
set down here, Barb. want to talk to
ye." The girls face flushed to the
= I 4 L. u
! to take the seat upon the bowlder to
which George motioned her.
George, pap is waitin' fer me-"
'Well, let him wait. Yere my girl
as much as pap's. Come, want to talk
to yer. And mind ye, don't tell yer pap
what say, not fer two or three days at
least"
The girls blue eyes sought the ground
and the blush deepened, for her heart
throbbed painfully under the coarse
blouse.
| ''I'd rather not listen Jest now" she
said.
'What's come to We, child?" said the
man, half angrily.
| Obi blindness of man! You can look
upon the unfolding of the fairest flower
that ever blossomed in the human heart
and be unable to distinguish it from the
meanest weed which growsby the way
side.
What had come to Barb? Love had
come to her. 1t had grown slowly with
her growth and strengthened with her
strength, until the man before her was
in her eyes the embodiment of all that
she had dreamed, read or hoped Of
earthly happiness. His virtues were
to her superior to the virtues of all
other men, and even his faults were
dear; and yet, such are the contradio-
tons of q maiden's nature, she shrank
from the words which she longed to
hear, and trembled In the presence Of
the man upon whose breast she would
gladly have laid her fair young head.
'What has come to YEP" he repeated.
''Nothin'; will stop If We wish II"
she answered. gently, taking the prof
fered seat.
Capt George flung himself upon
the ground at her side, and in the brief
silence which followed Barb gazed at
the turbid waterfall, which was strange
! ~ beautiful In the tender light, which
was neither twilight nor moonlight, and
became calm again.
At length George said In q dreamy
tone: ''Barb, I'm goin' home"
The girl involuntarily glanced up
ward to where Capt. Georges cabin
showed dimly through the dark tama-
racks.
"Not there" he said, in answer to
.rer look; ''1 mean home, my real home,
back in the states.'
Barb caught her breath, and her voice
trembled little. when are ye goin'2"
snow; tomorrow"
She clasped her hands tightly In her
her lap and made no answer, and her
companion continued:
''I've told ye of Ray, my brother, that
my dyin' mother placed in my arms and
charged me, though was only little
lad, to be good to him. Faithful, self
denyin', loyal, tender them were her