Brookings weekly register. (Brookings, Brookings County, S.D.) 1898-1903, 1898-12-29
CHAPTER III.


ing for the tongs began to feed the
CRATE from the large scuttle. Little blue
flames commenced to creep through the
fresh coal, and as they struggled John
Frostberg with the poker opened ways
for the fiery tongues through the black
pile. Little red flames took the place of
the tiny blue ones, and soon the whole
mass was ablaze. The cold chills were
gone, and John Frostberg yawned
Without rising, he pushed the scarlet
chair farther from the crate and then
looked around the room, apprehensive
that some one had entered without his
notice. Satisfied that he was alone, he
carefully loosened one of the studs in
his shirt front, paused, and then made
faint effort to readjust it. His chin
rested on his breast for several minutes,
while he gazed intently at the mass of
burning Goals, apparently without real
ly looking at it. He loosened another
stud, working very slowly. The pinch
es on his face were softening; the hard,
close lines at the corners of his eyes and
mouth were losing their distinctness.
The flutes between his brows had entire
ly Disappeared the long, bony fingers of
his right hand crept into the opening in
his shirt front and rested. They were
drawn out, only to creep slowly back
There was a motion as if feeling for
something. The hand came out. 1t was
not open, as when it entered, but tight
ly closed. His eyes turned from the
burning Goals and rested on the closed
hand when it gradually opened, and in
it lay a small miniature. The piuches
were fast disappearing. The hard eX
preston had gone, and his face looked
like new one. Ten years of life had
been wiped out of it. He raised the pic
ture to his lips and kissed it, Again
and again he kissed it, His eyes closed
and tears started from them. AS they
touched the pinches, which still linger-
ed at their corners, they washed them
out. They ran down his cheeks and
smoothed them. They touched the
pinches at the corners of his mouth,
and they disappeared. All the pinches
were gone, washed out by the waters
that flow from the eyes, but have their
birth in the heart. 1t was no longer the
face of John Frostberg. Love and light,
pity and charity, hope and fear, had
driven away greed, avarice, revenge and
hate His hand opened and the face of
the miniature was exposed. 1t was that
of the girl under the chestnut tree ma
tured by years. Girlhood had given
way to womanhood Again it went to
his lips, where he held it, kissing it
passionately.
''She gave it to me the morning after
my arrival in the city. AS kissed it
in her presence she laughed and said it
was cold thing to kiss, that its cheeks
could not burn nor its lips be warm
and generous. o Cod That she had
not learned of the world and | had not
learned of her! The bitter, bitter end
came. She was lost, and was wan
derer. For 20 years have been of the
living dead. All whom loved are gone.
The earth has opened and closed over
them forever. Would that ! were in
the narrow house with those who are
dear to me. | have never inquired for
her No one knew my passion but she,
no one save her the cruel blow which
drove me from home and friends and
made me stranger on the earth. Where
is she? In the grave with the others
loved? What if she still lives? What if
she is another's? Why did return to
this soulless city which l had forsworn?
She is dead. else should have seen her
heard of her beauty, would have seer
it in some child's sweet face on the city
streets No, no, she is dead. could
not have moved through the throngs for
five years and not heard of her if liv
ing. She Is dead. 1t is better that she
is in her grave. There I can forgive
her. Living, I would hate her."
He looked at the miniature intently,
raised it to his lips and pressed it there,
as if it were living thing. His head
fell back on the scarlet plush The mass
of coal was all ignited, and the Chin
ney was singing in baritone. John
Frostberg was back at the homestead.
He was romping with a fair haired girl
over The meadows and through the
stubble and resting under the chestnuts
and the elms He was plating wild
flowers in her golden tresses in the early
springtime, stringing ruby red cherries
around her neck for coral in the sum-
mer sunshine or gathering brown nuts
for her in the misty autumn days.
Memory was throwing all her early
day treasures into the lap Of the pres.
emit
"Come in, he said in response to q
rap at the door.
The door opened without noise and
closed as quietly. John Frostberg die
not rise or even turn his head.
"Well, Madison, what is your wish
This is Christmas eve suppose yor