Connecticut western news., 1893-02-23
BY THE FIRELIGHT.

It 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 fallen leaves shone gleams 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 a pasture with 2 pail of milk in her hand. A slight wisp of creature, her cotton gown hung Imply about her thin form. She covered as the wind struck her and coughed painfully, yet she fingered. She was too much chi4d 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 chatter 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 hereY'
 tYes, sir."
 '.Do you suppose he would be willing to put me up tonightY
 'sI reckon. Light an I'll take your nag"
 The gentleman hesitated as if his gal lantry 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 we'll 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 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
 
 timent he had remembered as idyllic, rough, uncouth and cheerless. He was too far removed from their life for sym pathy, too close to feel the picturesque interest and pleasure of a 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 mere boy and had gone west, where a 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 arming 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 large iron skillet. The freight flashed on the tin pan. gave 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.
 'fChrist'
 II did not know you at first"
 "I reckon I've changed" she said sadly.
 "Not so much. It was rather dark. It takes the firelight to make you look natural. But how came you hereP"
 "Uncle Billy married my aunt, an she wanted somebody ter help her, an 1 hadn't no home."
 "Not married?'
 "No." She picked up her pan and left the room.
 ''It 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- mained 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 rule never to doubt a lady's word. Circumstances had now Snd then obliged him to be false in this principle, but he had lived up to it when he could. His romantic fancy was touched by the constancy of the fair, cultivated woman of the world, but in this mountain girl such a sentiment seemed painfully incongruous. He knew too we'll that the position of an old maid here was one neither of honor nor profit. Uncle Billy came in and greeted Chris with warmth, and they sat down to sup per.
 ''So yon've come back ter yer old home," began Uncle Billy. sWher's