The record-union., 1896-12-27

two years of my existence. An orphan
all Of my life, l have dwelt with
strangers only long enough to love them
as friends and since my grandmother
died L have never known what it was
to have a welcome waiting for me.
Perhaps 1 never felt this as 1 do to-
day, when nearly every one is anxious
ly expectant. Wives are wondering
will their husbands be at the wharf to
meet them. Children are looking for
parents, mothers for sons, and two or
three ladies are nervously awaiting the
appearance of the gentlemen to whom
they are to be married.
One of these ladies has no acquaint-
ance with the gentleman she has come
so far to marry, except by correspond
ence, and yet she seems ladylike and
refined. What an experiment. Anoth-
er, very young girl, and who could
have been but a child when she bade
her lover good-by, has braved the op-
position of her family to join a man
who must be really a stranger to her.
He went away from his home before
the discovery of gold to join the United
States army in Mexico, and she has not
not seen him for over eight years.
He loved me when 1 was a little
child" she said, "and last summer he
wrote, would l not come to him and
be his wife?' Mamma and papa said 1
should not do such a crazy thing, and
said it was not crazy thing to do, and
l would go, and 1 have, you see Mann
ma broke down at last and found some
one for me to go with, but papa did not
know it, and he said he would never
forgive me. Poor, old papa" she add
ed, he will, though, when he sees how
delightfully."- everything will end
Mr.. Prentiss was sitting by my side
when she told this story, and he laughed
as she finished and said, You're a
plucky little piece, and 1 guess you'll
come out all right But / said, I'm
afraid you'll come out all wrong, and
think you'll have your poor fathers
forgiveness for quite a different reason
than because things end delightfully."- At
any rate you are taking desperate
chances, and if l were in your place I'd
turn about and go home and let my
lover come for me. You say you have
the money to do so, thanks to a kind
mothers generosity"
l don't fancy my vehemence pleased
Mr.. Prentiss for he walked away with
cut word and 1 saw him no more that
day, but the next he was at my side as
genial as ever
l have scribbled this stuff as much to
pass the time away as anything. 1t is
almost uncomfortable, the excitement I
am laboring under as we approach San
Francisco. The majesty of the Golden
Gate impresses me in such a wild way
that 1 can scarcely control myself.
Alone, but for God, in this land of
gold and sunshine-a land of beauty
yet peopled with a world of desperate
men and women. What fate awaits me :?
O my grandmother'S God watch over
me.
December 16.-I have been two
months in California. What a change
has come into my life in three months
In another month 1 am to be married
and once again leave friends and ac-
Quaintances to be with strangers. My
cousin does not approve of my course.
L don't wonder. He says that 1 am
pleasantly situated and independent
earning a good living and most well
come to share his home with his family;
that Mr.. Prentiss is comparatively a
stranger to him, and what do l know
of him more than he knows; that Mr..
Prentiss has been but short time in
California, and nothing is known of his
life before he came here. Why won't
wait and find out something more about
him? All this is most reasona BILE, and
l, too, wonder at myself.
Two weeks ago / had not thought of
marrying Mr.. Prentiss. His home is
several hundred miles from this little
mining camp where 1 am teaching
school. had thought very much about
him, but did not really expect to ever
see him again, when one evening he
came into my cousins little sitting
room. He had come for me. He told
me so that night, and l have given him
permission in less than a month to come
again, and | am to go with him to the
home he is preparing for me. But oh,
why does my heart misgive me? Why,
why am l pushed on to marry this
stranger? / fear, oh, | know not what
But / love him, and I cannot give him
up. No, come good, come bad, it
must come.
O, my grandmother'S God, have pity
on one who has no pity on herself
The journal ends here 1t was found
many years after it was written, when
it's pages were yellow with age, by one
who said, as she laid it back in the old
portfolio. Il think God heard tina t
prayer, for I am told she never knew
This sentence was left uncompleted,
and then the speaker added: Poor,
poor Barbara, | never thought kindly
of you before, and have been half glad,
| fear that even your grave was for
gotten. But il shall not be 50 any
longer, for I myself will carry flowers
there, and will always think of you
kindly hereafter"
CHAPTER II.
Mamma, the morning paper offers
a prize for the best Christmas story
We need money so much, and / was
thinking if you were only we'll enough
to write as you used l am sure you
would win the prize. But you are not
able. dear. precious mother, and / ought
not
The sentence was interrupted by a
violent fit of coughing on the part OF
the one addressed, and the speaker, a
young girl of not more than ID years OF
age. Iaid down the paper which she had
been reading and proceeded TO admin
lister to her suffering mothers necessi-
ties.
She diS-11ot speak again. even when
the dreadful coughing ceased, bu,
pressing her lips lightly to the pale
forehead, took little basket from the
table and went out. With quick steI
she picked her way through the
1oni<iprr ,o;tLn,