The Opelousas courier., 1891-01-03

men had been hauling logs. Marcus had
heard Of it afterward. He hoped he had
not tried to go there to-day. He was
used, however, to being worried about
Ira, and waiting for time to relieve him.
He washed his dishes, and mended the
horse-collar in the cold sitting-room.
His physical disorders amounted to light
sickness. He felt weak, his head began
to ache, and after a shivering aimless
hour he brought out a quilt, and lay
down on the lounge.
It was past four when he woke. He
saw, going to the door, that but for a
few drifting fakes the SNOW had ceased.
It lay over a foot deep, a smooth stretch
untouched, except where the trees had
dropped some of their load.
Ira had not been home. Marcus went
through the house. There was no sign
| of him, and no tracks anywhere around
the house. Standing in the back door
and blankly staring, sickenin@ fears be-
gan to rise in the fathers heart. He
could not formulate them, but he leaned
in the doorway weakly. He did not know
what be feared, but the snow was deep
and the day was cold, and he had not
seen Ira since morning. And Ira's ways
were strange and cratic.
He went and got his hat and coat. and
waded to the barn. forgetting to lock tho
house doors or shut them. The slant,
low rays of the SUN made the snowy ex-
panse binding, and Le blinked and
stumbled. He got his best horse into the
| cutter and plowed out into the road, the
bells systematically clashing and the snow
flying high from plunging hoofs and run
ners. He stopped at the Dorrs's; Ira had
not been there that day. His father
cracked the whip on the horses flank
| with q hand that shook.
The roads were hard of passage, and
It was getting dark when he came back.
Ira had not been to the pine woods; the
choppers had seen nothing of him. Mar
Gus had desperately and doggedly stopped
at every door; neither had anybody along
the road.
He was almost home, and his teeth
were chattering with the cold and with
his weakness and terror. He was at the
corner a few rods from which the Bar
tholomews lived. He turned that way,
and leaving his horse at the gate, broke
in at the door. Nobody was in the
front room, and he strobe ~throughto the
| kitchen.
Liza was ironing by the fire. The
clothes frame hung~full, and there was a
steamy, comfortable, warm smell. Her
board rested on two chair backs, and
under it was Ira. He was playing some
| game of his W with a string of empty
spools and some blocks of wood and an
old pistol. His light hair hung over his
eyes; his cheeks were warm and red. He
had been eating something; his face and
the floor were GRUMPY. His father stood
stock still and burst out with a sob; then
he fell trembling into a chair, and
reached down and pulled Ira up in his
arms.
CT thought you was lost, Ira, said his
father. 81 thought you was dead. I
thought you'd gone up to the pine woods
again; I've been clear up there. ] was
afraid you'd got showed up and froze.
| Where've you been, Tra?"
"W'y, here" said Ira.
"He's been here since dinner" Liza
said. s:He was over to the Wades' this
morning. We thought he'd been home
between-times. If we'd known he hadn't,
and it storming so, we'd have sent over,
aud let you know where he was" She
tried to go On ironing, but she made in
effectual motions, for she saw nothing
clearly through her tears.
Marcus lookedat her. Something dis
tinct and tangible struggled through his
surging emotions and seemed to fix him.
It was his first clear recognition of it,
and it staggered him. He was afraid to
say it, and would have RETAINED il he
could have. His words came huskily.
"You'n have to con over there and
take care of us-Ira and me. can't do
nothing with him. He won't mind me
nor anything. You could make him act
better; you do. It ain't-thst amt all,
Liza. I want you. don't know how
to say it-nor nothing" He felt for
her hand, and pressed his wet hot face
upon it.
She turned her head away, but her
tears as she said, 81 will come,"
dropped fast on Ira's staring up
turned face. He pondered, for once the
situation was beyond him; he failed to
comprehend it. He wriggled out of his
fathers arms to the floor, and went on
playing.-Harper's Weekly.