Waterbury evening Democrat., 1892-08-13

and talked well and cleverly, rising at
times to a rude eloquence of description
| which delighted not only Mary, but also
| the rest of the company, who had grad
ually ceased their own desultory talk
and gathered near to listen.
He was led on gradually to speak of
himself and of his own adventures, and
| before he realized it was telling them
the story of the Prairie Dog mine. He
| told him of his luckless prospecting, his
| long failure and his determination to
abandon so bootless an enterprise, in
spite of the instinct which urged him
| to persistence. With quaint humor he
| described his own chagrin, and the COM
bat of the Elliputian champions of sense
and instinct, the result of which had al
| tered all his future.
Then he told them of the mishap to
his broncho, and of the strange wild
canyon to the discovery of which it had
| led him. He described the aspect of the
place, its dark pine and redwood trees,
its masses of gray rocks, its snow fed
pool, near which stood the rough slab
| hut which was once the home and the
| prison of an Outcast from humanity.
| AS we'll as he was able he made them
| see the fOrlorn habitatiOn and feel the
| solitude of the place, the awful pathetic
| loneliness of the wretched creature, suf-
fering day after day, week after week,
without a human hand to aid him,
human voice to speak a word of cheer.
| The language in which the tale was
told was rough and simple, almost pro-
fame at times, but it did not CRATE on the
| listeners, nor revolt them, as it would
have done had the theme been different.
| 1t seemed the natural setting of the
story, as the mountains, the forests and
| the mighty solitude had been the setting
of the tragedy of the outcast's life and
death.
1t was so far removed from all they
knew, from all to which they had been
accustomed, that they crowded around
him, plying him with questions, and
making much of him in their interest in
the things he told them. To their old
fashioned country simplicity he seemed
wonderful creature, a man whose life
had been filled with the stir Of large
events and the interest of strange hap
penings, and in their unworldliness they
envied him his experiences far moro
than the success which was their prac-
teal result. A past so full of adventure,
of endurance, of achievement, of life
|
treasure than mere gold.
| Then, before Anthony could grow
inflated with his victory, and self as
sertive and arrogant, and so spoil it all,
the tea bell rang and changed the cur
rent of thought and conversation.
"What do you think of him, my
dear?' Mrs. Wilmer found occasion to
whisper to Mary Beverley as they seated
themselves around the table.
HE is interesting and original" Mary
replied at once. He is a very strong
man; and he doesn't CRATE upon me
as much as 1 thought he would at first. "
He grated on her horribly before the
evening was over. When the company
reassembled in the parlor after tea, he
sought her side once more, attracted in
spite of himself and of his already wan
ing resentment. A pretty young woman
with very sweet voice had gone to the
piano, and was playing softly. The rest
were gathered near, urging her to sing,
and combating her objections, which
were couched in graceful language, but
rested on solid foundation, since he1
supper was still almost in her throat.
Mary leaned back in the corner of the
sofa, Watching the flames curl around
|
whether her little boys were in bed, an(
whether Miss COrnclia had remembered
, to make them wash their hands and face
and say their prayers properly before
l going. She usually attended to thes'
Y things herself, for Ran was still too
Q young to cope with either religion O.
4 soap unaided, and she was careful
S mother.
= | 4 =,
o eyelids; he had trick of dropping then
!, until pupil and iris were indistinguish
,, able in color OF expression.
Q Suddenly he bent forward and said tn
:, thing he should not:
: II hope you don't bear me any grudg
o for buying the old place, Mrs. Beverley
) l know the old families hold on to thei
r land like DEATH even when it isn't doin
1t them a cents worth of good and is bring
a ing them dollars in debt every year.
d know, too, that when you can't hold on
any longer and the land comes to tn
It hammer you think it's devilish har
t. case, and curse the fellow that buys
le for an interloping blackguard, an
Is would cruelty him if you could. 70
d ought not to feel that way, you know;
isn't common sense, or the way to pus
IS things and help your section"
"a Mary, thus accused by implication {
* narrowmindedness and small, COZ
temptible meanness, was naturally il
u dignant. They had extended sufficie1
70 courtesy to him, she thought, to hay
u exempted them from this indictnen
IL Turning her dark eyes full upon hin
she replied, quietly and coldly:
ia "You do not understand us at all, NJ
IS. :, Anthony, if you imagine us SO contempt
III bly, small as that We love inland
IL II. of course, and it is keen distress
III have to part with them; but we are NJ
IL so petty as to resent on an outsider VIII;
X is, after all, the result of actions
IL faults of our own. If our lands come i
An to the market, they are open to any al
on every purchaser, and your opinion of |
~ must be poor indeed if you think