The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1893-02-08
A SOUIRE'S ROMANCE.

| n OGOlllI - hOMANOL.
Hop picking was always a gala time
at Pendexter farm.
Far away the golden haze hung over
the hills like o quivering veil; the bland
air was full Of soft, subtle fragrance Of
wild grapes ripening In the woods, and
wherever dead tree or rude stone wall
afforded it vantage ground, the silvery
tangles of clematis wove lovely gar
land, and the masses of goldenrod and
purple fringed asters held up their clus-
ters Of dazzling bloom. And in the hop
| field merry voices echoed from morning
until night.
Will Pendexter, walking up and down
the aisles of silver green LEAKAGE with
his hands behind his back, might have
reminded one of Boaz in the ancient
Scripture story-princely Boaz standing
in his harvest fields and giving kind
glance and pleasant word to every one.
"Isnt he handsome?" said little Fanny
Dix to Miss Morgan, the rector's daugh-
ter. Fanny was pale little dress
maker, with an incipient cough, who
had been recommended by her doctor to
spend fortnight in the hopfelds, and
Miss Morgan, whose mother had died OF
consumption, picked hops every year on
principle, just as Judge Marier's daugh-
tiers visited Long Branch. "And all the
handsomer since he has turned grayl ]
do wonder why he never married"
Don't you known said Miss Morgan
sagely.
mo"
81 can tell you, then" said the rector's
daughter, who dearly loved q morsel of
genuine romance, Because his first
love Tilted him."
"As if any one would jilt Will PEN
dexterI" said incredulous Fanny.
"Oh, but he wasn't Squire Pendexter
then-and all this happened 20 years
ago" sverTed Miss Morgan, her flying
fingers never leaving of among the clus
tiers of pale green hops. "That was be
fore he inherited Pendexter farm. He
was only poor young farmer then, with
his own living to make, and this was q
beautiful girl who was spending the sum-
mer here. And they were engaged and
all-and the very night before the we'd
ding she ran way with an Italian, one
Count Caprivi, who was singing on the
New York stage"
Fanny drew long breath.
'tAnd what became of themY' said she.
"Oh, they went to Italy, where the
count expected to succeed to large es-
tates, and suppose they are there now"
Fanny looked with secret awe at the
ruddy face and magnificent height of
| Win Pendexter as he sauntered down
the green aisles Of waving tendrils and
tremulous leaves, and almost wondered
to hear him ask Mahala Bently about
her baby in the offhand, ordinary Ian.
guage Of everyday life, and give lame
Billy Bartlett Good day." just as if
there had been no Countess Caprivi in
| the world.
But Fanny Dix was but q girl yet.
| She did not know how 20 years will
bridge over the darkest gulf In a human
life. There is no scar that will not heal
In 20 years. There is not grave on
which grass will not grow-aye, and
daisies bloom--in 20 years.
II do not know that we can take an
other hand, Simpson" said Squire PEN
dexter meditatively. "The field is crowd
edsalready."
"What thought, exactly, SIR" said
the overseer respectfully. "But this
ERE is pretty young slip Of girl, with
a feeble mother dragging along on her
arm. And man don't like to say mo
to suchi So thought I'd just speak tc
you before
Where are theyT said the squire
rubbing the gold knob of his walking
cane against his nose, and Simpson knew
that the case Of the forlorn strangers was
safe enough.
Mother, don't fret Here comes the
gentleman now" said clear, soft toned
voice, and Squire Pendexter found him
self looking into pair of wistful, deer
blue orbs-orbs that belonged to slight
beautiful girl dressed in faded fabric and
worn shoes, who was leaning against
the well curb. For while Simpson had
been gone on his errand Of inquiry she
had drawn bucket Of clear, cold water
out Of the sparkling depths of the well
and given her mother drink out Of the
silver bound gourd which always hung
there.
Sir without moments hesitation,
might have a job of work in your hop
fields? We have come from the city
mother and there's nothing to be
picked up there, and my mother is all
ing, and we thought the smell Of the
hops might do her good. Please, sir,
we'd work cheap, if only we might sleeI
in the barn and have bit of something
to eat between whiles"
II don't want you to work cheap
said the squire, assuming an aspect OF
unwonted gruffness to cover the sympa-
thetic thrill In his voice. 81 never
grudged moneys worth for good, honest
work. AS for the barn, my housekeeper
can put you up In one Of the vacant back
chambers over the kitchen, and there's
always enough to eat at Pendexter farm"
"Pendexter farmr'
The woman, who had been sitting on
the NOISY cattle trough, slowly lifted
her head here and pushed back her worn
sunbonnet.
Where are we, Isora? Whittier have
we come? knew man named Pendex-
ter once, who
yes" said the squire, who had given
. little start at the first sound of that
low contralto voice. ut was I, Clara
Csprivii To think that fate should have
brought US together again after all these
yearsl"
The pale Woman struggled to her feet