Pullman herald. [volume] (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, 1894-10-12
Mrs. NOrthup' Ledger
By AUGUSTA HARMED.

Harold looked severe and relentless.
at will be my duty to tell him, Miss
March, that you refuse to have friends,
that you are too proud and Independent
to accept the smallest favor from those
who would gladly serve you"
"Think what you will of me-" she
answered dejectedly, "but don't hurt
Willie"
Without another word Harold turned
on his heel and was gone, leaving the
girl in a state of wonder as to how he
had guessed her secret. The dry warm
weather continued a weary time. Edith
felt too weak and listless to do more
than drag herself to the postoffice and
the hospital where Miss Rivers was still
kept in bed, though the doctor declared
that nothing allied her but debility. A
little encouragement, a sparkle of hope,
a bit of good news, something to give a
flip to her nerves and energies would
quickly set the old poetess on her feet
again. Day after day the two waited,
and yet no letter. Edith had but a few
remaining dollars in her purse-only
enough to pay Mrs. Northup's room
rent for fortnight-and yet she could
not shake off the strange benumbed
feeling Of lassitude. She sat whole hours
idle, with her hands folded in her lap,
while the cicida filed his tiny saw out
side the window, and dreamed of being
carried to the hospital and laid in the
vacant cot next to Celestina's. She
seemed to have lost much of her pride
about accepting Mrs. Northup's hospi
tally, and as she sat at her landladys
abundant tea table and listened to the
stream of neighborhood gossip that
flowed from her tongue she wondered
where her old spirit of independence
had gone. 1t must be the dog day
weather and the impossibihty of sleep
ing i'll her oven of a room that had worn
her nerves to fiddle strings and made
her passive enigma even to herself.
There had been no rain for weeks, and
the yellow leaves were dropping in show
ers from the long suffering trees. But
one night late in August, worn out with
insomnia, Edith fell into heavy slum-
Der and dreamed she heard a soft rain
pattering on the roof, while delicious
GOODNESS came in at the open windows
and odors of damp mold and heritage
washed free from dust. 1t was later than
usual when she awoke to find the sun
struggling through broken clouds and
the earth washed with refreshing show
ers. Ford's alley was filled with delight
full little puddles that reflected CLEANS
of blue sky. 1t had rained all night, and
the earth wore u new and glittering
face Hope and energy revived in
Ediths soul She looked in the glass,
and to her surprise saw that the bloom
of early youth had come back. She felt
like setting to work now double tides;
all the languor and listlessness had gone
out of her body and brain. Her feet
seemed winged that morning as she
sped lightly over the wet pavement to-
ward the postoffiCe, with breeze shak-
ing down raindrops on her head from the
overhanging elm boughs.
A presentiment of good was in the air,
and three white pigeons clapped their
wings and flew away to the right directly
over her head. The postal clerk when he
nodded to Miss March that morning had
pleasant smile on his face, and he
pushed through the little window a
handful of letters. On top she saw a
square, blue envelope for dear old Celes-
tina, postmarBed Thun, Switzerland.
She was out of the building before she
ventured to look at her own, but her
heart foreboded good. The large buff
envelope bore the pOstmark of distant
city, and the handwriting of the editor,
whose fishing excursion was now over.
Edith trembled as she tore it open, and
then she nearly tainted, for it contained
check for two hundred dollars enclosed
in letter full of encouragement to the
young writer. Wealth, fame and happi-
ness danced before the girls dazzled
eyes. The sky had fallen and she had
caught lapful of larks. She longed to
skip in the street round the great elm
at the corner of Grove and Smith streets,
but she remembered that the house
maids would think her crazy.
The letter lying unopened in her hand
was from Willard up at Tamerack Camp.
| The dear fellow had not written to her
for an age, and here she was neglecting
him in her own selfish JOY. It was but
the work of moment to run her eye
down the first page, that seemed punctu'
ated on every line with the name OF
Harold Ashley. "a splendid fellow
"the best heart ever knew" sis clever,
athletic and handsome" Finally she
came to the following paragraph that