Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1895-11-14

I'll his whole face was like that OF the
dead. Not a muscle of his rigid face
stirred as. with desperate eyes. he read
on and on. Only the faint rustic Of
the leaves as he turned the pages, and
his heavy breathing broke the silence.
And this is what he read:
THE DEAD MANS STORY.
W, 49,.
My wanderings are almost over.
Exposure and misery have nearly fin
ished their work. l feel my strength
ebbing from day to day, and l know
that ! must soon die and die, ii may
be, with the purpose which has sus-
tanned M all these years u~nattained.
knowing this, | have determined to
write in this book the story of my life,
hoping that when | am dead-"found
dead"-it may be, like i tramp or vag-
abOnd-some plying eye may fall
upon these words and give me a de-
cent burial. COR something In me re-
bells at being thrown, like a dog, into
an o~utcas:'s grave. Here is the story
as l have repeated 1t over and over
again hundreds of times during the
weary years that l have passed:
l was accounted a quiet, gOod-na-
tured fellow in the little town in Eng
land where l was born and lived he
fore | came to this country. | was
slow of speech, but / had received a
fair education and had a turn for
reading and scribbling down my
thoughts. / was a printer by trade,
like my father before me. He died
when l was a lad of sixteen, leaving
me TO care for the mother and for
Barbara. She vas the daughter Of
our nearest neighbOr, and from the
time she could walk we were always
together. When she vas still very
young her parents died, and their
children were scattered and Barbara
came to us. l was the only child left
Of many, and my mother gladly wei
coined her as a daughter. We lived
together for years as brother and sis
ter, but I was not long in finding out
that my love for Barbara passed that
Of a brother, and when she was fifteen
we became engaged.
From that day | had but n ambi-
ton in life-tO put myself into cir
cumstances Were | could make her
my wife, for l had vowed in my heart
not to do so until | could offer her
something more than the hard lot of a
common mechanics wife. 1t seemed
to me she was born for something bet
ter. She was a real English beauty,
with chestnut hair falling far below
her waist and a skin like milk and
roses A gay bright creature, she
| was fond Of music and dancing and
company: fond Of me, too, as | be-
lieve still, though l was slow, and 81
lent and Awkward; trusting in me,
leaning upon me and cOnfiding in me
every thought of her innocent heart.
| did not car for gay scenes myself.
but / often went with Barbara to such
entertainments as the place afforded,
and enjoyed seeing her happy, and ad-
mired and cCurted,
When Barbara was about eighteen
years old a young man came out to
our place. / will not write his name
here-there is no need. He was Lon
don born and bred. and though a
printer like myself, far cleverer, and
full of ambitious schemes of which L
had never dreamed. He was a hand
| some. dashing fellow, with finer ways
than we were used to. He could dc a
little of everything, ard very well,
too. He sang and played the guitar
and danced like q Frenchman, and in
no time had wOn his way with every
one. The women folks, of course,
were carried away with him.
The first time he saw Barbara was
ut n dance where | had taken her. He
pointed her out to me and asked Inc
her name. l may have betrayed some
thing Of my love and pride as | an
swered, for he gave me a quick. curl
Gus look, and a moment later asked
for an introduction to her. After