The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1894-09-28
WON AT THE END
After Many Years It Was Hers
for q Moment.

| ed and reveled il showers of ecstatic
song. 1t was a day when life seemed
to burn and tingle everywhere.
Except at the little cabin near the
spring. There was no sound, no sign
| OF any occupant IN til the sun was low,
and the long shadows almost touched
the doorstep with pointing fingers AT
last woman entered hurriedly, push
ing off her sun bonnet, and showing a
pretty, coquettish face, flushed with
excitement and ready to break in to
smiles She began to get supper,
kindling the fire with fat pine KNOTS
that blazed quickly As she brout .ht
out the inevitable frying-pan of the
south she sang short snatch.es of so ng,
often breaking off abruptly and gls.nc-
ing over her shoulder at the open door.
suddenly she uttered a little cry In
the shadow of the doorway stood a
mana dark, rugged figur.-with a
child asleep in his arms. When he
saw she had noticed him he walked in
and laid the child softly on low
couch, then sat down by the rough
pine table He did not once look at
her or speak.
She had held out her arms to the
child, but seeing him SO sound asleep,
went back to her cooking.
Presently she looked at her husband
and said timidly, but in a probitistory
tone:
''Yo're late tonight, Nathan"
He gave her so harsh a look that
she drew back as if afraid, and bent
over the child to see if he had
awakened.
Presently she looked again toward
her husband. as if she fancied she had
misunderstood him and said:
"Yo' seem out O. sorts, Nathan. Did
the child poster yo' while yo' wur
workin'? Yo'd better leave him with
me mex time"
He laughed sneeringly. ~Yo' wanted
him, didn't yo'?" He paused moment
and went on as if with difficulty.
Il was plowin' on the ridge, an
seen yo' an that Teller tergether. l
amt no need ter say MOI
why, Nathanw-her voice was
raised little, as If with excitement.
He broke in roughly
''Stop. Don't tell no lie. I seen yo'
both, an tibet man'd been dead, but I
amt kearin' ter tell the neighborhood.
Henceforward yo' amt no wife Of
mine"
Il don't suppose yo' ever reared fur
me, anyhow. Yo' never said yo' loved
me since the day we was married"
There was half passionate ring in
her childish voice.
"Ther' warn't no call fur me to say
anything. 1 wus yo' husband.
She began again eagerly, this time
returning to his accusation. 'Yo' don't
understan', Nathan
He stopped her, her whole face work
ing convulsively. II do understan'
well enuf, an 1 don't want no lies"
Her face changed its pink to white,
Its soft contours hardening into a
curious rigidity. She made no at
tempt to speak again. She took the
little shawl down that h ang on nail,
and spread it over the child's bare
feet. He was pretty boy of four and
his long dark lashes lay without q
culver against his rosy cheeks. She
caught her breath quickly, but she
made no appeal. Her sunbonnet had
fallen on the fioor-a sign pregnant
with tragedy in this rude life-she
picked it up, and moved toward the
door as her husband repeated huskily:
I"Yo' amt no wife o mine"
Out of doors it was very dark. The
cabin stood in the clearing. and close
around were the woods, black, full of
strange sounds. full of moving shadows
cast by one knew not what. Inside,
the circle of light thrown by the pine
knots, and the childs soft breathing
promised safety at least. For one sec
ond she stood, irresolute, on the TIRES
hold. Her lips were set, but her mem
DRY conjured up distorted images.
'ha'nts" and wolves, or ''painters,"-
which was it cried like a child?
The man spoke sternly: "Yo' seem
ter forgit the baby and yo' duty ter
him. If yo' amt my wife, yo' can't I'M
do bein' his mother"
Mandy's head dropped. the bonnet
fell from her hand, and she turned
back to the hearth.
was III 4 reScueI was she EOllCVI
She did not utter another word. Print
tive natures are like children; the
spring of confidence once broken it is
impossible to restore it Question. re-
proach, accusation, elicit nothing;
thenceforth they are dumb.
The man who had told her Food-by
was gone. The uneventful mountain
life closed over him as still water over
a stone. He was a confederate soldier
with a wounded leg, who had asked
shelter until he was able to rejoin his
regiment Mandy knew nothing more
of him except that he was young like
herself. and ready TO jest, and the
cabin for the first time was lively.
But Nathan had quickly disliked him.
Mandy felt as if life had closed over
her also. Nathan did not speak to her,
nor in anywise notice her. She fan
cied herself like ghost. IN
seen, unheard. by the living-except
when the child was with her. Before |
this he had run after his father all day
over the fields. or staid by him st his |
work for hours; but now either Man |
dy's imperious need for. human afec- |
ton unconsciously drew him. or he
was not so we'll At any rate, he could |
not be induced TO leave her.