Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1894-12-24

InlSneQ, ana IL bncy Iltu Deen SIuJllly near
er to each other would have touched his
hand. 1 said that Silas Grantley was
proud, and If ever proud man was hui
INFLATED that man was himself. No 9TH
err proof than her own voice could have
made him think that this woman could
have believed for moment such base
falsehood against his manhood. The feel
ing Of deep injury and indignation was
uppermost in his mind. Without word
he rose and turned to CO. At the door he
paused an instant to look at her, but only
for an instant. There was a quick, firm
step on tho gravel walk the gate shut
noisily, and he was gone. From that night
Miss Nan never saw Silas Grantley again.
Never saw him again? Never saw him
again? How many times she saw him in
that doorway, when the feline family were
purring contentedly and the little earthen-
ware teapot was singing cheerfully on the
hearth, only Miss Nan knew. How many
times that last reproachful glance looked
in upon her on the lonely nights of the
long years that followed, when the whole
bitter truth was before her, only Miss Nan
knew. How utterly dreary the tidy little
parlor was at times during the long, long
hours when the thought of that last
night came back to her, how often the
soft gray eyes wept bitterly when she
thought Of the wrong that she had done
him, and that she never could undo now,
Miss Nan, and only Miss Nan, knew.
And that was the story of her romance.
A late train west bound carried Silas
Grantley away that night-carried him
away so completely that Tiffin neither saw
nor heard of him again and soon forgot
him. She lived her life as best she could,
and before her little world the thorns In
her path were trodden unflinchingly.
Wherever woman's hand was needed,
there was Miss Nan; wherever charitable
duties were the hart. est, in the hardest
winters, among the hardest class of peo-
pie, there was Miss Nan, and though her
purse was not large one it was open
constantly. / think it was this constant
doing of good, this constant healing OF
minds and hearts and bodies, that kept
the hard lines off her face, even when the
early gray strands glistcncd in her brown
hair. If there was one weakness for which
she had no compassion, 1t was the weak
ness of drunkenness. If there were any
mendicants who left her door empty hand
ed, they were those who went there with
the fumes of alcohol on their breath. Tru-
ly the drunkard in her eyes was detcstable.
And SO the summers passed and the
winters passed until the time when my
story opens, and Miss Nan had become an
old maid beyond question or dispute.
New lives came into the little town, and
old lives went out. Girls in pinafores and
small boys in short trousers grew to be
men and women, married and set UP for
themselves and had children of their own,
but to Miss Nan one year was but rope
tition Of another, and it sometimes Scent
cd to her that she was continually going
around in circle that had long since be-
come monotonous. If Miss Nan ever
thought that she might have made her
life happier, she guarded the thought well,
and if the smiling matrons ever OCCASION
ed the slightest envy in her breast they
could as easily have learned it from the
exterior of the neat cottage as from its
prim mistress.
Ono wintry March morning she started
out with basket on her arm to visit a
sick family, when she noticed q small
crowd of men and boys short distance
from her gate. The gibes that reached her
ears and the incoherent profanity that fol
lowed them told her that drunken man
was the Center of the group. She knew
she would be obliged to pass them but
with the determination not to be deferred
from her purpose by such an unworthy
cause she held her head trifle higher,
involuntarily drew her skirts closer about
her and walked on As she neared the
group she saw that the man was reellng
He was wretched looking creature, witt
long tangled hair, dirty beard, batter
ed remnant of hat and ragged clothe:
that hung loosely ON the thin shiverinG
figure She took one glance at him, ant
the basket dropped from her arm. Sh'
walked straight up to him, laid her hant
ON his frayed sleeve and led him to her owl
gate and up tho gravel walk and into tht
neat little cottage and into the tidiest par
lor in all Tiffin. How she took on ovel
him, and cried over him, and bathed hi
face with cold cologne water, and had ole
Mrs. Young, her ancient maid Of all work
cook him the daintiest breakfast imagi
nablo! Who would have thought it of Mis-
Nan? And what would Titfin say? Little
cared Miss Nan what Tiftin would say
For all her tears, there was not lighter
heart in the world that day than Mis-
Mans. II there had been one bright spo
in her lonely life, it had been the hope o
his return, and as the empty years CAM
and went she had sometimes felt that sh'
was hoping against hope. And now h
had come back. What did 1t matter how
he had come? He had come, and that wa
enough for Miss Nan.
At first Silas was dazed and insensibl
to his surroundings, but when tho break
fast was brought in to him no alto like
famished dog. Mrs. Young, wise womal
that she was, had brewcd some black cot
fec, so strong that Its very aroma Nigh
have had a SOLDERING influence and whel
Silas had drank two big cups of it, steam
ing hot, he began to look around him
The little parlor had not changed SO yer.
much in all those years. and remembering
first how he had tramped into Titfin tn
night before 1t began to dawn on hin
where he really was. Then his eyes restet
OIL Miss Nan, and he knew it all. He bur
| led his face in his hands and sobbcd Thcl
| woman's arms were about the ragge'
coat, and the tired head was on her breast
and tho tangled hair was anointed witt
| her tears.
Did they marry? What question! 0
course they did. Silas Grantley reformed
| and with reformation came health ant
success There never was better hus
band, and the happiest wife in Tiffin is
Miss Nan.-Lewis Vital Bogy in Once
| Week
| ROssini.
| Rossini was intolerably jealous of oil
his musical contemporaries, and particu
lanl,, Of Nfornrhaer In 1RaR hA heard NIh