Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1893-07-14

nightP'
Dame Brown looked up, refusal in her
glance; but she dearly loved her daughter,
and half-divined the trouble she did not
speak In her kerchief she had fastened
the bit of gentian again; fresh and bright
it was, though its eyes were closed. Pa
thence looked tired and worried.
eyes, child" said her mother, sit will
do thee good" Without waiting a second
bidding, Patience hurried up to her room,
and then out into the sunset air. She
walked down the road again, thinking of
John. She came to the marshy landing
where the boat lay; but she decided not
to take the boat, but to walk around the
head of the cove. AS she came under the
shadow of the hill she regretted her decis-
ion, and hurried on. There was Hannas
hill, behind her in the marsh, with ghostly
stories lowering about it,-and here Doro-
thy's hollow, seam in the side of the hill,
with more tragic associations. She almost
screamed, for, low and soft, she heard
cry, a child's cry. She shuddered and
hurried on, for It was the Crying bog she
was passing. and woe to any one who hears
that cry. But few moments more brought
her into the sunlight, and around the head
of the cove; and there, its hospitable doors
diiu NllluONo GUN Opcll, was llltAu y
house.
The next morning, as Dame Brown was
busy i'm the garden, cutting slips for winter
growing, and pottlng plants to be saved
till spring, Elvira Robinson came riding
up, seated on a pillion, behind old Pompey,
her fathers favorte slave.
"Good-morrow, she said, brightly, Jump
ing down, "wheres Patience?"
"Good-morrow, child suppose she's
with thee"
"Oh, no-she reached home safely last
night, didn't she?'
"Of course not, she stayed with thee"
answered the old woman, placidly.
"But, Friend Brown" began Elvira anX-
iously, 'didn't thee send Caesar after her
about eight o'clock, to say that her father
had come back, and that he had the boat,
and she was to come home with him i'm
mediately?'
"No, haven't seen Cesar" answered
Dame Brown, now thoroughly aroused.
'Where is he,-the bad boy?n
She called a little darkey-for the slave
children swarmed about the doors of the
big house - and telling him to find out
where Caesar was and send him to her,
went in to tell her husband. Elvira could
not conceal her alarm. Patience had GER
tainly left her the evening before, and
nothing was to be heard of her or of Caesar,
it proved.
'Pooh-pooh, said the farmer, "ths is
all right. Like enough John Targee could
tell where she isl
"Oh, father, does thee think she ran
away?" gasped his wife.
In spite of his making light of it, the
farmer was anxious enough. He had his
horse saddled Immediately, and started out
for Friend RObinson's, while the frightened
girl stayed to comfort the mother, who,
once alarmed, was a prey to all conceivable
terrors.
The farmer rode along with head bowed,
and full of bitter thoughts. Had he really
driven his little girl away from home? He
thought ruefully of good Roger Arnold, as
good and steady fellow as a girl could
want, and the land, and the money, and
in meetin', too, he reflected; and then of
wild John Targee-Jean Tourje was his
fathers name and Johns, too, but. with the
Indifference for spelling of the time, it soon
came to be Targee. LAZY and good-for-
nothing" he said, angrily, shooting and
traipsing over the country; can't even
spread seaweed suent, anal not emmy TO
bless himself with" Under all his blus-
tering thought, his really tender heart was
torn by anxiety, for he did not half believe
his proud little girl would disgrace herself
by running away. The beat of a horses
hOofs reused him, and gancing up, there he
saw Roger Arnold, looking almost hand
some, and very gay and bright, Come
a-courtin'," the old farmer said sadly to
himself.
Morrow, FRIEND" said Roger, drawing
mill oh rs
"any bad news?"
patience has run off with John Targee,
| s'pOse," answered the farmer, testify.
Roger changed color, and sat very straight
in his,saddle. Then he said deliberately:
Il do not think, friend, she would do that
"Bless thee, lad, answered the farmer
with tears in his eyes, "but where is she
then?'-and he told the whole story.
In few moments they parted, the farm
er keeping the road, and Roger taking to
the fields to reach the marsh. He had
leaped couple of walls, when in the dis
lance he saw John Targee's horse, and
presently John himself gun in hand. He
rode up to him and threw himself from the
saddle.
"What hast thou done with Patience
BROWNE" he asked, sternly.
John drew himself up to his full height,
and stared haughtily at his questioner.
Roger stood as proudly. They were well
matched in size and height, and Rogers
little blue eyes cleaned with as dangerous
light as Johns brown ones. So they
stood for a moment. Then Rogers whole
air softened.
"FOrgive me, John, know thou hast
not harmed her. But she is gone. Let US
find her.
He wrung his hand. Silently they both
mounted. While the horses were picking
their way over the stony fields, Roger told
all he knew.
at was Caesar came for her?" asked
John with groan. Then he told Roger
how Caesar had been whipped, and it was
Rogers turn to be doubly anxious, for he
knew the evil tempers of the slaves of In
dian blood. They picked their way down
the hill past Dorothy's hollow, and around
the head of the cove.
"Ah," exclaimed John, "the bog is cry
ing in broad daylight"
They rode to the little landing on the
east of the marsh, rudely made of boards
lying on the coarse grass. There was no
sign of the boat. They dismOunted and
turned their horses loose, sure each would
come at his call. John took the left of the
path, and Roger the right Slowly they
walked over the oozy ground, searching
thew scarcely knew for what SnddanIU