Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1892-03-10
Your father is shiftless, Lucy." said

Inc oio place., auu Wus1t Will DccOmc OF
her?"
I'VE can take care of your mother,
Lucy"
And father? All, Will, you don't
know my mother. and you don't know
me-" she said, sadly.
81 begin to think that don't I've
been mistaken. find-thought too
much of myself, maybe. Well. at any
rate. Lucy, you must say you will mar
~ me now, or it must be all over be-
tween us!''
The girl grew white to the very lips,
she trem bled, for his tone was hard and
bitter
81 must do my duty, Will I must
stay by my father and mother in their
need" she answered, quietly enough.
SO quietly that Will, who did not look
in her face for very anger, was de-
ceived by her tone.
"Good-by forever he said; "I'm not
so sure that this self sacrifice of yours
isn't mask for coquetry-if SO, you've
mistaken your mani" he turned on his
heel and walked quickly up the road,
in a white heat of rage, out of Lucy's
life.
Lucy wiped the tears furtively away
as the carriages turned in at the gate
of the little cemetery. This death, re-
leasing her father from the bondage of
pain and silence, was not so sad as his
death in life had been. For him she
could only give thanks that he had
won his release.
When the simple offices had been per-
formed, and the grave was being filed
in, the company dispersed about the
little Enclosure, for most of them had
graves to visit Lucy put some of the
flowers she had brought on her moth
er's grave, by which her father had
been placed, and then she sat- and pa
tiently waited till all was done.
The stranger by the we'll watched
the little procession wind slowly out
of sight, then he mounted his horse
and took the road to the village hotel.
''You are very quiet here he said to
the man in the bar.
"Yes, most everybody's gone to old
Mr.. Harker's funeral"
''Mr. Harker! You don't mean old
Tom Harker, do you?"
eyes, that's the man; been paralyzed
these two years back
Ibid he keep on the old place? I
used to live here nearly twenty years
ago." he explained.
THAT SO! Well. you might say Miss
Lucy kept it on. She'd just left the
how that girl did work! Jest took holt
an managed everythin' herself. put
her brains into it an made it pay.
guess the Harkers is well fixed to-
day"
''Is the old lady alive?"
ono, she died five years ago."
''And Miss Harker, you say, man
aged the farm as a girl?''
81 don't know bout managed She
run it. She and the old man did the
plowin' and every mortal thing at
was done, an saved an scrimped, an
paid off the morgidge bout six years
ago; an after that it was leetle mite
easier fer Lucy till the old man was
took down. And to-day they're bury
in him. he added, with sense of the
fitness of the climax.
Pm going to look about bit. I
shall be back to supper and stay here
tonight. Have my horse put up, will
you?" said the stranger.
The guests were gone and Lucy was
left in her solitude. The roses which
grew in prOfusion around the sides of
the low gray stone house eXhaled de-
lghtful fragrance. The air had been
sultry all day, but now soft breeze
had sprung UP, stirring che foliage Of
the trees with gentle rustic. The
COWS were being MIXED in the yard.
Old John, the hired man, was slow, and
Lucy waited to strain the milk. At
last it was all done. The shallow pans
of foamy sweetness Were deposited on
the white-scoured table in the dairy
house and Lucy took up her broad hat.
you'll be on the porch, John, sup
pose; m going to carry these spoons
up to Mrs. Smiths
''Ay, I'll bide here and smoke" said
the old man.
How delightful it was to be walking
on the velvety border of the road, free
to breathe, as she had not been for
months, the pure air of the evening.
The frogs were croaking in the brook,
the criclSets chirping in the grass, and
the air was filled with the sound of in
sect life, and with sweet odors from the
far-lying fields
She walked slowly on. Her path to-
night was an unusual one to her, for it
lay past Sewall's gap, and she had not
passed it before, till this afternoon. for
several years.
Eighteen years of silence, of savage
ly hard work, of constant self-repres-
sion, had changed Lucy Harker; she
was not a slim, sweet girl of eighteen,
quivering at a word Of praise or blame
a graceful, pretty girl. with wild
rose face and small white hands: she
was a quiet, self-reliant woman of
thirty-siX, with hands made bony and
gaunt by the hardest of labor, and a
form prematurely bent and aged.
Her sparse gray hair was strained back
from a face that was sweet in express
sion and outline, though sallow and
attenuated. She had dived deep into
the cruc;ble of sorrow, so deep-for
hers was a stoadfast nature-that she
had neither hopes nor fears, she never
could-come what might-suffer as she
had suffered; it seemed as though she
had died, and, though in the world. was
yet not of it. A nd yet the thou ght of
that other self SO far removed-fer she
felt as though she was an old, old won-
an-had moved her to tears. All, here
was the well again.
AS she came up. the stranger APP
peared at the other side of the gap.
coming leisurely toward her. A fine
looking man of forty-athlet;c. we'll
OrOOmed well-cla5 well-hred Soma