Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1895-11-28

~--eSA IL SIT AoIE ny the DlaZO OIL THESE
hickory logs? What do you say,
mother?"
Mrs. Torrance started.
Il don't know; what was it you
asked me, Ebenezer? I was thinking
about something else"
She was a mild-faced matron, with
large hazel eyes. once bright as jewels,
bnt now dim with many tears-a ma
iron whose silver hair lay in shining
bands over furrowed brow, and Eben-
ezer, bowed down old man, sitting
opposite in his easy-chair, had some
tnlng OF the same trouble in his face
But Clara Willis, kneeling on the rug
between them, with her bright face
turned to the fire, was lovely enough
TO redeem the darker shadows. Blue
eyed, with hair of reddish brown, lit up
with golden CLEANS, cheeks velvet red
and dimpled. and lips like cut coral,
you never would have believed that
CARA had passed her thirty-sixth year.
mere are some faces to which caprici-
GUS Nature has granted the boon of
perennial youth, and Clara's was one Of
these.
Well, just as you please, uncle" said
Cara, Strengthening the folds Of the
RULED white apron that she wore. Sup
per is all ready
She looked around with a glance of
housewifely pride at the daintily gar
n1shed table that was spread in the cen
ter of the apartment. 1t was a very
old-fashioned room, with homemade
carpet, and curtains trimmed with
knotted fringe, while the window seats
0f &I,if&
petunias. A tall clock in the corner
tucked monotonously, and the brass can
dlesticks cleaned from the mantel as
brightly as if they had been fashioned
out of gold.
"A quarter past flve," said Ebenezer
Torrance, adjusting his iron spectacles
to glance at the clock. 'I don't see
what keeps that boy so. Clara, most
wish you could have made up your
mind to marry him, and then we
shouldn't ha' had him chasing down to
Squire Deans after Margaret half the
time. There. child, you needn't turn so
pale-I'm not in earnest"
Mrs. Torrance put out her mothGly
hand to smooth Clara's golden hair, as
the fair woman shrank as from blow.
Clara, Clara, it wasn't your fault
But it was my fault, Aunt Miriam
1t was my fault. Do I not know where
your thoughts have been all this day,
when other mothers have their happy
families gathered around them? Oh,
Aunt Miriam, if could only have died
insteadr'
At this moment, while the freight
was filling the homely room with such
a glow and fulness of ruddy life, Mat
thew Torrance was slowly toiling up
the road, in the chill gloom of tho fast
darkening night. AS he paused a mo-
ment to rest against the gnarled trunk
of a deformed willow. where he lad
many and many time played as a boy,
a tall, straight figure passed him, strid-
ing swiftly along and whistling an old
fashioned air. AS it passed, Matthew
shrank back as if a sword had pierced
his heart.
''He used to whistle that tune. have
not heard it in twenty years before"
So Matthew toiled On.
There it was, the old familiar light in
like a star.
Torrance hesitated.
Am I right in pressing on? Who
Jul OuS COtStCQ may
bring sharper pain than years of silence
and doubt? Who knows but that the
chairs are empty, the hearthstone sur
rounded by other faces and forms?
Were it not best to leave the old home
stead shrouded in merciful uncertainty?
No; I have dared too much to pause
now
He softly lifted the latch of the gar
den gate and passed up the narrow
path.
Yes: there was his father. old and
silver-haired, but living still; and his
mother sat opposite, with the half-f1n-
ished stocking on the gleaming,needIes
just it had been twenty years ago, and
the black silk holiday dress fastened
at the throat with the little gold pin.
fashioned like sea shell, that he re-
membered so well. And Clara, as beau
tiful as ever, with ripened, mature
loneliness, how royalty the fire turned
her heavy corona1s of hair to coils of
gold, as she bent to light the tall can
dies in the polished brass candlesticks
Like sleeping giant the old love rose
up once more in his heart as he looked
on the face of the girl whose syren-like
charms had maddened him to the one
desperate act Of his life. And-Father
of all mercies! was he dreaming, OF was
the great horror of his darkest antici-
,nJy h