Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1894-11-06
SILENT SISTERS.

They had quarreled in girlhood and
mutually declared their intention never
to speak to each other again, wetting
and drying their forefngers to the ao-
compartment of an ancient childish in
cantation, and while they lived on the
paternal farm they kept their foolish
oath with the stubbornness of slow
country stock, despite the alternate
coaxing and chastisement of their par
ents, Notwithstanding the perpetual ev-
eryday contact of their lives, through
every vicissitude Of season and weather,
of sowing and reaping. of sun and shade,
of joy and sorrow.
Death aud misfortune did not recon-
cile them, and when their father died
and tho old farm was sold up they
Travelled to London in the same silence,
by the same train, in search of similar
situations. Service separated them for
years, though there was only stones
throw between them. They often stared
at each other in the streets. Honor, the
elder, married q local artisan; az years
later Mercy, the younger, married a fell
low workman of Jane's husband. The
two husbands were friends and often
visited each other's houses, which were
on opposite sides of the same sordid
street, and the wives made them well
come. Neither Honor nor Mercy suffered
an allusion to the breach. Itwas under
stood that their silence must be received
in silence.
Each of the sisters had quiverfu1 of
children, who played and quarre1ed to-
gether in the streets and in one anoth-
er's houses, but not even the street af
trays and mutual grievances of the chill
dren could provoke the mothers to
words. They stood at their doors in i'm
potent fury, almost bursting with the
torture of keeping their mouths shut
against the efferyescence of angry
speech. When either lost child, the
other watched the funeral from her
window, dumb as the mutes.
The years rolled on, and still the
river Of silence flowed between their
lives. Their good looks faded. The bur-
den of life and Of their collaborating
was heavy upon them. Gray hairs
streaked their brown tresses, then brown
hairs streaked their gray tresses. The
puokers of age replaced the dimples OF
youth. The years rolled on, and Death
grew busy among the families. Honor's
husband died, and Mercy lost son,
who died aweek after his wife. Cholera
took several of the younger children.
But the sisters themselves lived on, bent
and shriveled by toll and sorrow even
more than by the slow frost of the years.
Then one day Mercy took to her DEATH
bed. An internal disease, too long neg
lected, would carry her off within
week. So the doctor told Jim, Mercy's
husband.
Through him the news Travelled to
Honor's eldest son, who still lived with
her. By the evening it reached Honor.
AS Honor entered Mercy's sickroom,
with pursed lips, light leaped into the
wasted, wrinkled oountenance of tho
dying creature. She raised herself slight
ly in bed, her lips parted, then shut
tightly, and her face darkened.
Honor turned angrily to Mercy's hus-
band, who hung about impotently.
t'Why did you let her run down SO
1ow?" she said. "I didn't know the
old man stammered, taken back by her
presence even more than by her ques-
tion. "She was always a woman to say
nothin. -
Honor put him impatiently aside and
examined the medicine bottle on the
bedside table.
''Isn't it time she took her doseP''
ST dessay"
Honor snorted wrathfully. whats
the use of man2' she inquired as she
carefully measured out the fluid and
put it to her sisters lips, which opened
to receive it and then closed tightly
again.
How is your wife feelin now?"
Honor asked after pause.
Glow are yon now, Mercy7'' asked
the old man awkwardly. The old wom-
an shook her head. ''I'm a-goin fast,
Jim, - she grumbled weakly, and tear
of self pity trickled down her parch-
ment cheek.
What rubbidge she do talk, - cried
Honor sharply. "Why dye stand there
like tailor's dummy? Why don't you.
tell her to cheer up2''
Cheer up, Meroyi'' quavered the old
man hoarsely.
But. Mercy groaned instead and
turned fretfuly on her other side. with
her face to the wall.
Pm too old; I'm too old, :" she
moaned. .'This is the end o. me.
Did you ever hear the ikei' Honor.
asked Jim angrily as she smoothed his
wife's pillow. She was always COM
ceited about her age, settin herself up
as, the equals OF her elders, and here am
], her elder sister. as carried her In my
| arms when I was and she was 2, still
hale and strong, and with no mind for:
underground for many along day. Nigh
three times her age was once. mind
you, and now she has the fmperence to
| talk Of dyin before me.
| She took OF her bonnet and shawl