The Press., 1892-03-03
"I auiu not cut the bread of dependence.

II tCttt not eGt the bread Of dependence" :"
 She sold her land, retaining the house and front garden, and put the three thousand dollars she thus gained into the closet with her silver.
 ''I do not deem it advisable to trust banks" she said 1.-The cash in hand will last me until the return of my grandson"
 Then the village prophets prophesied evil, sitting on the barrels of the village store; and Matthias Morton spoke of Mrs. Fairfax as a willful woman who would live to repent her folly. And one morning, behold itwas all proven true!
 Mrs. Fairfax was found bound to her old fashioned, high post bedstead, the orphan locked into her garret with d pillow case over her head and her hands tied behind her; money and silver and all the small valuables in the house gone
 ''It was the tramp to whom 1 gave supper yesterday" said Mrs. Fairfax, when they released her. "It did not seem right that an unfortunate fellow creature should need food while I had table and eat decently. He must have SOIlo up CL0 UdCk StdlIS duu nluu6n 1Q the garrett until nightfall."
 The men of the neighborhood secured the country for the tramp, but he had escaped and was never found.
 Misfortune followed misfortune. A week later the young servant in lighting fire hastened it by applying the spout of 8 kerosene can. She escaped with a few burns, but Grandma Fairfax sat upon a log on the farther side of the road and watched the home to which she had been brought a bride burn to ashes Every now and then she breathed & quiet sigh. She had caught from the wall of her bedroom black silhouette of her late husband, which she folded in her handkerchief and held tightly Every one was beseeching her to come to them; invitations were plenty, but she continually answered.:
 "I am obliged to thee, friend, but in times when we had overmuch company, Thomas and 1 have taken a hammock in the barn and shall try itonce more. shall no doubt be comfortable there until my grandson Franklin returns"
 And so the few odd things that were saved-a chair or two, a table, little charcoal stove-were arranged in the barn, an eycellentzone, it is true, and people at last ceased to come and beg the old lady to go home with them. The warmest neighbors must chill at last be- fore such cold decision, and people have the right to live in their own barn if they prefer that place of residence.
 Doris, however, was nearly beside her self with grief over the matter. She braved the lioness in her den with a bowl of soup in her hand, and begged to be allowed to be of use. But the classic profile only was presented to her, the bowl of soup was declined. The old lady looked at the rafters instead of into the great, brown, velvet eyes of Doris, and replied to everything, "Thank thee; have no occasion"
 Doris used to sit at the window nearly all night watching the barn. She did not know where to address Franklin, for but one letter had yet come from him, and that bade her wait until she heard next. Another came which said the same thing, then silence, strange, tear breeding silence.
 At last newsl News came too terrible to believe! Franklin Fairfax had disap- pearedl .. l..- They were approaching certain place in South America at which letters could be posted, and in his impatience the young man had left the larger party and ridden on before them. When they reached the town he was not there. They had not seen him since. But his hat had been found, also the packet of letters he intended to mail All his in terests were bound uY in rejoining his party. That he did not do so or send some message proved they thought that he was dead. They waited hard by for many days, securing the country. There were precipices over which the horse might have fallen. Ravines, impetuous waters that could have swept both horse and rider away. There were people who would murder for handful of coin to be met on every road. They had given up. all hope of finding even his dead body at last. ..
 r When this news came, Doris. sick with anguish as she was, found her way to the barn. ....
 ''Oh, let me come to you now," she pleaded. 'Now you must need some one?' But white hand was lifted to ward her away.
 'sThe Lord hath afflicted me,"' said Hannah Fairfax. 'sHe will console. I have no occasion for the company of friends"
 Doris went home and flung herself upon the floor of her room.
 When Uncle Matthias came to her, in- quiring as to dinner, she lifted piteous eyes to him and moaned:
 ''I cannot think, cannot do anything. hope am dying"
 'What is it? Chills?" the old man asked.
 After awhile, finding that his niece lay still and would not answer him, he sent for the doctor.
 One day, some weeks after, Doris was able to sit up, to put on dress and her slippers and creep to the window. Peep ing through the panes she saw that snow was on the ground, and through the bare branches espied crowd gath cred about the barn where the Widow Fairfax had taken her abode when her housefw was burned down. s ... 'sWhat is the matter, Uncle Matthias?'' she asked. .4-,.
 ''Old Mrs. Fairfax seems to be starvin herself to death, he said; .'and they've been tryin to take" her to the poorhouse for three days. She'sTesistin the atith6fi- ties persistent Folks is kinder worked up."
 "Doris, what are you doin! You'll ketch your death."
 For Doris throwing over her head q