The Valentine Democrat. [volume] (Valentine, Cherry Co., Neb.) 1896-1898, 1897-11-18

NNM0 Of the last hymn assured
WV them that the service
IL was almost over, and
little later they began tt
lie slowly out through the high, mar
low doors into the damp Cornish air
N almost total silence the crowd sep
arated, with the Inconsistencies OF
surroundings which comes to mer
when their minds have been stirred
deeply.
John Ordway and his wife came
from the chapel among the last, and
walked arm in arm to the long, low
she'd, where many wagons were wait
ing; both had been strongly moved by
he evenings sermon, but in different
ways, indicative, perhaps, of their
widely differing temperaments.
Ordway helped his wife into the
wagon, the horses struck into q swift
rot, and the driver leaned forward to
lraw the rug more closely about his
companion, peering up into her face
solicitously.
GA damp night" he murmered. "Do
you feel at all cold, little grip
She started nervously at his voice,
and shook her head.
I'm quite warm enough" she said
mechanically.
They moved swiftly past the scatter
I'd houses Of the village and out into a
stretch of open country. Three or four
times the woman raised her head as
though about to speak, but checked
herself with an effort.
Il have something to tell you, john"
she said at last. IL am afraid 1
ought to have told you long ago"
Her tone was so serious that he turn
ed and looked at her With quick anX-
iety.
care We sure We cught?' he asked
gently. maybe there amt any need"
"'There is a need" she answered. 81
nave known all along that it would be
better to speak out, but somehow l
never felt that 1 could, until tonight"
She paused as though to gather cour-
age. cts about myself and Willis"
She said. you remember"
Ordway bent forward suddenly with
a warning shout to the horses, and the
wagon jolted heavily in a deep rut.
"That's me, all over" he said with
a chuckle. Il took special notice of
chat hole so as to skip it on the way
nome, and here 1 am, drivin' right into
it again, like an old fool. That's what
comes of listenin' to ermon We can't
quite understand"
Wont you listen to me, John?' his
wife asked %pleadingly.
"Of course / WILL" he answered.
"Only my nerves bein' SO wrought up,
I'm sort of afraid to have any big
shock come on me sudden, We know"
"You make it so hard for me-" she
said. "And 1 am in earnest. Oh, truly
I an in earnest"
Her voice trembled with the warning
Of tears. Ordway put his arm around
her and drew her closer to him protec-
lively, as a mother soothes a nervous.
sleepy child.
Il wasn't jokin'," he said. I'm al
ways glad to listen to We; only 1 think
ye'd best wait till we get home. We're
most there now"
The wagon swung around a sharp
urn, and then, far up or the hill ahead
IF them the clear-cut outline of the
farm buildings showed against the
horizon. And the horses plodded on in
silence.
$50 in by the fire." said John Ord
way, when at length they ratified into
The f~arm-yard. It'll take me some time
to fix things up" But when he came
back from the stable he found her
waiting, leaning against one of the
square posts Of the porch and looking
,ut across the darkness Of the valley.
II wanted to wait until we could 60
in together" she said. The long, low
kitchen was full of changing shadows,
which danced across the time-polished
floor and lost themselves in the corners
IF the irregular ceiling, when Ordway
crossed to the huge fireplace and piled
some sticks of soft wood on the glow
ing ashes.
Then, twisting himself out of his top
coat and bestowing it, together with
his cap, on a convenient table, he drag
ged from the chimney corne a great
old-fashioned chair and sank back lux
uriously in it's capacious depths. His
wife had also removed her wraps, and
now took her seat at the other side of
the fireplace on a low stool, drawn
back just within the wavering bound
airy of shadow. At Sength she spoke,
slowly and with evident effort at calm
ness.
You must try to be patient with