The Helena independent. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1875-1943, 1891-08-11
AN EGG-STEALER.

It wanted less than an hour to high tide
when Miss Marty Lear heard her brothers.
boat crate on the narrow beach below the
garden, and set the knives and glasses
straight while she listened for the rattle of
the garden gate.
A stunted line of hazel ran along the foot
of the garden and prevented all view Of the
landing plnce from the kitchen window.
But above the hazels one could look across
to the fruit-prowing village Of st. Kits, and
catch a glimpse at high tide of the inter
vening river, or, towards low water, of the
mud banks ahing in the sun.
1t was Miss Lear's custom to look much
on this landscape from this window; had,
in fact, been her custom for close Upon
forty years. And this evening, when the
latch clicked ut length. and her brother in
his market suit came glouching up the path
that broke the parallels of garden stuff,
her gaze rested all the while upon the line
of grey water above and beyond his respect
able hat.
Nor, when he entered the kitchen and
hitched his hat upon the peg against the
wall-where it's brim accurately fitted a
sort of dull halo in the whitewash-did he
appear to want any welcome from her. He
was a long -jawed man of sixty-fve, she a
long-jawed woman of sixty-one; and they
understood each other, having kept this
small and desolato farm together for TWEEN
ty years-that is, since thei. fathers death.
There was a cold pastry ready on the
table, and the jug of cider that Job Lear
regularly emptied at supper. These sug-
gested NO questiong, and the pair sat down
to eat in silence.
1t was only while holding his plate for a
caoo~3 hnloiD, of kEo Noutrv that Trh oroEa
with a full mouth.
who dye reckon I ran against to-day,
down in Troy?"
miss Marty cut the slice without troubling
to say that she had not an idea.
why, that fellow Amos Trudgeon." he
went on;
"Yes?" .
"'Pears to me you disremembers en-
son of old Jane Trudgeon that used to live
'cross the water; him that stole our eggs,
long back, when father was livin'."
81 remember
81 thought you must. Why. you gave
evidence, to be sure. BE dashed! now l
come to mind. if you WASH the first to
wake US up an say you heard a man cryin'
out down pom the mud"
"Iss. / was."
"An' saved his life, though you did get
on two months IN gaol by it. Up to arm
pits. he was, an not two minutes to live,
when we hauled on out an, wonderin' what
ne cOulu Do uOlu tMoT6, lOuUu lie u Deeu
stsalin' our eggs. He inquired after you
to-day"
'Did he?"
'Iss, 'How's..Miss Marty says he. 'Agein'
rapidly says |. The nerve that some folks
have! Comes up to me cool as my lord and
holds out his hand. He've a-grown into a
sort of commercial stomach like q bow
window, with . watch-guard looped across.
I'd q mind to say Eggs to en-, it 50 annoyed
me; but | hadn' the heart: TITS an old tale
after all, that feat O. his"
1.-TWO an forty year, come seventeenth o.
July next. Did he say any more?"
"Said the barometer was risin', but too
fast to put faith in"
81 mean-did he ask any more about
me?''
'~.Iss-wanted to know if you was mar
"Oh, my dear God"
Job laid down knife and fork with the
odges resting on his plate, and with a lump
of pasty i'll one cheek, looked at his sister.
Before he could speak she broke ont
again:
He was my, lover"
"Msr-ty-"
81 swear to you, Job-here across this
table-he was my lover; an I ruined en-.
He was the only man, 'cept you and father.
that ever kissed me; an | betrayed en-, As
the Lord liveth, | stood in the box an
Ewore away his name to save mine. An
what's more, he made me-"
'Mar-'
"Dou't hinder me, Job-it's truth I'm
tellin' ee. His people were \ low lot. an
ather'd have hided me if he'd known. But
we used to meet in the orchard, most
every night. Amos'd row across in his
boat, nm back agen. For the Lords sake.
brother, don't look go. I'm past sixty, am
no harm done; an now evil an goods tho
same to me-"
Go Or"
"Well, the last night he came over ,twoa
low tide. | was waitin' for en- in the Or
chard; an, he would have me tell father an
you, and l wouldn'. | reckon we onarreled
over it so long his boat got left high in the
mud. Anyway. he left me in wrath, an |
stood there by the gate in the dark, lonpin'
for Ell to come back an make friends afora
he went. But the time went on ar | dim
hear his footstep-no, nor his oars pullin'
awav-though listenin' with all my ears.
AM then l heard a terrible sound-a
low sort of breathin', hut fierce, an some
thing worse, a suck-suckin' of the mud
below; an ran down. There he was, above
his knees in it, half way between firm
ground and his boat. For all his tightin'
he heard mo, and whispers out o the
dark
Little girl, it's got me. Hush. don't
shout or they'll catch you
Cant you get outH l whispered back.
No, I'm afraid
"'Ill ruu an call father an Job.'
Hush BE you mazed? Do you want
to let EN- know?'
But it'll kill you, dear. won't it?'-The
Epeaknr