The Portland daily press., 1892-12-10
BY The FIRELIGHT.

1t was evening. from where the sun
had set rose red glow melting softly
into the cold, blue gray sky. The sky
tint, but colder, bluer, harder in tone,
was repeated in the line of mountains
stretching away to the south. Among
the shifting heaps Of faRen 1eagss shone
CLEANS of color, but the moss had turned
to brown, and in the cold, windy even
ing the lately denuded trees seemed to
shiver.
A woman came out of pasture with
@ pail of milk in her hand. A slight
wisp of creature, her cotton gown
hung Imply about her thin form. She
covered as Che wind struck her and
coughed painfully, yet she fingered. She
was too much child of nature to ex-
plain how the autumn days made her
feel both forlorn and expectant, and yet
was perhaps the more affected by the
moods of the great mother not attempt
ing to translate them into human needs.
The clatter of hoofs made her turn
slowly. One glance and her heart gave
leap, sending the warm color to her
cheek. By the time the horseman had
reached her the color was gone.
"Good evening. Does Uncle Billy
Grimes live here?"
ssYes, sir"
ssDo you suppose he would be willing
to put me up tonight"
II reckon. Light an I'll take your
nag"
The gentleman hesitated as if his gal
iantry would not permit him to allow
woman to put up his horse, but, seeming
to think better of it, thanked her, and
taking his saddlebags, turned toward
the house.
At the door he was met by an old
woman, who, learning his wish, cordial
ly made him welcome, offering him
seat by the side of the hearth, on which
a great fire was burning. He tilted back
on the short legged chair with the feel
ing of warmth and well being which
follow long, cold ride, and soon found
himself gently slipping into the mood
he had been trying all day to cultivate.
This had been his home, and after half
a lifetime spent away he had returned to
the land Of his childhood only to find
the Carolina mountains less grand than
others he had seen, and the simple life
of the people, which in moments of SEN
timent he had remembered as idyllic,
rough, uncouth and cherries. He was
too far removed from their life for SYM
pathy, too close to feel the picturesque
interest and pleasure of real stranger.
These people were more or less nearly
related to him, yet they seemed another
race of beings.
He had left his mountain home a mere
boy and had gone west, where new
life opened for him. Something in his
nature always made him reject what
was coarse and vulgar, and when he be-
came suddenly rich his native gentleness
and simplicity of manner stood him in
stead of breeding and education, dis
arrning criticism, till, with the quick
perception and initiative faculty which
were his birthright, he had largely re-
paired the deficiencies of his early train
ing, acquiring much of the manner and
tone Of people of culture. Now he had
come back and was stranger in his
own land.
But the bright freight dancing on the
wall illumined the rough interior Of the
farmhouse kitchen, and he began to feel
less remote, less offended by the mean
ness of his surroundings. Memories of
his childhood rose before him as he
watched the young woman in her prep
arations for supper. She had mixed up
the corn bread, and now knelt ON the
floor beside the hearth molding it into
loaves and putting them into a large iron
skillet. The freight flashed on the tin
pan. gave a ruddy glow to her thin face,
and turned her dull, yellowish hair to
red gold. AS the stranger watched her
something rose in his throat.
'Nancyr'
She turned suddenly.
ssChrisr'
II did not know you at first"
81 reckon I've changed" she said
sadly.
ssNot so much. It was rather dark.
1t takes the freight to make you look
natural. But how came you hereF'
. ssUncle Billy married my aunt, an
she wanted somebody ter help her, an
hadn't no home"
ssNot married?''
"No." She picked up her pan and left
the room.
ssIt cannot be she has waited all these
years for me-" he thought. "Of course
not; such constancy is not to be found
among women of her sort. How faded
she is! These mountain folks, particu-
larly the women, grow old early. Poor
thing! l suppose she has had to work
hard, and she never was very strong.
Why, she can't be much older than Lois
Ellison" He shuddered at the con-
trast. Miss Ellison was his partners
sister. They were the best of friends.
He had proposed to her annually for the
last five years, and yet they still re-
manned friends. She treated him kindly
and without coquetry and pleaded a
prior attachment. As the other man
was dead Chris waited and hoped.
Sometimes he had been tempted to
doubt her reason for refusing him, but
it only gave him pain, and he had al
ways made it a rule never to doubt a