Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1894-12-19

Viva MEA\ $M lh1o " drawer
locked, then, pinning broad -leaved
hat above the brown cnrls that
clustered about her brow, she passed
out of her log cabin into the fresh,
sweet, evening air.
As she reached the low fence which
ran before her house hurried foot
step sounded through the gathering
gloom, and mans voice said:
SIS that you, Mary, my girl? You
look little more than ghost under
the shadow of those bushes"
The girl-young and slender and
graceful as fawn-ran out into the
lonely road.
you've kept your promise, dear.
est, and come to see me, she cried, as
she threw herself into the arms of her
lover.
Reuben Halse kissed the red lips so
frankly offered him before he spoke.
eyes, Mary, I've kept my promise,
but I've come to say 'good-by
'Good-by--gooa-by You're going
away? You're going to leave me-
your sweetheart-your wife that Is to
be?' She clasped her arms closely
about him and trembled like a leaf
"My dear little girl, don't cry
don't grieve You've been my sweet.
heart, faithful and true, but we can
rever marry"
The strong mans voice broke and
died into silence.
GO on; tell me the worst" sobbed
the girl in his arms.
"Listen, dear You know that lately
things have gone wrong with me. The
bit ofmcney I'd saved for our wedding
in the fall was stolen, and then the
cabin I'd built for you down by the
Blue Pools was burnt. Still there was
the farm stock and your little purse
of savings left. but the drought has
killed the stock and-oh, Mary, how
can tell your"
Mary drew apart from her lover and
the garden fence.
Some one has robbed you of the
money | gave you. Oh! my poor
boy" She stretched forth her pity
ing hands toward the man before her,
who only bowed his head and shutiied
his feet III the thick white dust.
"Tell me, Reuben, tell me how it
happened. All, surely you are not
thinking l shall blame you for such a
misfortune" and once more she crept
to his side.
But Reuben thrust her from him.
"Twas no misfortune; twas q
crime. Your little savings, those few
coins you've starved and scraped to
keep, lie there.
He pointed with his lean, brown
hand down the canyon to where,
amidst dense mass of foliage, u few
lights twinkled.
Mary staggered.
Down there? At Ffolliott's!"
"Aye, lass-at Ffolliott's! | lost it
all at faro last night.
For a moment no sound but the
evening breeze whispering among the
oreepers and bushes and the harsh
note of night bird broke the silence.
Then a woman's voice, tender and low
and full of tears, murmured; "Rube,
dear Rube, forgive YOU"
Reuben Halse flung his arms above
his head and gave little ely.
"Don't, Mary, don't. 1 rather you
would strike mel"
The stars twinkled their diamond
eyes on the man and girl rs they said
farewell. For Reuben had settled to
leave the canyon that night.
"Bill Redfern, One-Eyed Sammy
and Joe the Portugee are going, too.
We're all broke, and may as we'll
starve out there" and he waved his
hand toward the wide forest land of
Arizona, "as in this canyon here.
Don't sob SO, my girl, you'll break my
heart. I'm not worth a tear from
your pretty eyes or choke in your
white throat. But, Mary, You might
pray for me sometimes, and when
you're married to good chap as
don't go to Ffolliott's and neglect his
farm for the tables and the bar, think
of me, who loved you, but was not
worthy to have YOU
One kiss on her brow, then n clatter
OF galloping hoofs, and Mary Werner
was free to go back into her log cabin
and sob out her heart till the dawn.
Reuben Halse and his companion
had left the Great White canyon for n
week. Mary's cheeks, never very full
of color, had grown pale and heavy,
and blue lines beneath her large eyes
told of sleepless nights and many
tears.
Yet, Paul Harding-"Beauty" Paul,
as he was called in the canyon-thoughl
he had never seen Mary so lovely, ii
he clattered up to the door of the
postoffice one morning, and asked the
young postmistress il there was any
thing for him.
He watched, with his handsome
dark eyes, her small white fingers go
/ through the lettersi lying on the counter
before her.
But she finally shook her head.
Nothing for you to-day"
Yet Paul seemed loath to go. He
pulled his long, tawny mustache,
jingled his spurred boots upon the
floor, and continued to stare through
the pigeon-hole window at the girl, as
she fitted about her usual business
Anything I can do for your" she
asked him presently.
No." Paul said slowly, taking in
every detail of the girls pretty figure,
clad in a cotton frock of gentian blue
"But might / speak to you one minute
| privately"