Lawrence democrat. (Lawrenceburg, Tenn.) 1884-1925, 1893-12-08
HE NEVER CAME.
Miss Graces Years of Weary Wait
ing Were in Vain. -

ing Were In Vain.
Miss Grace Farnham was carefully
tending the finest rosebush in her
pretty Old World garden. Click, click,
click, clipl went her brightsc with
even monotony as she robbed the poor
bush of half its treasure and ruthlessly
deprived it of quantities of leaves and
small unnecessary twigs.
Miss Grace had been fresh, pretty
country girl once, the darling of her
mothers heart and the belle and pride
of the whole village, but that was very
many years ago, before the brown eyes
which had wrought such havoc in
their time--had grown faded and dim
and were hidden away behind a. great
pair of spectacles; before the rounded
cheeks had become sunken and
wrinkled; before the sunny chestnut
hair had demoralized into six fat little
gray curls-- three on each side of the
face--and before the pretty red-lipped
mouth had ceased to laugh mischiev-
ously and disclose the even white teeth
and those enchanting dimples for which
she was famed.
Miss Grace never laughed now; some
times a vague, patient smile would fit
across her plain, worn old face, lending
it pathetic beauty which it would
otherwise assuredly have lacked.
There is always something beautiful
about an old face, no matter how
homely it may be, and it was this pa
tieut smile alone which saved Miss
Grace from being utterly condemned
by the critical little world in which
she lived as a remarkably ugly old
maid.
Her elder sister, Miss Farnham, was a
small, shriveled, perky little body, who
had never been pretty, or in the least
degree admired, and who did not
cherish the memory of even one love
story of her own. No; Stella had al
ways been absolutely practical, and
far above such foolish sentiment as
love, and on this she prided herself not
little.
She had been an excellent and abso-
lutely du tiful daughter to her mother,
and had striven to be good, careful
sister to Miss Grace, and if she had a
temper of her own and sharp tongue
she was like the proverbial dog, who,
we are taught to believe, is more to be
feared for his voice than for his teeth
And Miss trace sn ipped and tweaked
at her rosebush, bounced upon unsus-
pecting caterpillars and lent rather
inattentive ear to her sisters incessant
chat, the while being dreamily occu-
pied by thoughts of her own.
Miss Farnham was not idle while she
talked; her nimble fingers were busily
working at huge length of coarse cal
leo. She was always to be seen sewing
calico, with what end in view not even
the wisest gossip in the village could
disclose, but it was shrewdly supposed
that the mysterious lengths of the
stuff were converted into sheets and
sent up to London to some charitable
institution.
STELLA" said Miss Grace, meditative-
ly, as she tenderly clipped off full
blown rose and half-unconsciously in
terrupted her sister in the midst of a
grave harangue as to the best and
swiftest method of Kidding garden of
slugs; "Stella, have waited patiently
iorvery many years "@a
Hush, Gracew whispered Miss Farm
ham, reprovingly; suppose some one
in the neighboying garden should hear
you. should feel greatly ashamed"
There is no one in the next garden, -
answered Miss Grace, mildly; mo one
Ut all; but will not mention the mat
Ter again If you would prefer me not
to, although 1T is a great relief to me
to speak out all that is in my heart to
some one who can sympathize with
me-"
Grace, Grace!" and Miss Farnham
laid her work down in her lap for one
brief moment and regarded her sister
with stern displeasure; 1--WE are both
too old TO trouble ourselves about such
matters 1t is not as if you were a
silly, Eighty, lovesick girl; but" with
cruel truth, we are couple of plain,
elderly women, you and J. and as such
should be thinking of higher things
than the petty troubles and disap-
pointments of the world | tell you
once more, for the 9oOth time, that
Oliver Deane viii never come now
never! Why, you are-let me see
how old are you, Grace?"
Never mind, Miss Grace snapped, in
manner entirely foreign to her gentle
nature. Then she turned and faced Miss
Farnham suddenly, with a flush on her
old withered face and strange, unnat.
ural light in her eyes ut was on a
day like this, Stella--a warm, glorious
summer day-and we were standing to-
gether under the line trees, Oliver and
], and he was bidding me farewell--a
long, long farewell-and he took my
hands in his and held them firmly, aud
smiled down into my face with his
kind, true eyes, saying
e'Yes, Oracle, yes, interrupted Miss
Farnham, more kindly than was her
wont. Yes, dear, you have told me
what he SAID. =
oh. how well she knew that old storg
1.-The poor little story which Miss Grace
had worn threadbare by almost con
slant repetition, and, worse than all
else, how well practical Miss Farnham
knew that all the romance founded on
that story had been sad mistake, SO
ar as Oliver Deane was concerned,