The Logan County banner. [volume] (Logan, W. Va.) 1889-1903, 1892-05-12

AIucu Oh m1D14L MNYU4, McAs - ny
rate. Lucy. you must say you Will mar.
~ mo now, Or II must b al over BE-
tween usi
The girl grew white % the very lips.
she trembled, for his tone was hard and
bitter.
II must do my duty. Will / must
stay BY my father and mother III their
need she answered, quietly enough.
30 quietly that VIII, who did not look
in her face for very anger, was de-
ccivcd by her tone.
stGood-by forever" he said; I'm not
80 sure that this self sacrifice Of yours
isn't mask for coquetry--if 50, you've
mistaken your maDr' he turned ON his
heel and walked quickly up the road,
in white heat Of rage, out Of Lucy's
life.
Lucy wiped tho tears fnrtively away
as tho carriages turned in at tho gate
Of the little cemetery. This death, re-
leasing 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 per-
formed, and the grave was being filed
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 moth
er's grave, by which her father had
been placed, and then she sat and pa
ticntfy waited till all was done.
Tho stranger by tho well watched
the little procession wind slowly out
OF sight then he mounted his horse
and took the road to the village hotel
aYou are very quiet here, he said TO
the man in the bar.
"yes, most everybody's gone to old
Mr.. Harlxer's funeral"
"Mr. Harker! You don't mean old
Tom Harker, do you?"
Eyes, that's the man; been paralyzed
these two years back" =
ibid he keep on the old place? I
used to live here nearly twenty years
ago." he explained.
'.That sol Well, you might say Miss
Lucy kept II on. She'd just left the
seminary when come here, and Lord,
how that girl did work. Jest took holt
an managed everythin' herself, put
her brains into 1t an made it pay. /
guess the Harkers is well fixed to-
| day"
as the old lady alive?"
o, She died i've years ago. !"
.And Miss Harker, you say, man.
aged the farm as girl?"
II don't know bout managed. She
| run 1t. She and the old man did the
plowin' and every mortal thing at
was done, an saved an scrimped, an
paid off tho morgidge bout six years
| ago; an after that it was leetle mite
easier fer Lucy till the old man was
took down. And to-day they're bury
| in him." he added, with sense of the
fitness of the climax.
I'm going to look about a 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 de.
lightful fragrance. The air had been
sultry all day, but now soft breeze
had sprung up, stirring che foliage Of
the trees with gentle rustic. The
cows were being MIXED in the yard.
Old John, the hired man, was slow, and
Lucy waited to strain the milk Al
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, sup.
pose; 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 walking
on the velvety border Of the road, free
to breathe, as she had not been fol
months, the pure air OF the evening.
The frogs were croaking in the brook
the crickets chirping in the grass, and
the air was filled with the sound of in,
sect life, and with sweet odors from the
far-lying fields
She walked slowly on. Her path To-
night was an unusual one to her, for il
lay past Sewall's gap, and she had moi
passed it before, till this afternoon, fol
several years.
Eighteen years Of silence, of savage
ly hard work, of constant self-repres
sion, had changed Lucy Harlser; she
was not slim, sweet girl of eighteen,
quivering at a word Of praise or blame
"a graceful, pretty girl, with wild
rose face and small white hands; she
| was quiet, self-reliant woman oil
thirty-six, with hands made bony and
gaunt by the hardest of labor, and a
form prematurely bent and aged.
Her sparse gray hair was strained back
from face that wasNsweet in expires
sion and outline, though sallow and
attenuated.s She had dived deep into
the crucible of sorrow, so deep-fol
hers was a steadfast nature--that she
had neither hopes nor fears, she never
couid-come what might-suffer as She
had suffered; it seemed as though she
had died, and, though in the world, was
| yet not of it. And yet the thou ght o.
that other self SO far removed-for she
felt as though she was an old, old WON
an-had moved her to tears. All, here
was the well again.
As she came up, the stranger ap
peared at the other side of the gap,
coming. leisurely toward her. A fine
looking man of forty-athletic, we'll
groomed, well-clad, well-bred. Some
city man, she.thought-but what caused
her heart to beat as he quickened hi.
pace?' The next minute he had reached
her, and was holding out his hand, ano
she knew why.
"Lucyi'
"Willr'
That was all. For moment Lucy
lived in the past, then she. -shivered
slightly and drew herself up-this man
with his well-cnt clothes and self-pos-
sessed air was not the fiery dominat-
ing youth in jeans that she remem.
bered.