The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1894-12-08

| tears ready TO start d1reSn. eredu
and thought more about it than any
of them, l do believe"
1t was true that no one else is
the family had form ed so intelli-
gent an idea of the great buildings
and their uses, and Milly could not
explain all the dreaming of her
sixteen-year old brain, nor how
she half hoped that some beau
tiful, improbable happening would
make way for her going. 1t was a
relief to talk to Uncle Pete of all that
she had learned 80 that he might I'M
derstandwhat he, too, had missed. Yet,
when he left her, the picture most
clearly before him was not the White
City of her vision, but the dropping,
lonely little figure busted over homely
tasks in the kitchen. AS he walked
slowly through the cornfield the gray
head under the old hat was bowed
thoughtfully, and the brown, knot
ted fingers interlaced as Uncle Pete's
had fashion of doing when he was
in deep study. He often dropped
into long fits of musing in the quiet
hours when there was nothing to do;
but with the exception of Milly, there
was seldom any one in the busy,
noisy family to notice his moods.
He had no children, and after his
wife died he had come-less as mat
ter of choice than of necessity, per-
haps-to live in his brothers home.
"Pete's as good, well-meaning
soul as ever breathed, but he never
had any faculty for getting along"
Aunt Susan was wont to say of him
with touch of good-natured con-
tempt, for ''getting along" as she
understood it, was to the energetic,
capable housewife the chief end of
existence.
The household had accepted her
verdict. Even Uncle Pete himself
supposed she must be right, and an
swered only with a meek, deprecatory
smile when his "poky ways" and gen.
eral shortcomings were brought to
light. Still it was sweet to remem-
Der that Hannah, his wife, had never
discovered his ineficiency, and that
his ways had suited her. 1t was ten
years since she went away, sometimes
it seemed to him that it had been
ages. No one meant to be unkind.
He was fond of Nathan's folks" as
he often said, but it was busting
household, caring little for sentiment
and no one knew that in its midst he
was lonely nobody but Milly. Often
when she passed him sitting alone on
the wide porch her fingers would
touch the bowed head caressingly, or
her little red hand slip into the older,
thinner one. Milly liked his room
and the old-fashioned- furniture he
treasured-the bureau with it's brass
handles, the little round workable
that had been Hannah's and that still
held the faded work basket and worn
thimble. Milly loved to sit there,
when the days work was done, and
listen to the rambling stories of by
gone days and to the music of the
old violin, grown like its owner some
what decrepit and uncertain now, as
it discoursed Money Musk" Devils
Dream" and Fishers Hornpipe."
Those were Uncle Pete's happiest
hours. His face would light up, his
tones grow animated, and his fingers
touch the fragile strings lovingly.
cts been good instrument in its
day, Milly-a more than ordinary
good instrument it's risky using
it much now" he was careful to ex-
plain.
1t called for SO many repairs that
the concerts were always short and
interspersed with long talks that
would have wearied a less patient
audience, but only drew Milly into
closer sympathy with her old friend.
She had grown very dear to him, and
it was of her and of the present that
he was thinking this morning as he
walked between the rows of rustling
corn down to the meadow. 81 might
do it; do s'pose | actually mightW
he remarked confidentially to Brown
Bess, who only tossed her handsome
name and eyed him wonderingly.
Even to himself the thought which
had come seemed an audacious one,
a mere possibility, but it grew upon
him as he went the rounds of field,
garden and poultry yard until he lost
the fear of it.
"Milly." he said, going in to the
early dinner, What if you and l
should go to the Fair by ourselvesl
just you and II"
Milly dropped the loaf of bread she