Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1894-11-22

0oQ uf6C worn inc Qr099.
"Oh. Maud, you are 90 beautiful.
Always wear this dress, darling, when
you want to please me /"
The May sun wheeled lower and
lower, and at last went down, leaving
the earth wrapped in the dusky mists
Of twilight. Maud began to grow
impatient. She lit the lamps in the
parlor and then went out to the
porch to wait. He surely would
come; he would not disappoint her I
The golden tints of day faded
like the colors of q dream. The
stars came out one by one in the
hazy luster OF the sky, and then the
moon arose. coming up grandly above
the purple sleeps. Still he had not
come, and the poor wife's heart began
to grow sick with hope deferred. An
other hour, and then. above the
murmurous music Of the night, she
heard sharp step upon the gravel
and started to her feet, flushed and
breathless, but the next instant she
fell back, pale with disappointment,
for the step was not his-she knew
that long before the person came in
sight. He had advanced toward the
porch where she sat with slow, I'M
certain step, observing which, and
recognizing him as one of her neigh
bors, she advanced to meet him.
"Mr. Rutherford, is it you? am
looking for my husband. What do
you think can detain him?"
The man stood still. his face full Of
silent, unspeakable pity. Something
in his expression caught her quick
eyes, and she sprang forward and
grasped his arm.
''Mr. Rutherford, you bring me
tidings. Speak; don't keep me in
suspense"
Still the man was silent.
"Oh, air." she entreated, 'don't
trifle with my feelings. Do you know
anything concerning my husband?
II you do for mercy sake speak
ort!'
Madam, / have heard-that is,
there is bad news" he began. his
voice husky and broken.
Her face grew as white as death,
but her eyes were clear and calm and
her hand strong as she grasped his
arm.
'Sir, if you pity me, tell me the
worst at once. / can bear it,"
'Well. madam, your husband and
his party have been waylaid and muir
dered by the Indians.
"All? Did none escape?"
mot one !"
She turned sharply, leaving him
without word, and he saw her enter
the house and close the door after
her, and that was the end. He would
never come back any more, no matter
how patiently she might wait and
watch He would never know that
he had son, never look upon the
little chubby face, with it's bold, blue
eyes, and sunny curls so like his
own. From henceforth her heart and
home were desolate.
And this was the anniversary of
her wedding day. Six years ago and
she was happy bride. Five years
she had been a heartbroken widow.
Her boy slept in his little bed, and
she sat there thinking, thinking, and
gazing out at the low leaden sky and
the wind tossed trees. The night was
closing rapidly-a night Of storm and
darkness. The rain came down in
great smoking sheets, and the wild,
wailing winds rushed round the
gables and went shrieking over the
hills like human souls in agony. Her
heart ached with a desolation that
seemed almost insupportable. Life
was so hard, yet for the boys sake
she must endure and live on.
She looked down at her sable gar
ments with hot, binding tears. Six
years ago, and she was robed in gems
and blossoms. His face, his very
voice, seemed to come back to her,
and she fancied that his spirit must
be near her No matter how high
above her, how happy, she knew that
he loved her still. and his glorified
spirit may have left it's home of bliss
to keep with her that sacred ami
versary. The fancy consoled her be-
yond expression. She glanced over
at the sleeping boy with dim hope
that his father loved and watched
over him. Then a sudden impulse
shot across her mind. She would not
keep the anniversary of her wedding
day in the garments OF her widow
hood; she would put on the robe he
loved. II he knew aught Of her
poor, sad life he should see how sa-
credly she remembered and observed
his simplest wishes.
Stealing up to her chamber, she
took out the mauve silk and the
dainty laces, growing yellow and
timeworn, and pretty jet and gold
ornament, and arraye1 herself as in
days gone by, and the old bloom came
back to her cheeks and the bright
ness to her eyes, and she seemed to
drop her years and her widowhood,
and to spring out afresh into the rare
beauty Of her early maidenhood.
Thus arrayed, she went down softly
and seated herself before the blazing
fire, her face fearful and expectant
If his soul was near-she chung to the
hope that it was as she chung to life
The should see how tenderly she re-
membered him.
The anniversary night wore on,
wild and dark with storm, and still
the poor wife, half dazed by her ter
rible sorrow, sat by her lonely
hearthstone, robed in her festive
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