Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1894-12-15
CHAPTER XIV.
AND CHILD.

CHAPTER XIV.
FATHER CHILD.
II was a sight to bring tears 10 the eyes OF
a strong man. The poor old father-white-
haired. haggard, trembling like q leaf. and
fcverishly claSping the child vino had been
the darling OF his days. lie looked into her
face-hc smoothed back her hair with his
wrinkled hand-ile mnrmured her name
while, sobbing and moaning, She chung TO
him and cnireated his forgiveness.
| stood looking on. almost terrified. AS |
did 50, my ann brushed past nc, and. enter
ing the kitchen, uttered a cry Of surprise.
"Annie!'
The tone of her voice was harsh and cold,
and her face was stern indeed.
Releasing herself from her fathers EN-
brace, my cousin turned 10 her mother with
ouistrciched arms.
Yes, mother. | have come back. ~
But my aunt, with the same stern express
sion, repuIsed her. aud the poor girl fell back
with II pitiful moan.
Mother, mother, dear. won't you speak
10 me?'
"Bide a bit! VIVA brought 'ee? Did you
COON back alone?'
Annie turned her eyes pitifuIly toward
me.
1--WE came home together" / said, step
ping forward.
Let me look at 'ee!!' cried my aunt, sud-
denly approaching her daughter, who hid
her face and sobbed. What. can't ZEE look
your mother IN the face? Now? Then away
wi zee, for you'm ia daughter q miner
Ny uncle, who had sunk trembling into q
chair lonkaI mn .tu,y,J ~ cha continued.
Look at your father. Look at the shame
and trouble you'm brought upon him. A
year ago he were a happy man, and | were 4
happy woman; but nOW-look at us both
n0lc, Better TO be lead and buried than 10
COON back var, WI thy shame upon zee,
bringing sorrow and disgrace on folk that
once held their heads up wi the best.'
/ was lost in amazement at my aunt's So
verify; for never for n moment had / antici-
pated such n reception. Hitherto, indeed,
my uncle had seemed to take the affair most
10 heart. and il was his attitude toward An
ME that | had most dreaded. But the parts
aas.assSe-ssss.sa .s.sssss.kH= .saat sSss
giving woman.
Come. come. aunt" | said. You must
not talk to Annie so. There has been troub-
lie, no doubt; but it is all over now, and
everything can be explained
But my aunt was infiexible.
"Whar has she been all this while, tell me
that? She left o her avn free will, and she
comes back o her avn free will; but till l
knaw what she ha' done, Ill ne'er sit down
or break bread wi her again"
II told you how II would ber' cried Annie,
addressing her words 10 me, but still hiding
her face. Let me go! i wish | had never
Gomez
And she made a hurried movement toward
the door, as ii 10 ily. Seeing this, my aunt
relented a little, though her manner was still
harsh enough.
AT this moment, my uncle rose.
Annie" he said, "dawn't heed mother.
She dawn't mean it, my lass-she dawn't
mean 1t! Whate'er you'm done, this is your
home, and you are our %child-our little lass
Then. turning 10 his wife, he added, Speak
to her, wife. speak kindly to her! May be
she'll tell ZEE all her trouble
His broken tones, so pleading and pitiful,
melted the mothers heart. With a wild cry
she sank Into a chair, the tears streaming
down her face.
'Oh! Annie, Annie! may the Lord forgive
zee for what you ha' d0ne!'
Suddenly mastering herself, my cousin un-
covered her face and looked at her mother.
Then, drying her tears, and speaking with
tremulOus determination, she said:
Il know | have been wicked. / know l
should never have gone away But IL you
have suffered, SO have /. | never meant to
bring shame and trouble upon you or father:
l loved you both too well for that. But il
you can't forgive me-. if your heart is still bit
ter against me land God knows l don't blame
you, for | deserve II ALI. | had better go
away. | don't want TO be a trO,$le or o
burden. i have made my bed, l know, and
l must lie upon IT; and If / had not met my
cousin Hugh i should never have come
home.'
Tell me the truth, Annie Pe~ndragon."
said my aunt. "Wha took thee from home?
Was ii him as is lying, dead and murdered,
In his grave?'
Aanie opened her eyes in wonder. My
uncle started, and then, curious 70 say, avert
ell his face, but stood listening.
what do you mean, mOthery'
what da~ / meanr' echoed my aunt,
sharply. what should / mean, Annie PEN
dragon? Folk say you did leave 81. Gurlott's
wi a man. Were that man him that is dead?."
Il have already asked her that question:"
I said; land she denies it,"
sd" lily uiicic stdIt uSuul. ne was still
eagerly listening.
mo, mother" said Annie, firmly.
Nav? You were seen together L Fal-
mouth; all the folk think the overseer took
'ee away fro home"
Then II Is not true"
My uncle turned; his face, which had been
troubled before, o CHASTITY beyond meas
ure.
annie, Annie. my lassr' he cried.
"Dawn't deny II! Speak the truth, and well
forgive zee! 1t were MeasteF Johnson wha
brought thee to your t~rouble-say it were,
Annie, say 1t were!'
His voice was pleading and full OF en-
treaty. ] alone of all there, guessed why.
But Annie shook her head sadly, as she re-
piled:
mo, father. Him you speak Of was moth
Ing to me, and never harmed me by word or
deed"
John Rudd saw We together + Falmouth,
cried my aunt; ''and after that, the overseer
were away for days. Why will zee lie to her
that bore zee, Annie ~Pendragon?'
II am not lying, mother. / am telling you
the Gospel truth. Father. she cont believe
me! But you will, won't you? God knows
I would not deceive YOU. after what has
passed.
But my uncle had turned away, like a nan
mortally wounded, and, leaning against the
Intel OF the window, was looking wildly
out.
"Dawn't speak to mel" he said, 'dawn't.
my lass! can't bear itr'
thought II time to interfere; 50 gently
taking Annie by the hand, I led her to my
aunt aud made them shake hands md kiss
each other. TiHls soiue sort OF reconcile
ment was established, aud presently the two
women, mother and daughter, went upstairs
toxether' Ny hope was that. after that. ~