The age-herald., 1897-09-05
The memory of that fair 0iSiofl qrds Gll
 that TeqnGtred to him of her.

The memory of that fdir UjSion qrds dll
 that ren,otaed to him of her.
 tially to Bufford, who ventured the vague opinion that "she would come round after awhile, like they all do."
 Jim loaded up and set out. His steers were half way down the road to the ferry, when Darthuly came running aft CT him, with the baby in her arms. She caught his hand and exclaimed
 "Take us along, Jim. can't bear ter see you a-leavin this mor11in somehow. D
 'Why, how's thish yer, Darthuly? Jest bit ago ye didn't keer ter go. Bein as ye've got that pesky headache, reckon ye'd better stay. Teeters gal is a-goin ter stay ternight, and Mir. Buffordll be thar ter keep the buggers off, and shall sartinly git back termor- Ter. Why, honey-why-dhrn me ef can understand women ennyhowi"
 She was sobbing upon his arm, but would give no reason for this strange behavior, and Jim, after some hurried cogitation, concluded that she was n gittin little teched in the head''- vague complaint. embracing pretty much every phase of emotional disturb ance peculiar to females.
 ''Thar now, Darthuly, ye git right back ter the house and lay down awhile. Git Jane Teeters ter help ye cook, and let that thar washin alone until I gets baek.''
 Thus soothing and betting her. yet puzzled in mind, though utterly unsus- picious of the real cause of her agita- tion, he finally got away, leaving her standing on projecting rock, gazing with tear blinded eyes after him.
 Be back today?" queried Bufford from the stillhouse door as he passed.
 Reckon not. The steers can't hardly make hit in day.''
 He crossed the river on the fiat, and as his wagon disappeared round bold bend of the cliffs he, following behind, looked back. His wife still stood upon the rock, her baby playing at her feet and her bright calico dress 1uttering in the breeze blowing down sweet and cool from the mountains.
 The memory of that fair vision was all that remained to him of her, except the child, for eight long years.
 He returned on the following day to ruined and deserted home. Dick Bufford and Darthuly had disappeared. There was a motherless babe crying upon the bed and scrap of paper left upon the ta- ble telling him that he had no wife; that she was gone with another; that she was sorry, but could not help it; that he must regard her as one dead; that he would care for the child, for it's own sake if not for hers, whose heart was deservedly breaking; that her past life had been impure; that she had deceived him, yet had believed she loved him, until the tempter came clothed with the power and glamour of former triumph over her youthful trust and love, to lure her back to sin and ruin.
 When he at last arose, crushed, mis- erable, yet dumhly patient, he threw the wretched apology into the fire and, gathering his babe in his arms, sootheo it through the night, while fighting off by grim endurance his own pain until morning came again.
 Silently he endured the flow of neigh borly comment and consolation, and quietly he went about his double duties, with stoicism apparently untouched by tenderness, except when alone with his child.
 He never inquired after or searched for the guilty couple, nor were their names ever mentioned by him. The past as far as she was associated with