The Opelousas courier., 1894-04-28

~ - best-tempered o.
T8@ my children, and
~ now he's thai
downhearted and
disconnected that I skeercely know
him. Ho hain't seemed to take any in.
teresti in his work lately, and now s talk.
ing about goin' to sea, or listing in the
army. z
81 don't know what we'd do without
DAHL" added the mother, with tears
in her eyes, 'sand Teddy wanting to
stay a year longer at the 'Cademy
school"
eff Dan wants to go, mother said
Maria, a bright-looking girl of twenty,
''why, let him go. He's got no cause
to be discontinued, and / believe he
don't know himself what he wants.
Let him go, and my word for it, in six
months he'll be glad to get back and
have a fatted turkey killed for him,
since we don't raise calves"
And Maria laughed, as she went to
call Dan to breakfast.
Dan, meantime, was leaning over the
front gate, gazing absently down the
road toward the village.
He looked listless and moody, and
yet he was a young man in the prime
of health, with comfortable home and
kind relations. He did not know why
he should feel SO restless and dissatis-
fed, and as he stood there, chewing a
straw, he turned round, facing the
house, and, with his hands in his
pockets, looked moodily about him.
There stood the cosy, little brown
house, with itsdeep vine-shaded porch i;
there was the we'll of delicious cool
water, under the big elm tree, and the
row of bee-hives by the garden fence,
and the little orchard in the e
A pleasant. picture it made to the eye
OF the passers-by, and it had always
seemed pleasant to Dan until this un-
accountable mood Of discomfort had
come over him, and made him restless
and unhappy.
He tried to persuade himself that his
present life was not the right kind for
him, and that he could do better out
in the world.
If it wasn't for his mother being op-
posed to it, he said to himself, and
Teddy away at school, he would have
gone long ago.
And just here it was that Maria
raised the window and called:
"Dan, breakfast readyt"
Her light, careless tone irritated
him. She knew that he was not II
good spirits, and yet never seemed to
have any sympathy with him.
So he took no notice of the sum
mons, and presently she called again /:
"Dan, are you coming, or must
mother and I keep the breakfast warm
and wait for your"
"Bother !" he muttered, in reply.
Yet he walked slowly y the house,
and when his mother had said grace,
took his place at the foot of the little
table.
"You don't seem to relish your
breakfast, Dan," Mrs. Dawson said.
II thought you'd like the fresh eggs
and new potatoes, and the cakes you're
SO fond of.
Its a good breakfast, mother, but
! haven't got much of an appetite"
Aren't you we'll, DAM" she in
quired, anxiously.
Not particularly, mother, / think.
There's a queer, all-gonish sort Of feel
ing, q kind of emptiness and faintness.
and-I can't exactly describe it, but it
seems to take away my strength and
appetite. I've been thinking that
maybe I'd better try some sort Of a
tonic medicine"
Martha laughed heartlessly.
That's all your imagination. Dan
You know you never had a days sick.
ness in your life, and you look stout
and strong enough to knock down an
OK. ] guess It's only that you're in
love with somebody-Matilda Price,
maybe, or Sophy Howells. Which is
it, DAMP"
Dan received this suggestion with
supreme contempt. He made a boast
Of having never been in love, and
though the girls mentioned by his SIS
ter were the bellies of the neighbor-
hood, and had each tried the power OF
her charms upon him, he had remained
obdurately Indifferent toward them.
Matilda, he said, was bold and loud,
and Sophia vain and affected, aud it
would take q very nice girl indeed TO
get him in love.
TITS most time to get ready for
church. amt it, DAMP" said Martha,
glancing at the clock on the chimney
shelf. Matilda ii have on her new
bonnet to-day. / tell you she'll be
worth locking at"
sStufl Tn not going to church.
"Why, Dan'elf' said his mother,
reproachfully.
What's the use, mother? inst to
see old Deacon Ball asleep, and hear
Miss ReckeY Jones, screeching the