The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1895-03-08

uTGduIul cntTIly place Olu NldTm bflG-
tan gave to the town because her niece,
Malviny Rogers, didn't marry to please
her. Here the poor old creatures
voice faded away, and her face twitched
with unutterable misery.
''But we won't go. she began again,
mastering her courage. Brother Simon
would turn right over in his coffin to
think of our going to such place.
Wild horses can't draw us. Sister and
| will stay in bed and let him get Of
ficers if he can to set us and our things
out by the side of the road. He may
starve US if he wants to. We won't go
and be inmates of Marin Brittan's old
bouse," and Miss Prissy clutched the
| bedpost with nervous vigor. 1--WE know
better what belongs to US as Hinghams. "
Elsie patted and kissed her old friend,
who was like an obstinate, self willed
baby, impossible to reason with. Miss
Hetty was still extinguished under the
bedclothes, and Elsie heard her saying
her prayers: Lord, have mercyl o
Lord, have mercyp' When she tried to
go away, Miss Prissy caught hold of
her gown as a last defense, but at last
she had caressed and coaxed her into a
little quietness She found Hapgood in
the kitchen, where the fire had died
away, standing before the great empty
! fireplace.
81 am hungry as a bear,' said he,
looking at his watch. "Are we to have
no dinner?"
Elsie glanced at him meditatively as
if examining him from head to foot.
Not unless you leave me to do my
work il peace will not lift hand if
you stay around here.
$50 we have not made up our little
quarrel, it seems. You are still disposed
to be cross and i'll natured. You ought
to know, Elsie, that it does not improve
| your beauty"
MY beauty is nothing to you, said
Elsie, tossing her head.
''What has got into all the women?
| They are behaving like the very deuce, !"
muttered Arthur as he betook himself
to the sitting room, where he whistled,
| drummed on the pane and looked out
at the blowing trees and drifting clouds.
| In silence Elsie prepared the meal and
made ready the tray for the poor old
women, who were still crying and
strengthening each other in the deter
mination not to rise 1t was slow,
wretched, heavy day, as distorted and
unnatural as nightmare. In the after
noon, to escape from Hapgood, Elsie
took refuge with the calves and sheep
on the hill, where her pet lamb Topsey
thrust her black nose into her hand and
looked at her with sympathetic eyes.
Arthur Hapgood meantime wandered
over the house from garnet to cellar, cal
culating the changes he would make
and the probable cost and jotting down
figures in pocket diary.
Elsie waited upon Mr.. Hapgood at
supper in almost total silence. She
placed lamp in the sitting room, at
tended to the old ladies' wants for the
night and saw them drop off and lose
their troubles in quiet sleep, washed
the tea things, put out the fire and
closed the kitchen and then went to her
own room. She could hear Arthur Hap.
good still wandering restlessly about
the premises, and once he came to the
stair foot and called her, but she kept
still as a little mouse and did not an
swer She sat by the window of her
room, where the moonlight began to
steal in across the uncarpeted floor. Her
few gowns, hung on nails against the
low sloping wall behind her little bed,
made a dark shadowy corner, but the
chest of drawers, with its rustic orna-
ments, the small looking glass and a
picture or two, all were clear as day in
the splendor of the unclouded moon just
at the full.
Elsies view was up the high pasture
toward the way Of the woods. AS she
sat there she thought of Paul lurking
in the tall ferns under the hemlocks
waiting to hear the whippoorwills S call.
Her curly head rested against the wall
by the side of the window. Her fingers
were locked together, and her heart was
disgusted within her. She remembered
little prayer her mother had taught
her long years ago and whispered it for
Paul and the poor old women and her.
self The night was warm and pro-
foundly still. Not leaf moved on the
trees; not bird chirped in the bushes.
There was faint twinkle Of cowbells
and the bleating of lambs in a distant
pasture.
Suddenly, as if by magic, the scene
changed. She was no longer gazing up
the steep moonlighted pastures listen
ing to the cattle bells in the dewy grass
and thinking of Paul She was not even
in her familiar little room under the
sloping roof, but was in Uncle Sis
chamber, inst as she had seen it the
other night in her dream, with the white
bed, and the coverlid drawn over the
pillows, and the streak of moonlight
stretching across the floor, with IFS
braided rugs. On the chimney piece lay
Uncle Sis great silver watch and the
well thumbed family Bible. AS she
looked quite spellbound with surprise
she saw Uncle ST dressed precisely as il
life, in his brown clothes and broad
brimmed hat. She saw him turn toward
her a pale, deathlike countenance, the
mouth drawn with pain, the eyes very
sad. He motioned to her to come near
er, but she stood transfiXed with fear
cold and clammy in every limb. Slowly
again he opened that closet door in the
corner of the room where the mourning
piece hung, and where Elsie knew there
was only solid wall took out bundl,
of papers which he held toward her.
fro BE CONTINUED.