The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1896-04-30

purring that at once began. Her
cheeks were . little flushed. II heard
ever so many robins this morning, !" she
said, as if she were afraid of the silence,
aud her hostess nodded.
IF It keeps to this weather we shall
have the golden robins comm right
along. do long to get them here in
the spring. Then I really feel ~ If the
winters gone for good" |
As Sally Martin went up the road she
wished that she were still sitting with
her old neighbor. For almost the first
ing and repellent, something cold and
heartless about her own little house
as she unlocked the door and went in.
She missed the motherliness she had
just left, and the sun no longer shone
into her own kitchen. She sat down
without taking off her shawl.
After all it was too late now to
change her manners to Isaac Bolton or
to let him know that her love had al
ways been his. Everybody had
spoken Of his approaching marriage,
and the new house. was the surest
proof. Mrs. Bascom had treated the
story lightly, but perhaps she did not
know, or had not been told, because she
was certain not to approve. Sally
knew that her old neighbor had always
been her friend. A crisis seemed to have
come into her quiet life. Isaac Bolton
had been an orphan boy brought up
by his uncle and aunt; besides the tract
of fine valley land joining the Bascom
farm, on which he was putting the new
house, he had good property in mon
ey. Sally knew that he would have
stayed on with the Bascoms and been
a great help to them if the neighbor-
hood to herself had not grown SO diff
fcult and unpleasant. Since then he
must often have felt homeless. For
herself, too, not far beyond 30, strong
and fond of hard work, it was q poor
sort of life to live on year after year
in her little house, pinching out . liv-
ing from a bit of ledgy land and the
tiniest of incomes. Isaac was larg:-
hearted and manly, though quick-tem-
pered enough, as she had known. She
saw things differently now, the old
habits of her mind, the self-pity that
had chung SO long to a grievance had
worn themselves away and left only re-
greet behind on that spring afternoon.
It was too late now, she could not do
anything, she had lost all right to the
man whom she loved and who had SO
long loved her. She remembered, as she
had so many times before, that when she
saw him last his coat needed mending.
and that he had grown to look older
and even a little gray. She remem-
bered now the sweet, wistful look in
his eyes, and how quickly they had
clouded over when she with beating
heart had treated him so coldly.
Sally Martin still sat by her window
in the late afternoon. She had taken
up her sewing again, but her eyes
looked as if she had been crying. Every
few minutes she glanced down lifelong
road to see Mr.. Bascom and Cynthia
when they came bach; that seemed the
only interest to which one might still
look forward. At last the wagon came
! IN sight and she wondered what the
father and mother would have to tell.
10 her surprise they passed their own
lanes end and came on up the hill, driv-
ing fast. Cynthia would not take time
just now to come past the house unless
for something important-shew was late
a.ready-and Sally's heart was filed
with apprehension.
They turned out of the road, and still
sitting by her window she saw Cynthia
get out of the wagon, after word with
her father. In both faces was LOOK
OF sorrow and shock, and she sprang to
her feet as her friend came into the
kitchen.
"Oh, Sally, sally!" said Cynthia,
""Isaac got awfully hurt this after
noon. He fell from the house frame, and
the doctor can't tell yet whether there
is much chance for him. They stopped
us as we came by, and they've got him
in a little shed until he can be moved