The Weiser signal. [volume] (Weiser, Idaho) 1890-1904, 1891-08-27

| anu ~ Slih DOllicbs WOII
| slightly awry. "What will she do
Mrs. Fenton?"
~ don't know" returned the ma
iron addressed, with n keen glance
through her owlish silver spectacles
~ suppose she'll marry Squire Star
worthy's SON."
Mrs. Fentons voice, sharp and shrill
rang through the room like the warn.
ing note OF bugle. People looked
oddly and uneasily at each other
Eliza colored to the roots of her
beautiful silky hair; and Willoughby
Starworthy advanced with out
stretched hand.
"My dear Miss Holden, it pains me
deeply, do assure you, to be compel
led to say adieu under such melan-
choly circumstances; but | have al
ready out-stayed the time had alot-
ted to myself. | believe the evening
train leaves at five-pray accept my
most heartfelt ondoence-and-an
If ever | can be of any service to you,
do not hesitate to command my SER
vices"
He held Eliza's hand moment in
| his own, then bowed himself politely
out of the place. And the next mo-
ment the girl felt q warmer, more
earnest clasp closing over her cold
| fingers, and voice whispering in her
ear, Don't cry, Eliza-he's scamp,
who never was worthy OF the merest
glance OF your eye. Eliza, darling, I'm
only a rough farmer; but I've health
and strength, and, please heaven, my
wife shall never want. I've loved YOU
| since we were children together-will
you let me work for you, Eliza?"
For moment Eliza's head dropped
on honest David Kenhifer's big
shoulder; and, forgetful to his whisper
ed entTeaties, she did cry very heartily.
And when the little assemblage broke
up in the level sunshine of the March
afternoon, it was generally under
stood that pretty Eliza Holden was
to marry David Jennifer.
"She couldn't do q better thing"
said Mrs. Avery, sagely nodding the
brown wig.
81 think Lizzy won't repent the
choice she's made"
Eliza did not repent it.
'Sell the old place, if you like, David, :"
said Mrs Jennifer, pushing the flossy
black curls from her pretty forehead,
as they stood side by side where the
March crocuses had long since faded
beneath the. richer bloom OF Junes
luxuriant roses; "but keep the furni-
ture, for Uucle Johns sake"
"But it's so old-fashioned, Lizzyl"
"That's the reason like it, David, ,"
p leade ed the blooming young wife.
mo, won't part with that portion
OF my legacy, whatever comes to pass"
"You shall not, darling" returned
her husband, warmly. "Your will is
my law, little wife, remember thatr'
Eliza stole her arm softly into Da-
vid's, and crept closer to his side with
an unspoken fondness that was very
precious to the rough, strong man.
The scene of our little story shifts
and vanishes, like the gliding phantas-
magoria of dream. The gnarled
appletrees and shadowy elms of New
England give place to the dark forests
that bend along the turbid current of
the Mississippi-the brown farmhouse
Is transmogrified into q cozy little log
cabin, with patches OF deep red chrys-
anthemums and orange marigoids
growing rankly in the rich forest soil,
and woodblne clinging in frost-touched
wreathes of scarlet around the rough
hewn logs.
Within, it was bright and homelike
enough. A great fire roared up the
wide clay chimney-a year-old balJ'
lay on braided rug in the merry
sunshine, with two or three bright
eyed little ones noisily engaged in
tending it; and Eliza Jennifer, as
pretty as ever, though plumper and
more matronly, was laying the round
pine table for the evening meal. The
round table where Uncle John Hol-
den s mug of lard cider was wont to
maintain it's evening state-and
Uncle Johns tall clock licked busily
in the corner; and the baby had lust
been taken out of the very clumsy
wooden cradle that had rocked Eliza
hersel. into the sunny dreams of her
own Dabyhood. For through all the
changes and mutations of a western
settlers life, David Jennifer had not
parted with his blooming wife's legacy.
i "We're poor folks" said David
'stoutly; land we've wanted money
more than once-I won't deny that.
But we must be pretty badly off be-
fore I'll let the old furniture 60"
David was leaning against the CHM
ney-piece on this particular October
night, watching his wifes movements
with as pleased n pride as if he had
been married ten days instead of ten
years, when suddenly Eliza paused.
"Davie! didn't | hear tap at the
door,"
David strobe across the floor and
opened the door. Mrs. Jennifer was
right. A tall, lank traveller stood
without, carrying very consumptive
little carpet-bag.
Gould | be Accommodated for the
night, sir? I've lost my way trying to
find short cut between Parhampton
and Roscius, and"
walk in, stranger-wall1 in, said
David, with hearty hospitality.
"There's plenty of-Why. bless my
soul, it's Will Starworthy! Elizal wife!
it's Squire Starworthy's som"
Apparently the guilty flush that had
died Willoughby Starworthy's face on
the memorable March afternoon of
ten years ago had not yet faded out;
but Eliza Jennifer, secure in her bright,
matronly happiness, greeted him with
smiling welcome.
"Why, who would have thought of
seeing you We, Mr.. Starworthy?" she
asked, blithely.
"Well," returned that gentleman,
whose habiliments were little RUSTY,
and his linen little frayed, and his hat
not so fresh as it had been, ''tlmes are
pretty hard down East, and I've an
expensive family and nd-I thought