Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1892-04-22
LAPORTE, Pa FRIDAY, APRIL %, 1892.

green; yet ner 1alf nalr-Wn1ch the WlnQ
and rain have rutfied and made to look
like halo about her meek, small face
painful curve of her lips, and her slightly
flushed cheeks, render her appearance
not altogether unpleasing.
She eats her simple tea quickly, glanc-
ing from time to time at a book which
she has propped up against the milk jug
"a book Mr.. Stanford mentioned Incl
dentally one day, and which she has OBJ
tanned from the village library.
The next morning Miss Ruth gets a
letter. She knows the handwriting upon
the envelope before she opens it.
Parish matters, of course" she says
to herself. Perhaps it's about the
school treat"
She opens the envelope, unfolds the
note within and is reading it slowly,
when suddenly she utters low cry, her
breath comes fast and the familiar world
about her grows in moment strange and
unreal.
For it is love letter. She is thirty
three, and this is her very first.
And from such a man-the man whom
she has looked up to and reverenced and
followed so humbly aud modestly ever
since she first saw him! She goes down
to breakfast with flushed face, quiver-
ing lips and radiant eyes.
''Miss Cornelia's just on the ramp
this morning, miss, says the little maid
warningly, as she meets Ruth in the mar.
row passage that does duty for a hall.
Miss Ruth mods and smiles as if this
were the pleasantest intelligent possible.
Corneia's datribcs this morning fall up
on needless ears.
dear, and "No, DEAR" and 81 will see
to it, sister," as in duty bound; but her
heart and soul are filled with one thought
thar wonderful letter.
After breakfast, Miss Cornelia goes out
to visit her district. Then Miss Ruth
takes up her pen and writes trembhngly
out of the fulness of her heart:
DEAR Mr.. TANFoRD-Your letter has
surprised me very much. | scarcely know
what to say, except that | am most grateful
to you. 1t is so good of you to love me as
you say you do, and love has always seemed
such a beautiful thing TO me- though never
thought that it was likely to come to either
l. y.
| to have had your letter, and shall always be
SO, even if you change your mind, for, in
deed, am not worthy of all the good things
you say of me. Still, whatever happens,
shall always feel happy to know that You
once thought as you have written. And
beg you will think the matter over well.
Though it seems impertinent OF me to advise
you, yet think only of your good. And
am always your faithful friend.
RUTH BLAKE
She reads the letter over several times,
and then shakes her head.
"How poorly l have said itP' she
thinks. ''But he is sokind; he will un-
derstand that mean we'll"
The curate, when he receives the gen
tie, humble cpistle, is filed with dismay.
He PAGES wildly up and down his small
sitting room.
"Somebody has played a cruel, heart
less trick upon that poor little woman,
and l have to face her and tell her so. l
would rather be shot"
He drinks his sealding tea in great
gulps, and is glad of the pain it causes
him.
"But what am l to do? Go and tell
woman--a kind, gentle, little lady
coarsely and brutality to her face, that
she has been played with and insulted
that never dreamed of loving her;
that it is impossible for me to do so?
Oh, cruel and cowardly! How can
strike gentlewoman, or indeed any
woman, such blow as that?"
He rests his head upon his hands and
groans.
After while he reads,the letter over
again slowly He reads between the
lines and seems to see soul laid bare
before him, and he realizes how much
that means to her. What new flood of
light has been poured suddenly upon
that sad, unseltish life!
And there is no help for either of
them. He must do itl Well, then, let
it be done at once.
Mechanically he takes his hat down
from its peg and goes out into the street,
walking with his head bent down, see
ing nothing, hearing nothing until he is
close to the little green gate; then a
child's clear, high voice reaches his ear.
"My g'annie made it," she says.
"Ain't it pitty?"
''It's beautiful DOLL" gentle voice
answers. SIS it good baby?"
"Welly dood," the child says, tucking
the rag doll under one chubby arm.
'Dive me wose, please"
Miss Ruth plucks one of the few re-
naming June roses, one of the prettiest,
aud puts it into the little outstretched
hand.
As she turns to look after the child
Miss Ruth sees him and pauses shyly.
Something has to be said, so he comes
forward.
"What lovely eveninga" he exclaims,
though he scarcely knows whether it
rains or whether the sun shines.
eyes," she answers. "Won't you
were you-will you come in2''
He follows her into the house with an
intense longing ior something, however
dreadful, to happen to him, and save
him from what is to follow.
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