San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1892-03-29
THE STORY OF DORIS.
By MARY KYLE DALLAS.
Copyright, 1891, by American Press Associa.
tion.l


mo, 1 do not like it." he said. "Why?
Well, it seems to me you ought to know.
Say I'm prejudiced, but do not like it
for YOU" 4
They We're watering the garden to-
gether. He drew the great buckets
from the well and filled the watering
pots, and she took the little one and he
the big one and they went down the
long, brick paved paths between the
borders and the grass plots giving the
flowers a generous showering, for the
weather was dry, and roses and tiger
lilies, fox and gladiolas, coreopsis and
portulaca, swee. peas, peoples, lady slip
pers and marigolds We're all athirst.
Frank had come over specially to help
Doris. He had said to his grandmother
one afternoon, SIT seems wrong to see
woman dragging up those great buck
ets." And his grandmother had replied,
"That's right, Franklin, like to see that
spirit in a boy; help her every evening.
From that time Franklin Fairfax had
regularly jumped the dividing fence be-
tween the gardens when Doris Morton
had appeared at the kitchen door with
her watering pots, and the old lady felt
that she had commanded the perform
ance of this neighborly deed and was
quite satisfied.
Though his grandmother considered
him a boy, Franklin was quite old
enough to use his own discretion in such
matters. But this innocent little ma
neuver of his had made it easy to make
the first breach in a barrier built be-
tween the houses of Morton and Fairfax
by a neighbors' quarrel of some years
standing.
The Fairfax pigs and pigletS had once
upon time broken their bonds and got
into the Morton kitchen garden, and
Matthias Morton-Mean Morton they
called him in the village-had locked
them up and presented the Widow Fair
fax with a bill for damages. This she
had mildly and obstinately refused to
pay, and the pigs were sold and the
money went into Mean Morton's pocket.
On the day that the final deed was
done his Grandma Fairfax had said to
Franklin:
Franklin, my child, thee will not
hold any conversation with Doris Nor
ton from this time forth. Thee will
have no more to do with these people,
nor will |. Thee can see the impossi-
bility myself"
Even then Franklin had thought Doris
the sweetest little girl alive, but he was
very young and she not grown up, and
he had been wrathful with Mean Nor
ton and thought his grandmother very
badly used. He literally obeyed her
until year later. Meeting Doris in the
village streets she had spoken to him of
her own accord:
81 should like you to know that feel
that uncle was unneighborly," she said.
II want your grandma to know feel
that way. tried to drive the pigs
back, and of course l knew that it was
an accident, for your people are always
particular and careful not to do any
thing that is not right. think it was
Uncle Morton's great love for money
JlldU Iuduc Alliu w Wildb uLus 4 Ii
sorry, for he is my fathers brother, and
dear pa was so different, but he is SO
close that everything is uncomfortable.
| am sure he worried Aunt Sarah into
the lunatic asylum, where she will end
her days, suppose, and l have hard
life of it, Frank, harder than any one
knows"
As she talked, Franklin noticed how
soft her eyes were and how dark, and
what a pretty mouth she had, and yet
how tired she looked.
I'm very glad you told me how you
feel, Doris" he said. 81 never supposed
you had anything to do with what hap
pened, and have often wished to have
some of our old talks, only out of regard
to grandmothers feelings, p
81 know" said Doris, land you'll tell
her how / feel?"
That day they walked together until
the roofs of the neighboring houses were
visible, and when they parted Doris Of
fered her hand to Franklin.
Sweet little thrills ran up his arm to
his heart as he took it, and he was already
in love with the girl, though he did not
know it.
He told his grandmother what had
passed and the old Quakeress replied:
81 am glad that the child takes a
proper view of the matter. But still, it
will be best to have no more to do with
Neighbor Morton's folks. Thee will see
the wisdom of such course thyself."
Franklin was wise enough never to let
his grandmother know how often he met
Doris after that; how they walked to-
gether in the chestnut woods on Sunday
Afternoons: how he roWed her about in