Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1892-02-19

had lost Madeline fOreve, that was clear:
indeed ! had never had ANY hone or chance
of gaining her; but tie dead, cold certainty
of my loss was uncomfortable. Ii ] was to live
on | must exercise all the powers OF my
manhood. and endeavOr TO forget what had
been at the best, only foolish dream. So
long as | remained in the neignborho0d,
haunted by so many sweet memories and
troubIous associations, foTgetfulness was of
course impossible.
The evening before the day fixed for my
departure, the gloom in the little cottage was
greater than ever. All our hearts were Iuil.
Although / was only going away little dis
lance. and although | had promised to revisit
my old home whenever an opportunity OF
fered, it seemed like parting with the old life
forever. Ever since l was boy, had
dwelt there, with those good people. who
had stood TO Ire in the place of father and
mother; my little world had been st. Cur
lofts, my only home that humble cottage;
and | should have been made of hard stuff
indeed, if | had failed to feel the parting.
We sat together round the fire. | tried to
assume a cheerful Tone and talked hopeful
ly OF the future; but it was no use. Eager
as was to get away, [ was no voluntary
exile. Where had lived so long, | would
have chosen to have lived and died
My aunt, who was buSliy knitting some
stockings to form part of my wardrobe. list
ened 10 my DOld talk, ana dOiefuuy SHOOK
her head.
Its well to ha' light heart" she said,
land It's easy when one is young. But they
tell me GWendOvey be IawneSOme place"
Not bit of it, l answered, laughing.
Not half so lonesome as st. GurlOtt's.'
~ 81 far tiC haH a.
the sae'
At this l laughed again.
"Why, tits only seventy miles away as the
crow flies! A man might gallOp it on good
horse i'll few short hours Then, as to the
mine itself! It's different to being under
ground, and, what's worse, under salt water.
It's open to the sky, and cheerful as sunshine
isn't it, uncle?"
My uncle, who occupied his usual place by
the ingle, looked found vacantly, and nod
ded
''Iss, lad, that be truep'
Sunshine, did zee say?'' said my aunt
''There'll be nav sunshine for me or father,
when our lad be gone. [ dawn't knaw what
father will do with hiSSen, when yOu'm gone.
You ha' been his right hand ever sin you
was but child; and now he be breaking
like, he'll miss thee more and more. But
dawn't blame zee, lad! YOu'm right to seek
your fortin'; and this be poor place, Lord
knows, for bold lad like youp'
Hugh will come back. MOTHER" cried An
ME, who stood behind her fathers chair
Gle is only going for awhile"
"Of course" | exclaimed. Cor better still
shall make my fortune, as you say, and you
will come over and live with me'
TOO late for that" returned my aunt
1--WE be avid folk nav, and our time be nigh
come When he comes back, It will likely
be to our buryin'."
Nonsense, amtW
Il could ha' died content, Hugh, if / had
seen zee happy man, Wi childer at your
knee" she said, glancing at Annie, and re-
membering the old plans-which had fallen
long before, like house of cards.
II shall never marry" l replied, darken-
ing in spite of myself.
There was a long silence. My aunt's words
had struck a painful chord, and we were all
more or less uneasy. To break the spell of
gloomy thought, | rose and gazed from the
window. 1t was a fine night, with full
moon.
1--WE shall have fine weather. | said.
''The wind has gone up into the north"
AS | spoke, the kitchen door opened, and
John Rudd entered, hat in hand He greet
ed us all round, and at my aunt'S request
took seat by the fire. After smiling silent
ly for some minutes, he felt in his pockets,
and produced some of his usual presents,
brought that day from Falmouth.
Gavin away tomorrow Measter iIugh?'
he asked presently.
Yes, John. [ start after breakfast"
Dear, dear! A-harSeback, MeaSter
Hugh?"
mo; am going to tramp it right across
the moor. [ shall take it easy, you know;
divide the journey into two days, and sleep
one night on the way"
1T be a midd!in' long walk, measter. Folk
tell me there be shaw out on the moor. |
wish zee were going my way, I'd gle thee a
lift. and welcome"
THANK you, john / said.
"Lawd, it do seem but yesterday sim you
first rode. little lad, in my avid cart. Do
you remember, Measter Hugh, how l made
a p0me about miSsis and Annie here, and
how you put 'un dawn in writing as fine as
print?'
"Of course | do, )" replied. You don't
write 50 much poetry now, JOhn?'
John Rudd's face fell He scratched his
head somewhat lugubriously.
L
mured ''but thar. PONIES be for young folk.
not for old chaps like John Rudd. How
sOmcver, it do come out o. me now and then.
like sparks fra a forge; but there be mach
on t can't repeat, and much | disremcia-
Der. 'Twere relief to my feelin's like,
Measter Hugh, when | had yOu handy to put
'un dawn!'
He added, spreading his great hands on
his knees and SINKING hiC voice 70 V,-bic-
per:
Did | ever tell zee the p0Oty p0me l made
about your sen. when they took zee for kill
ing thv ovcrsecr?"
l saw my uncle start and change color,
while the pipe that he had lit and was smok-
ing, almost dropped from his mouth.
Never mind that now, JOhn,' cried,
quickly. Talk of something else-sOme-
thing more pleasant"
''All right, Measter Hugh" returned the
poet Shall tell zee the news?'
nodded, and he continued:
Young master be coming home fro Lun
nun tomorrow wi her he to we'd
How do you know that?' [ cried, flush
ing to the temples and conscious that all
eyes were turned suddenly upon my face.
Il brought big bawx to leave up at the
house, MeaSter Hugh, and 'twere addressed
to the young missus; and when | were up in
the kitchen and taking a glass O ale wi
cook, they told me postman had brought
letter this afternoon, and that young master
We're coming home. See"'
He little knew the torture he was causing
me; but every word he uttered went through
me like knife. Again | made a device to
change the subject, and succeeded; but while
the good fellow prattled on, my mind was
full OF the news that he had brought.
Ny original determination had been to