Blackfoot news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1891-1902, 1895-09-14

| was the most fOOliSn II ne Thought
that woman's love for man Is a
thing guided by mere worldly circum-
stances He thought Miss Dixon's al
lance with him, an obscure lawyer,
| impossible. She thought that she had
! made mistake after all In her guess
that he had loved her, and a man of
thirty-five, with woman OF twenty
six, can make the most senseless blum
| ders of love affairs that ever fretted
poor Cupid into decline.
| A week later he heard that she and
her mother had gone south for the
winter, and people laid his haggard
! face and purposeless mein to his polit-
ical failure instead of to so simple
little thing as hungry heart 1t was
not until the first of the year brought
celebrated law case into his hands
that he awakened to the stern reali-
ties of life, but the new work grad
ually won him back to his old-time
vigor of purpose, and by spring the
only outward sign of his disappoint-
ment was an added furrow across his
forehead, with grave, deep line about
his quiet mouth. He had won wide
reputation by his strong, masterful
handling of the recent trial, and new
honOrS came TO set upon his worthy
brow, at which he smiled with a
fixed gravity, as though, after all, 1t
mattered little to him.
Summer had come again TO Free
manville-summer, with its warm,
bright sunlight glinting on the cozy
homes of the little village, till the
trees spread in luXuriant shade. ana
the trim flower beds lay in fragrant
perfection along the neat walks and
drives. The Dixons had returned the
week before. but Mr.. Taylor had not
seen them, and no one-not even the
busiest gossips of the place-had dared
to mention them TO him. He felt anew
the old disappointment of last fall
and he decided to plead WEAKNESS
from his recent prOtracted struggle as
an excuse for going away some place
to rest. He didn't know where. but
any place in which there would be no
danger of coming face to face with
that clear-eyed, sweet-lipped woman.
All arrangements had been COM
pleted, and still he delayed his de-
parture. Nevertheless he felt that fur
Their lingering on the scene was only
added torture-he would go the very
next morning. Only, was there any
thing wrong in simply walking up
past her house? 1t was now quite
dark, and she could not recognize him,
even though she might be looking out
toward the street While he-he would
have once more the bliss of one little
glimpse of her there in the pretty,
home-like room, where the honey
suckle sprays dropped about the win
u a Al -. Nkns to
eclipsed by the superior brilliancy of
the lamps within. 1t was very still
in front of the house. for the naples
on each side of the walk grew low
and the neatly trimmed grass looked
black in the shadow. AS he had hoped,
he saw her standing just between him
and the light behind. with her fair
hair shining about her face and her
dainty shoulders sharply outlined. The
shadows up to the very window were
dense-could there be any harm in
his creeping nearer, just for one last
look?
To an outsider the sight of the dig
nified Mr.. John Taylor, he who had
become famous in the little commu-
nifty during the last few months, steal
ing up in the deep gloom to catch a
SAlIAl psf vi a Dllh-dHAl-N lillt xii Win
in, savored strongly of the ridiculous.
Besides. Mr.. Taylor was not a boy,
and should have remembered his age
to a point of saving himself. but he
didn't remember it; he forgot all but
the Whitehead woman within. and in
his eagerness he even lifted his head
above the window sill.
At first he could not see what she
was doing. but gradually as he be-
came accustomed to the light, and a
queer unaccOuntable mist which the
sight of her had brought to his eyes
had melted away, he felt his heart
rise in wild. strange hope, which had
not been his since that night last fall
when she had babe him come to her
with the story of his success. For
the calm, collected Miss Dixon with
the usually quiet lips and placid eyes,
was crying-crying softly, hopeless,
there alone, like a weary child who
sObS on in an unsatisfied way with
out any promise of the end of pain.
She was holding something, tOo-a
tiny little brown leather book-and
Mr.. Taylor's heart gave a new throb
as he recognized it as the only gift he
had ever had the courage to offer her.
AS he watched her she slowly lifted
her round shapely arms above her
head, then sunk on her knees before |
the table and actually pressed her lips |
to the battered brown cover, while the |
Whitehead shoulders shook in a hun
gry despairing way, which went to |
his very soul Gradually the whole |
matter became clear to him, and his |
eyes shone with his new discovery. |
A courage which appalled, him came |
to him then and there, and a moment |
later he stood above her, while she, |
all unconscious, knelt above her poor
little relic of bygone days, where the
fell softly on her hair and
her pin finger tips. clasped
desperately over her little treasure.
''Enidw at last ventured Mr. Taylor,
laying his hand gently on her pretty
shoulder.
The sobs stopped, and slowly, dazed-
ly, she turned toward him the tear
wet eyes. He said nothing as he took
her cold hands and tenderly lifted her
to him, but he never after was afraid
Of her, for her face shone with a mar
yelous gladness as she whispered
"Why weren't you brave? I've been
so lonesome" -Exchange