New Ulm review. (New Ulm, Brown County, Minn.) 1892-1961, 1894-02-14

&c. Amy Dawson in Chambers Journal
A BERKSHIRE STORY.
1t was away up in western Massa-
chusetts just where the famous old post
road through the Berkshire hills winds
itself into New Ashford. The black van
guard of an approaching summer storm
crept along the valley behind US, and a
few stray raindrops already warned that
it was time to seek for shelter. We
turned in at the open gate of the first
farmyard. and riding up to the vine
covered porch of the quaint old house
lifted our wheels to protected spots at
either side of the paneled door. It may
have been presumifng upon hospitality
as yet unextended, but then no one
stops at such conventionality in the
Berkshires, and, were we not in the
Berkshires? The storm burst, and we sat
on the porch beside our faithful steel
steeds, watching the clouds hurry by,
the tall trees bend in the eddying wind
and the cooling water fall to the thirs-
ty earth. Somehow the smoke of oue
cigarettes seemed strangely out of place
in that old fashioned spot, and Harvey
observed that he would have felt more
comfortable with an old brier pipe and
a package of plug cut. A quiet half
hour slipped away, while the storm in
creased rather than diminished, and re-
alizing that we were to. be weather
bound for a few hours at least the ne
cessity of luncheon became apparent,
and Harvey arose to the attack. Har-
vey is an actor in season, and what he
has learned in the matter of picking up
meals on the western circuits helps him
UNNECESSARILY in summer vacations.
Repeated beating upon the door failed.
however, to elicit the slightest response
from the inmates, and my anticipatory
dreams of soft eyed, rustic Ganymede
went gloomily to pieces.
There must be a corpse in the
house, remarked Harvey reassuringly,
leaning upon his bicycle and turning
on me look of hungry resignation.
was framing in my mind a neat reply
more sarcastic than apropos when the
oaken door suddenly opened inward, and
an extremely pretty girl with long cur
ly golden hair and big blue eyes con-
fronted us. Surprise was mutual, but
she seemed the most confused.
"Why, why,'' she faltered, IL
thought to find one of the neighbors,
but-but"- 49,
There is no cause for ALARM" in
terrupted Harvey in the voice of his
most approved stage father. ''We are
perfect gentlemen, although our ap-
pearance is admittedly against US. We
took the liberty to use your porch as
shield from the weather and trust that
we are not intruding."
"Oh, no-no," she answered con-
fusedly. You will excuse me. Dave
is hurt. must go for the DOCTOR" and
she ran by US and down the steps into
the rain, lifting her calico skirts just
high enough for us to see that her pref
ty feet were but thinly covered with
light slippers. Harvey was at her side
in an instant.
pardon me" said he. Where does
the doctor liver"
"Only mile or So, she replied, with
out stopping, up the road" (She pro-
nounced it ''rud," but l am writing
this in English.) Harvey caught her
arm and pulled her back to the shell
tering porch.
But you must not run mile or so,''
he cautioned, ''in such a storm as this,
without hat, shawl or shoes. It would
kill you. will go for the doctor. My
wheel moves faster than your little
feet" Inc girl hesitated moment and
then, as Harvey stood ready to start
away, thanked him shortly and gave
directions for finding the doctors house.
"All right. Goodby," he shouted,
leaping into the saddle. You take care
of Dave"
"Oh, dear, I hope he'll hurry!'' said
the girl, turning to me as Harvey shot
out on the road and sped away through
the mud and rain faster than he had
ever run from the villain in the play.
I thought reply unnecessary.
"Perhaps might assist you," I ven
tured. II am a bit of an amateur ply
stefan. May I see Dave?''
She led the way into the narrow hall
way. up the creaking staircase, wall
papered at the sides in imitation of
white marble, and into stuffy little
chamber just under the dipping caves.
A great, deep chested, sunburned young
fellow lay upon tiny iron bedstead,
while one muscular leg hung over the
edge, shattered and bleeding. An old
woman with soft gray hair and the eyes
of the girl bent above him and called
his name again and again in tones of
the most piteous tenderness As we en-
tered she turned to my pretty guide,
and regardless of a strange presence
cried:
He is dead, Clemmie, dead! My
Dave is dead!'' and fell at the side of the
little bed, sobbing and crying. The girl
quickly glided by me, and placing her
hand upon the mar s chest said quietly:
He is not dead-only unconscious. =
drew near and saw at once that she