Barbour County index. [volume] (Medicine Lodge, Kan.) 1880-current, 1892-06-15
LOVE AT LAST.
The Story Of a Noble Woman's
Self-Sacrif1ce

A long white chalky road, winding
like broad ribbon through the fertile
valley, and luminous now with the
light of the July sun. On either hand
spread broad, cultivated lands; on
either hand, in the distance, rise the
rugged hills.
A silent road, though now and then
farmers light buggy spins past and
leaves a cloud of white dust. The
chipmunks dart across its broad
spaces, and the sparrows hold carnival
to their hearts content. Here and
there in the infrequent clusters of
trees on its border one hears the song
OF an oriole or thrush. Here and
there one comes to a grass-grown lane
leading to farmhouse.
From one of these energies, on this
hot afternoon in July, funeral pro-
cession.
The shabby village hearse leads the
way, and is followed by long string
of still shabbier enthusiastically
chaises and buggies carrying rugged
homespun folks in Sunday garb-with
faces dolorously composed for keeping
funereal holiday.
In the country funeral is an event
second in interest and festal possibili-
ties only to wedding. The women
leave their milk pans and knitting, the
men their plows or horse trading and
unlimber themselves in social con-
verse.
After the decent ceremony they sit
in the front room" and inquire of old
neighbors, sons gone west" daugh-
tiers married away, and, if the deceased
is an old person, look retrospectively
to the time when they were all young
together, and wonder where Hannah"
is now, and how ''Sam" did, and if
''Si'' ever quit drinking, and so on.
But we are getting along little too
winding along the bit of the road called
Sewall's gap. How well Lucy Harker
remembers the wide curve, with the
stone wall bordering Farmer Jackson's
apple orchard, with the old stone well.
the patch of green grass and the tall
trees giving kindly shelter to all Too
well, alas! She shudders and draws
back into her corner of the carriage as
they come to the gap and so fails to
see stranger horseman watering his
steed at the old well. The tears she
sheds-tears that hurt, rather than heal
are not for the old man, going to his
last bed. They are not for herself.
Self has had little part in Lucy Hark-
er's life for the past eighteen years.
They are rather for the memory of her
dead self-for slim young girl who
stands by the old well, a girl with
faithful eyes of gray, and hair like
chestnuts in the sunshine .Beside her
is stalwart youth, her little white
hand is on his shoulder, and her sweet
face looks up to his with blush born
of earnestness.
Not yet, Willr' she is saying. sit
cannot be yet Father -" But VIII
frowns gloomily, and puts her hand
away.
"Look here. Lucyr' he says. 'sWe
can't go on like this. DO 1 count for
nothing with you--or are you playing
with me?"
''oh, VIII, dear, you know that /
love you Be patient They need me
SO much at home. Father has been SO
unfortunate. and ="
Your father is shiftless, Lucyi" said
WIN, holly.
"You shouldn't say that to me, Will,
she says, tremulousiy. Life is very
hard for some people. VIII, and father
gets discouraged; you don't know how
hard mother has worked, and now if
something is not done they must leave
the old place, and what will become of
herfr
I'VE can take care of your mother,
Lucy.a
And father? All, win, 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, fnd-thonght too
much of myself, maybe. We'll. at any
rate, Lucy, you must say Jon win mar
ry me now, or il must be al over be-
tween usi''
The girl grew white to the very lips,
she trembled. for his tone was hard and
bitter.
II must do my duty, Will / must