Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1893-03-16
CHAPTER y,
DEAD OR ALlvEt
Ghostly fell the snow!

GnOBtly lell inc bHOW'
Like n curtain, a shroud, it had closed
about the devoted form OF Edna Deane
that wild, tempestuous night, when the
poor child OF destiny had sunk eX-
hausted and despairing at the very
threshold Of safety.
The siren-hearted Beatrice Mercer
had sped to sunshine, luxury and gold,
with no thought Of the real fate Of the
girl whose name she had assumed,
whose loyal lover she had determined to
win,
More merciful than she, the soft snow
had drlfted gently over the inanimate
wanderer. striving to shut out from the
rigor of storm and tempest the frail
form that had succumbed to the chill OF
winter like Il tender lily.
Upon that same eYentful night another
figure braved the storm, and, breastlng
its fierceness, took his way along the
same road, down which Edna Deane's
dumb guide had 50 nearly led her to
shelter,
a night to get housed, pity. the
homeless or beated!" breathed hearty,
putting John Blake, as he struggled
through the deep drifts. "Ah! nearly
home. There's the dear old wife wait
ing to welcome me with warm sup
per, ! II warrant.
Farmer John neared the unpreten-
tioas cottage that resembled Lapland-
er S hut, with It's caves hung deep with
snow lestoOns A doleful neigh from
the wagon shed aroused his humane
heart, however, TO turn from his path,
He found there the exhausted animal
that had led Edna hlther, bestowed the
wandering brute in its stall, and started
again for the house.
Ho, there, my dearl" sang out the
bluff great-hearted old fellow, as he
made up huge SNOWFALL and sent 1t six
feet away dashng against the door of
the cottage.
1t opened. An eager, motherly face
showed in the lamplight
Dear, dearl Is it you, John? I've
been 80 worried, Always a boy, throw
ing snowbals and singing out like pi-
rate. Will you never mend:"
Never while this jolly snow reminds
me Of our schoolday seighrdes, and
your pretty, blooming face, you dear old
girl" retorted happy John, Come,
throw me broom to beat path 50 |
won t be dragging the snow all over that
rag carpet you think more of than you
do OF me.
Did you ever!"
Been lonesome?" sang out John, in
dustriously sweeping "A path TO the door
Terrible! Did you just come, john"
Did just come! You wager haven't
been promenading around for fun, with
snow chuck two feet down my neck, and
that nice warm supper on the table,"
Because | thought heard some one
cry out a bit ago,
Pigeons, maybe
mo. 1t was n human cry for help
"Pshaw! Fancies The wind toots
like an engine whistle to-nlght-lawsy
mel
Farmer John uttered a sharp cry
stumbled, recoiled. The broom fell
from his hand, and there he stood star
ing blankly down at the ground at his
feet
what now, John?" CALCULATED his
wife, peering, too.
Something in tn path. Bag of oats
"a sheep-no! Jane, lookl"
He had leaned over to examine the
object at his feet.
His great, soulful eyes glowed like
two stars.
Into view he had dragged human
hand, limp and nerveless
A soggy dress-sleeve followed and
then a terrible cry rang from his wife $
lips,
Out into the snow she dashed Down
beside the nanimate form, disenshroud-
ed from its snowy mound, she knelt.
John! joint" she walled, pecring in
to the white, cold face of the nsensible
Edna Deane-"it's a woman-a young
girl. oh, John! look at the bonny face,
and the quick tears rained down in wild,
motherly pity. "Oh, John! dead or alive
which,"