Waterbury evening Democrat., 1892-02-22

the men who were patiently drawn up in Indian file, she made that simple act a medium of privileged but limited con- versatiOn on special or general topics s- gay or serious as the case might be- or the temperament of the man sug- gested. That it was almost always of complimentary character on their part, may be readily imagined; but it was invariably characterized by an ele ment of refined restraint, and, whether from some implied understanding or in dividual sense of honor-it never passed the bounds of conventionality or a cer- tain delicacy of respect. The delivery was, consequently, more or less pro- tracted, but when each man had ex- changed his three or four minutes con- versation with the fair postmistress-a conversation at times impeded by bash fitness or timidity, on his part solely, or restricted often to vague smiling-he resignedly made way for the next. It was formal levee, mitigated by the in- formality of rustic tact, great good humor and infinite patience, and would have been amusing had it not always been terribly in earnest and at dimes touching. For it was peculiar to the place and the epoch, and, indeed, i'm piled the whole history of Mrs. Baker.
 She was the wife of John Baker, foreman of 'The Last Chance" now for a year lying dead under half a mile of crushed and beaten-in tunnel at Burnt Ridge. There had been a sud den outcry from the depths at high, hot noontide one day, and John had rushed from his cabin, his young, foolish, flirting wife clinging to him, to answer that despairing cry. But she rose suddenly with pale face and said: ''Go, John; will wait for you here" He went; the men were freed but she had waited for him ever since.
 Yet in the shock of the calamity and in the after struggles of that poverty which had come to the ruined camp she had scarcely changed. But the men had. Although she was to all appearances the same giddy, pretty Betsy Baker who had been so disturb ing to the younger members, they seemed no longer to be disturbed by her. A certain subdued awe and re- spect, as if the martyred spirit of John Baker still held his arm around her, seemed to have come upon them all.
 
 woman, whose brief mourning had not seemed to affect her cheerfulness or even playfulness of spirit, passed be- fore them. But she stood by her cabin and the camp-the only woman in a settlement of forty men-during the darkest hours of their fortune, help ing them to wash and cook and min istering to their domestic needs. The -2 .. M. a1 ways kept as inviolable as if it had been his tomb. No one exactly knew why, for it was only tacit instinct; but even one or two who had not scrupled to pay court to Betsy Baker during John Bakers life shrank from even suggestion of familiarity toward the woman who had said that she would ''wait for him there"
 When brighter days came and the settlement had increased by one or two families and laggard capital had been hurried up to relieve the still be- leaguered and locked-up wealth of Burnt Ridge, the needs of the com munity and the claims of the widow of John Baker were so well told in politi- cal quarters that the post office of Laurel Run was created expressly for her. Every man participated in the building of the pretty yet substantial edifce-the only public building in Laurel Run-that stood in the dust of the great highway, half a mile from the settlement. There she was in- stalled for certain hours of the day, for she could not be prevailed upon to abandon Johns cabin, and here, with all the added respect due to public functionary, she was as secure in her privacy.