Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1894-11-19
THE NEW POSTBOXES.

ing away the old case and generally over
hauling the postoffice end of the store.
Lydia was between 40 and So Nigh
onto 45, bin two year older'n my boy
jerry" old Mrs. Davidge said to her
friends when Lydia's age was discussed
But, law, she don't look it, an she don't
act it! Them tow headed girls never look
ez old ez they really be"
The carpenter stopped hammering and
came to where the postmistress was fan
ming herself He was shuffling awkward
ly half dozen letters, yellow with age
and somewhat rat eaten.
''See here, Lyddy, are these any good2"
asked he, holding out the letters II
found 'em down behind the wainscoting.
I s'pose they're just trash what got
brushed aside, an no account whatever"
The postmistress of Canaan Corners took
the letters with but little show of inter
est. People We're always running to her
with trifles and asking her unnecessary
questions.
Her mind was far away. Farmer Rat
cliffe that day, as he mopped the sweat
from his furrowed face in the postoffice,
said to her:
Some folks don't know what hard
work is. Now, I've been workin. Been
plowin that six acre patch back O. my
grainary, Lyddy, where you and my sister
Ann used to play. 'Tain't been plowed
afore in 25 years.
The six acre patch, Lydia Spencer had
been thinking that morning, was much
like her heart, in which the love sod had
been unfurrowed for 20 years. Twenty five
years! Yes, it had been just that long since
she had seen John Butterworth-sinceh he
gave her lovers look and then, cheerily
assuring her that they would soon meet
again, had gone to New York Their let
ters had been earnest and full of feeling,
and finally he wrote asking her if she
would marry him, telling her that he had
not been successful in business as yet, but
that if she said Yes" he would come back
to Canaan Corners and they would go to
Chicago. Bravely had she penned favor
able answer, and then she waited. All,
the dying of great hope! How tenacious
ly 1t clings to lifel How anxiously she
awaited tidings from John Butterworth!
But none came. The summers came and
went Twenty-Five years ago, and she
had been thinking Of John Butterworth
that day.
don't it?" asked tho carpenter as Lydia
stepped closer to the window to inspect the
musty letters.
The very first one of the lot gave her
senses shock John Butterworth, Bulls
Head Hotel, Bowery, N. Y. City,"
The red sun turned black. The Canaan
Corners postoffice began spinning around
and bobbing up and down. A hurricane
seemed to catch her and dash her head
against a distant cliff.
''There, there, Miss Lyddy," said the
big carpenter, tanning her with his straw
hat The heats been too much fur ye,
guess.
Trembling like child, she once more
looked at the letter-her own letter of &C.
ceptance-plighting her troth for better
or for worse through evil and good report.
1t seemed to her as If her heart would
burst in agony. She knew now why John
Butterworth had never come back. She
had appeared to him as unwilling to share
his fortunes Lydia Spencer was firm
woman In justice to herself she deter
mined to make an effort to reach John
Butterworth with the belated letter. II
had no postmark Taking the marker, she
removed tho figures "94" and substituted
49,"
Then, writing a note to the proprietor Of
che Bulls Head hotel, New York city, she
told him to forward the letter to Chicago.
Nervously she let it fall into the gaping
mouth of the mailbag. The stage took it
on its way that night
Two weeks later gray haired man
one of Chicago's leading capitalists-was
one morning opening his mail. He came
10 yellowed envelope which had been for
warded from New York. 1t bore several
rubber stamp marks, and Chicago post
office clerk had written on 1T:
TRY 36l Dearborn street."
'Send Jack in" said John Butterworth
20 his head clerk.
Jack, my boy" said the father in a
low voice and nervously, read this old
letter, which has been 25 years in reaching
me-"
Jack" continued the elder, after his
request had been complied WITH 'you
will have to postpone your vacation. I'm
going to take one at Canaan Corners, N.
Y. never expected to marry again after
your dear mothers death, my boy, but II
the writer Of that letter Is alive and will
ing you'll have new mother inside OF
two weeks.
The Caanan Corners stage one evening
a few days later carried gray haired
stranger.
YEN find Lyddy at the postofflce,"
said the driver. She's postmistress, an
every one knows Lyddy."
Had she seen him comings Everything
was still in the postofflce when John But
terworth entered. Looking through the
glass case, he saw golden haired woman,
her face close to the table top. She was
resting her averted face on her forearm
and sobbing like child.
LYDIA" said John Butterworth as he
took her in his arms and raised her, lily
dia, sweetheart, didn't get the letter till
three days ago in Chicago. I'm so old and
gray now suppose you're sorry got 1t
at all, ehy''
She looked up quickly, smiling through
her tears. Her blushing, radiant face
didn't look as If she was sorry.-New
York Press.
He Had Seen Her Throw.
A 1{f<1a fo11ov, hoI hoay, corio,,c1x, Loo.