Warren sheaf. [volume] (Warren, Marshall County, Minn.) 1880-current, 1894-11-29

Iargaret could have the first reading
Of the news. Usually she took it a
day old.
Someway the good things of life had
always come a day late to Miss Marga-
ret, or else not at all. Perhaps that
was the reason why her face, which
had been handsome once and full of
promise, had such sharp lines about
the mouth. 1t was thin, angular
face, and the scant, straight hair
above it, which used to be so black,
was streaked with gray. ...
At the other side of the small round
table sat Miss Margaret's sister Har-
riet, placidly knitting. If her face
bore fewer traces of disappointment
than Margaret's, it was not because she
had had more of the joys of life. Per-
haps it was because she had expected
less. Harriet Staples had been called
a very plain girl; but now hers was
pleasant face to look upon, round and
peaceful, the touch of rose color in the
cheeks contrasting prettily with the
snowy whiteness of her soft, heavy
hair. The eyes were pleasant and
friendly; at the corners of the mouth
were the" little wrinkles that come
from smiles, and, altogether, the face
wa very lovable.
Yet these two sisters had lived their
lives and grown old together. For
forty years they had not been sepa-
rated for single night. For forty
years and more they had had the same
things to worry over, and to be glad
about. the same SORROWS and the same
simple pleasures.
Suddenly the paper dropped from
Miss Margaret's hands and she looked
up at Harriet, her pale face almost
CHASTITY.
"What is it, sister,"
''Bob Barton's dead"
''You don't say!"
Even Miss Harriet's calm face
showed signs of agitation, and her
hand shook as she reached for the
paper.
There were only two lines of it.
Robert Barton had been found dead
that morning, in the little room which
was the only home he had known for
forty years.
The paper had lost all attractions
for Miss Margaret, and Harriet's stock
ing fell to the floor unheeded. The
room was very stiil-only the little
old clock ticking in the corner, and
the purring of the great, gray cat on
his cushion.
Outside, in the street, people were
passing to and fro. Sometimes their
voices were loud and penetrating, but
the sisters did not hear them. They
were back in the long ago, when hand
some Bob Barton used to spend an
evening, now and then, in this same
sitting-room, which in all these years
had never quite lost the glory of his
presence.
BY and by two tears forced them
selves from Harriets eyes. She wiped
them away hastily, and glanced fur.
lively at her sister. Margaret had not
seen the tears, and her face wore such
softened look that Harriet ventured
to speak.
'Father used to set such store by
him!" she said, softly. "'Twas you he
always used to come to see. always
knew that"
me? 'Twan't neither! Every
body knewhe wanted you-if it hadn't
been for his miserable father!''
40 sister! don't say that" pleaded
Miss Harriet, her pretty old cheeks
wet with tears which now she did not
try to hide. I'm sure we all thought
twas you. He always looked at you
the whole evening""
''But he talked to you. And didn't
he give you that shell box?'
but he brought you flowers
Poor women! For the first time in
nll their lives they spoke the. one
thought that had meant more to them
than everything else. Even Bob Bar
toms name had never passed their lips
since that day when the news came
that it wass disgraced forever by his
fathers crime. They knew, in a way,
what had come to him-that he had
felt. the disgrace as only a sensitive
soul can feel; that, with hopes and
ambitions blighted, he had passed the
fifteen years Of his fathers imprison-
menti in bitter loneliness; and that his
life since then had been devoted to the
broken old man, who came ont from
the prison walls enfeebled in mind
AID body and helpless as achild.