The morning call., 1892-10-25
A RURAL TRAGEDY.

"Pretty Mary Barton" she was known
and called all through the nelghDornoou,
and never did she deserve the name ihore
than she aid this evening, as she STOOD lean
mo against the big locust tree ia
the harvard. the sleeves OF her
mink calico dress rolled up ABOVE
her dimpled elbows, and her sun, bonnet
swinging by its strings from hel hech' leHf-
ing the dark, silky hair TO curl In littie' VINE
ike teudrils around the low brow anu aUOte
the laughing blue eyes. And VINO couIu
blame John Porter, If he was only nei
totber's hired hand, for seeing and covetlng
oil This beauty. as he stood. in his hulklng'
edward way. looking at her from uhueI
his shaggy eyebrows. .,,r
81 tell you no, John" she was saying,
pattisblv. And how many times shali
tell YOU no? don't love you'll won't marry
voui Yoa torment me to death, ana IL
YOU don't stop it l am going to tel 1ather'
and YOU know he will turn you on.
All, Mary, better had that !ittle tone9s
been stricken dumb before those words
passed your lips. You are but chlld, ana
cannot understand the deep passion that
makes the strong, young frame OF the man
before you shake as with ague. fause,
little girl before it Is too late! But sac ala
not see the fire under the heavy lasnes'
fierce nature, but runs on pteously.
"Don't stand there looking at me. but 90
on with your work. just about hate you.
John Porter, and | shan't ever come out IL
the barnyard again while you are here
And she turns away In careless scorn and
with burning cheeks, and runs into the
mouse only 10 throw herself into the Dig
rocking chair and weep pettish, childish
tears that she had TO be worried so. :"
Never mind. Kitten" said the farmer,
who had lust come from the barn, and see
ing tho two together guesses at the trouble.
"John POrteT's month Is up this very day,
and tonight | will pay him his wages and
lei him 60. lie is a good enough hand if he
does drink occasionally, but be shan't make
you so miserable"
So Marys tears are dried, and that night
after the chores are done, and John comes
In from the barn. the farmer tells MIN
quietly but firmly. that after to-day he VIII
not need his services, and from his worn,
old pOcket-bOOk counts out tie money due
him. he receives ii quietly, without dis
senting word, only saying. In voice that
does not betray the hell that is raging IN
his heart:
az suppose you are willing that l should
stay over tomorrow. which is Sunday?
You know, Mr.. Barton, that | can easily
find place in the harvest field Monday"
"0f course, of cOurre," says the good,
easy farmer, you are welcome to stay until
you can ind place.
Long. long after the rest Of the quiet
household was buried in slumber, John
Porter still sits Ia the shadow OF the locust
trees in front of the house, mis- wide straw
hat pulled down over his burning, sleepless
eyes, aDd his hands clenched in an agony of
furious despair.
How well Ii is we cannot know the futurel
Would Mary'S slumbeTs be as sound and
sweet if she knew what the morrow would
bring forth? And would not the old man
and woman watch sleepless and fearful
above the couch Of their one eve lamb, in
stead of dreaming so quietly in their room
below?
All that next day John Porter keeps
closely to the house, saying very little to
any one and not word to Mary, but never
letting his eyes leave her, as she goes sing
Ing IN and out OF the house in unconscious
happiness lie is but sulky fellow at his
best, so very little notice is given to his
moods.
Late in the afternoon. Mary comes trip
ping downstairs and announces her inten-
ton to go and see her cousin, a girl OF her
own age, who lives scarcely a mile away.
She looks prettieT than ever 10 her new
calico and white apron, with the coquettiSh,
wide-brimmed straw hat perched on the
dark curls. She has made the trip SO often
IN safety that no objections are made, so
she walks lightly away, pausing at the big
Tosebush al the gate to pin some of the pink
buds In her hair and at her throat.
A little later John comes in to ask the
loan OF the farmers shotgun TO shoot a
squirrel for neghbor who is sick The
farmer thinks his rife would be best, but
John insists on the shotgun, and no OBJ
lection being made. sulks away with it on
his shoulder into the deep woods beyond
the house.
And the farmer and his wife sit and nod
In their easy-chairs until they are aroused
by The heavy report of the gun twice In sue
cesSi0D.
Il guess John has got his squirrel" says
the farmer, then rising and filing his pipe I;
''and / guess he'll stay at Miller's all night,
for it's good long walk. Did Mary intend
to stay all night with LiZZie?"
"She did not say, says the mother, ''but
II wont hurt for you to walk down as far as
the big elm tree to meet her. father She
may come home, and IL is getting dark In the
woods. l believe I'll 60 along, for I'm tired
sitting around"
The walk is quite a pleasant one, but
after waiting half an hour at the big tree
they conclude that Mary will stay all night
and so slowly walk back again, unconscious
that II they had gone hundred feet fur.
Their they would have found their daughter
Later, when the moon has risen, and i:
shining sereDely into the depths of the
forest, neigh Dor, passing and stopping to
water his horses. tells how little way back
ne saw man and woman lying in the road,
Dhb tBc1 must nave DetU z, ne Thinks,
Tor he called to them and they did not an-
swer. so little suspicion has this quiet
nelghborh0od that murder could be CON-
mitted within its limits.
But the mothers fears are aroused, and
without betraying them to her husband she
runs swiftly down the road past the big elm
tree to the spot indicated, and then hel
tIeDZied screams soon bring the rest, fol
there she finds her daughter-the sweet
lfeless face buried In the dust CT the road
he red blood flowing from her breast and
the heavy shotgun lying across her neck
while close beside her lies the murderer
with bullet through his brain.
They can only guess the rest. Behind Q
large stump by the roadside they find Johr
PoTters hat and the print of his knee.
where he knelt and awaited his victim, hC
came singing. perhaps, TO her doom. Their
to make sure that his work was well done b,
walked to her side and sent the remainin,
charge through his own half-crazed brain.
Friends, my story is done. If it has NJ
a M En- . l..