Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1897-11-17

WV them 1nat the SerNlce
II was almost over, and !. a
little later they began to
file slowly out through the high, mar
row doors into the damp Cornish air
In almost total silence the crowd sep
arated, with the Inconsistencies of
surroundings which comes to men
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
shed, where many wagons were wait
ing; both had been strongly moved by
the evenings sermon, but in different
ways, Indicative, perhaps, of their
widely differing temperaments.
Ordway helped his wife into the
wagon, the horses struck into a swift
trot, and the driver leaned forward to
draw the rug more closely about his
companion, peering up into her face
solicitously.
"a damp nlghtn' he murmered. "Do
you feel at all cold, little grl?'
She started nervously at his voice,
and shook her head.
I'm quite warm enough" she said
mechanically.
They moved swiftly past the scatter
ed houses of the village and out ioto 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 |
ought to have told you long ago"
Her tone was so serious that he turn
ed and looked at her with quick anx-
lety.
Are We sure We ought" he asked
gently Maybe there amt any need
There Is a need" she answered. 81
have known all along that it would be
better to speak out, but somehow |
never felt that l could, until tonight"
She paused as though to gather cour-
age. ITS 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
chuekle. II took special notice of
that hole so as to skip 1t on the way
home, and here l am, driyin' right into
It again, like an old fool. That's what
comes of llstenin' to sermons We can't
quite understand"
Wont you listen to me, John?" his
wife asked pleadingly.
'Of course l 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 1t so hard for me-" she
said. And am in earnest. oh, truly
I am 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 mother soothes a nervous,
sleepy child
Il wasn't jckln'," he said. I'm al
ways glad to listen to We; only l think
ye'd best wait till we get home. We re
most there now"
The wagon swung around sharp
turn. and then, far up on the hill ahead
of them the clear-cut outline of the
farm buildings showed against the
horizon. And the horses plodded on In
silence.
60 In by the fire." said John Ord
way, when at length they ratified into
The farm yard It'll take me some time
10 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.
Il wanted to wait until we could 20
In together she said. The long. low
kitchen was full of changing shadows.
which danced across the time-polished
door and lost themselves in the corners
Of the irregular ceiling, when Or,lway
crossed to the huge fireplace and piled
some sticks of soft wood on the glow
.ng ashes.
Then, twisting himself out of his TON
coat and bestowing it, together with
mis- cap, on convenient table. he drag
ged from the chimney corner a rrent
)ld-fashioned chair and sank back Iux.
ariously in its capacious depths. His
wife had also removed her wraps. ana
1ow took her seat at the other side of
he fireplace on a low stool, drawn
back just within the wayerlng bound
airy of shadow. At length she spoke.
slowly and with evident effort at calm
ness.
"iou must try to be patient with