Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1892-06-01

turned on his heel and walked quick
ly up the road, in a white heat of
rage, out of Lucy's life.
Lucy wiped the tears furtively
away as the carriages turned in the
gate of the little cemetery. This
death, releasing her father from the
bondage of pain and silence, was
not so sad as his death in life had
been. For him she could only give
thanks that he had won his release.
When the simple Offices had been
performed, and the grave was being
filled in, the company dispersed
about the little enclosure, for most
of them had graves to visit. Lucy
put some of the flowers she had
brought on her mothers grave, by
which her father had been placed,
and then sat and patiently waited
till all was done.
The stranger by the well watched
the little procession wind slowly out
of sight, then he mounted his horse
and took the road to the village no.
tel.
"You are very quiet here" he said
to the man in the bar.
Eyes, most everybody's gone to
old Mr.. Harker's funeral"
"Mr. Harker!--you don't mean
old Tom Harker, do you?"
"Yes, that's the man; been para
lized these two years back
did he keep on the old place?
| used to live here nearly twenty
years ago" he explained.
THAT so! Well, you might say
Miss Lucy kept it on. Shed just
left the seminary when | come here,
and Lord, how that girl did work!
Jest took holt an managed every
thin herself, put her brains into it,
an made it pay. | guess the Har-
ker's is well fixed to-day
as the old lady alive?'
mo, she died five years ago
"And Miss Harker, you say, man
aged the farm as girl"
81 don't know bout managed.
She run it. She and the old man
did the ploughin' and every mortal
thing at was done, an saved an
scrimped, an paid off the morgidge
bout six years ago; an after that it
was leetle might easier fer Lucy
till the old man was took down.
And to-day they're buryin' him. he
added, with "A sense of the fitness of
the climax.
I'm going to look about bit.
| shall be back to supper and stay
here tonight. Have my horse put
up will you?" said the stranger.
The guests were gone and Lucy
was left in her solitude. The roses
which grew in profusion around the
sides of the low gray stone house
exhaled a delightful fragrance, the
air had been sultry all day, but now
soft breeze had sprung up, stirring
the foliage of the trees with a gentle
rustic. The cows were being MIXED
in the yard. Old John, the hired
man, was slow, and Lucy waited to
strain the milk. At last it was all
done, the shallow pans of foamy
sweetness were deposited on the
white-scoured table in the dairy
house, and Lucy took up her broad
hat.
"You'll be on the porch, John, |
suppose; I'm going to carry these
spoons up to Mrs. Smiths"
"Ay, I'll bide here and smoke
said the old man.
How delightful it was to be walk
ing on the velvety border of the
road, free to breathe, as she had not
been for months, the pure air of the
evening. The frogs were croaking
in the brook, and crickets chirping
in the grass, and the air was filled
with the sound of insect life, and
with sweet odors from far-lying
fields.
She walked slowly on. Her path
tonight was an unusual one to her,
for it lay past Sewall's Gap, and she
had not passed it|before, till this af-
ternoon, for several years.
Eighteen years of silence, of saw
agely hard work, of constant self-re-
preston, had changed Lucy Harker.
she was not a slim, sweet girl Of
eighteen, quiyering at word of
Of praise orblame -agraceful, pretty