The Lamar register., 1893-05-13
then her connection.
1t was difficult to mako :.
prehcnd all this at first. /

work any more, that she could study
music, poetry and art to her hearts
content, and dress as nicely as she
liked. she was childishly pleased.
| Going away and leaving auntie and
Davie was another thing, however.
II won't go! ! won't have their
old money II can't do as / like!''
But you must; there is no other
way"
1T l go i can do what l please
with my money. l suppose?"
with your guardians consent
"He must consent! You and
auntie shall not work hard any more.
II you want to stay here you must
hire everything done and take your
ease All l have is yours. Where
is the money, anyway ] want to put
it all in your own rough, good old
hands, Davie."
81 am afraid that you can do less
as you like than ever you could be-
| fore, Lille You must leave US, and
go among your fathers friends; you
must go to school, for, though I've
taught you nearly all know, you are
not accomplished, as a lady in your
position should be. And then You
must take your place in society. All,
my prairie blossom. l fear we have
! lost you foreverr'
mo, no; just wait, and you'll see.
And tell that tiresome old guardian
to give you all the money you want
to use, will you?"
David evaded her. Whether they
would have it SO or not, Lille had to
/ go. He could not take payment for
that which sweetened all his toll
some life, and, after the sad parting,
he and his mother took up the same
old struggle with new shadow and
new loneliness falling about them
Two years slowly dragged them
selves away. Not letter had come
to them from Lille, not word of
affection or remembrance. Once an
Eastern paper reached them contain
ing an account of the graduating ex-
ercises at q certain school, and men
tion was made of Miss Forrest,
whose beauty and wit had created
quite sensation: that was all.
Mrs. Elwyn's tireless energy was
failing her. All their work seemed
so unrequited. Crops failed, but in
terest-bearing notes of hand never
did. David fell Ill in the midst of
harvest; autumn was approaching.
and there would not be enough in the
barn and the bins to keep themselves
and the stock over winter. The
mortgage was likely to be foreclosed
at any time. Ruin and homelessness
seemed staring them in the face, in
stead of the comfort and ease they
| had toiled and hoped for
David, still weak. was creeping
about among the cattle one evening,
attending to their wants; the mother
sat discontentedly on the porch, the
chickens and calves still uncared for,
She felt as If she could do no more
it was of no use. She was growing
old, and was no better off than when
she first began to toll so hard. And
that girl'' had forgotten them in
her prosperity. just as she anticipated
she would. Everything was as dis
couraging as it could possibly be.
At that very moment the sky
frightened, A carriage and horses
came flying along the road; it stopped
at their gate; a beautiful creature
with shining curls and radiant eyes
sprang from it. and came so swiftly,
so softly, to her side, it was like the
gliding OF an angel.
You dear old auntie, You are
alive and well after all Why-why
haven't you written to me all this
time?"
Soft arms were about her neck, and
kisses like precious drops from
heaven were falling on faded brow
and cheek.
Lille, it's never youP" the tired
woman was weeping. You forgot
US; we never heard word from you. F"
II wrote often at first; but my let
ters at school had always to be given
to the principal do not believe one
was ever posted. My guardian is a
pompous. hard hearted man, who
wanted me to forget my old home
and friends. And he wanted me to
marry his empty-headed son. Bah!
The minute / became of age de-
manded that my property should be
placed in my own hands. l defied
them all, and came back to you.
don't like the city-it is only a NOV.
ing prison. l don't like society-it
is full of smiling prisoners, ell de-
ceiving each other. like the glori-
Gus prairies, and You and Davie.
Where is Dayie. auntie?"
He would soon be here, the soft
ened woman said. and went on to tell
their sorrowful story, while the beau
Ill i L., !