The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1892-12-31
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CHAPTER X.
DEAD OR ALIVE!
Ghostly fell the snow,


about the devoted form of Edna Deane
that wild, tempestuous night, when the
poor child OF destiny had sunk ex-
hausted and despairing at the very
threshold of safety.
The siren-hearted Beatrice Mercer
had sped to sunshine luxury and gold
with no thought of the real fate of the
girl whose name she had assumed
whose LOYAL lover she had determined tC
win.
More merciful than she, the soft snow
had drifted gently over the inanimate
wanderer. striving to shut out from the
rigor of storm and tempest the frail
form that had succumbed to the chill OF
winter like tender lily.
Upon that same eventful night another
figure braved the storm, and, breastlng
its fierceness. took his way along the
same road, down which Edna Deane' s
dumb guide had SO nearly led her to
shelter.
A night to get housed. I pity the
homeless or belated," breathed hearty,
putting John Blake, as he struggled
through the deep drifts. All. nearly
home. There's the dear old wife wait
ing to welcome me with warm sup
per, I'll warrant.
Farmer John neared the unpreten
tiouS cottage that reSembled a Lapland-
er's hut, with its caves hung deep with
snow festoons. A doleful neigh from
the wagon shed aroused his humane
heart, however, to turn from his path.
He found there the exhausted animal
that had led Edna hither, bestowed the
wandering brute in It's stall, and started
again for the house.
do ,fo mt he
bluff, great-hearted old fellow, as he
made up huge SNOWFALL and sent it six
feet away dashng against the door OF
the cottage.
It opened An eager, motherly face
showed in the lamplight.
Dear, dear. Is it you, John? I've
been SO worried. Always a boy, throw
ing snowballs and singing out like pi-
rate Will you never mend:"
Never while this jolly snow reminds
me of our schoolday sleighrdes, and
your pretty, blooming face. you dear old
girl" retorted happy John. Come,
throw me a broom to beat a path, SO
won't be dragging the snow all over that
rag carpet you think more of than you
do OF me.
Did you ever"
Been lonesome?" sang out John, in
dustriOusly sweeping path TO the door.
Terrible! Did you just come, john"
Did / just come? You wager haven I
been prOmenading around for fun, with
snow chuck two feet down my neck, and
that nice warm supper on the tablet"
Because l thought l heard some one
cry out bit ago
Pigeons, maybe.
"No. 1t was human cry for help.
"Pshawi Fancies. The wind toots
like an engine whistle -night-lawsy
me-"
Farmer John uttered a sharp cry,
stumbled, recoiled. The broom fell
from his hand, and there he stood star
ing blankly down at the ground at his
fee.
What now, john" calculated his
wife, peering, too.
Something in tn path. Bag of oats
"a sheep-noi Jane, look!
He had leaned over to examine the
object at his feet.
His great, soulful eyes glowed like
two stars.
Into view he had dragged human
hand, limp and nerveless.
A soggy dress-sleeve followed and
then terrible cry rang from his wife S
lips.
Out into the snow she dashed. Down
beside the inanimate form, disenshroud-
ed from its snowy mound, she knclt.
John john" she walled, peering in
to the white, cold face of the insensible
Edna Deane-"it's a woman-a young
girl Oh, John, look at the bonny face,
and the quick tears rained down in wild,
motherly pity. oh, John. dead or alive
-Mhich2"