Pawtucket tribune. (Pawtucket, R.I.) 1890-189?, 1894-08-01
TEE NEW
POsTBOxEs.

uhy lof years hno ut<u eOrteu OVCr tne bthkt
mails. tho county papers and the letters
The day had been busy one In the store,
and 10 add % the confusion Lydia had
recently bought q new set OF boxes to take
the place of the dingy little portfolios
which for 20 years had done continuous
service under different postmasters. A
carpenter had worked that afternoon tear
ing away the old case and generally over
hauling the postofiloe end OF tho store
Lydia was between 40 and 80. Nigh
onto %, bin two year older'n my boy
jerry" old Mrs. Davidge said TO her
friends when Lydia's age was discussed.
But, law, she don't hook IL, an she don't
act iti Them tow headed girls never look
ca old ez they really be-"
Tho carpenter stopped hammering and
came 60 where the postmistrcss was fan
ming herself He ives shuffiing awkward
ly half a dozen letters yellow with age
and somewhat rat eaten.
"6ee here. Lyddy. are these any goodf"
asked he, holding out the letters II
found 'em down behind the wainscoting.
s'pose they're just trash what got
brushed aside. on no account whatever"
The postmistress OF Canaan Corners took
the letters with but little show OF inter
est People were always running TO her
with trifies and asking her unnecessary
questions.
Her mind was far away. Farmer Rat
cliffe that day. as he moppcd the sweat
from his furrowed face In the postofiloe,
said to her;
"Some folks don't know what hard
work Is. Now, I've boon workin. Been
plowin thai six acre patch back o. my
grainary, Lyddy, where you and my sister
Ann used TO play. 'Taint been plowed
afore In go years"
The six acre patch, Lydia Spencer had
been thinking that morning, was much
like her heart. In which the love sod had
been unfurrowed for 30 years. Twenty five
yearsi Yes, 10 had besn just that long since
she had seen John Butterworth-sinoe he
gave her lovers look and then, cheerily
assuring her that they would soon meet
again. bad gone 60 New York. Their let
ters had been earnest and full OF feeling,
and finally he wrote asking her II she
would marry him. telling her that he had
not been successful In business as yet, but
that IL she said Yes" be.would come back
TO Canaan Corners and they would go To
Chicago. Braveiy had che pennod favor
able answer. and then she waited. All,
the dying Of great hopei How tenacious
ly Il clings TO lifei How anxiously she
awaited tidings from John Butterworthl
But none came. The summers came and
went. Twenty-Five years ago, and she
had been thinking Of John Butterworth
that day.
"Looks 90 II rats had chawed 'em some.
don't iti" asked tho carpenter as Lydia
stepped closer To the window 30 inspect the
musty letters
The very first one Of tbc lot gave her
senses a shock. John Butterworth. Bull g
Head Hotel, Bowery, N. Y. City"
The rcd sun turned black. The Canaan
Corners postoffioe began spinning around
and bobbing up and down. A hurricane
seemed 30 catch her and dash her head
against distant cliff.
There, there, Miss Lyddy," said the
big carpenter, fanning her with his straw
hat. "The heats been too much fur 20,
Trembling like q child. she once more
looked 40 the letter-hor own letter of ac-
ceptance-plighting her troth for better
or for worse, through evil and good report.
IL seemed 20 her az II her heart would
burst In agony She knew now why John
Butterworth had never come back. She
had appeared 10 him as unwilling TO share
his fortunes, Lydia Spencer was firm
woman In justice TO herself she deter
mined to make an effort 10 reach John
Butterworth with the belated letter IL
had no postmark. Taking the marker, she
removed the figures "94" and substituted
&c.,"
Then, writing note TO the proprietor OF
the Bulls Head hotel, New York city, she
told him 70 forward the letter 20 Chicago.
Nervously she let II fall into the gaping
mouth Of the mailbag The stage took II
on It's way that night.
Two weeks later a gray haired man
one Of Chicago's leading capitalists-was
one morning opening his mail. He came
to a yeliowed envelope which had been for
wartied from New York. II bore several
rubber stamp marks and n Chicago post
Office clerk had written on it:
"Try 861 Dearborn street"
"Send Jack In, said John Butterworth
TO his head clerk.
Jack, my boy" said the father Ia q
low voioe and nervously, "read this old
letter which has been 90 years In reaching
me-"
Jack" continued the elder, after his
request had been complied with, you
will have to postpone your vacation. In
going TO take one at Canaan Corners, n
Y. never expected To marry again after
your dear mothers death, my boy, but Il
the writer OF that letter is alive and will
| Ing you'll have a new mother inside o
| two weeks.
Tho Caanan Corners stage ono evening
| a few days later carried gray hairet
stranger.
Yen find Lyddy at the postoficc,
said the driver She's postmistross, al
| every one knows Lyddy."
Had she seen him comingt Everything
was still In tho postoflice when John But
1 terworth entered Looking through tn
glass case, he saw q golden haired woman
her face close 20 the table top. She wa
resting her averted face on her forearm
and sobbing like child.
| Lydia" said John Butterworth AS n
took her I'm his arms and raised her. "Ly
dia, sweetheart, ] didn't get the letter til
three days ago In Chicago I'm 30 old an,
gray now suppose you're sorry got I
at all, ehr'
She looked up quickly, smiling through
ber tears Her blushing. radiant fac
didn't look as II she was sorry.-Ney
York Press
He Had Seen Her Throw.
q r.. l.