Santa Fe new Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1898-1951, 1898-09-03

$4,000 -
me what a pretty dancer Mary was.
All the young folks in the country was
there, but Mary was the populares'
of 'em all. They wouldn't hear to our
drivin back then, but made us both
come right in to supper. didn't exact
ly calculate on dom this, but Mary
looked like she wanted to, SO | did.
They tried to make me dance, but !
don't know how. 1t was the openin OF
a new summer hotel, you know. A
young fellow that set next to me at the
table an was mighty polite in handin
me everything said he was gonter be
there at the hotel for some time, all
that we mus come round often. OF
course l asked him to come see us too.
He was a pretty glib talker. When we
was leavin an tellin everybody goodby
and promisin to come again soon, !
heard a lady from New York say to N
other one, Wouldn't she he a queen
with the right trainin!' We got in the
spring wagon an drove home, an she
was jes' all excitement tellin me what
a time they had that day an how l
ought to learn to dance.
1.-TWO days after some ladies drove
round in their carriages an asked her
to go to the Springs with EN- again. She
said No. butwhen she seen l was anx-
ious to have her go she went with them.
They drove back after supper, her and
the two ladies all a young man, an
they all told me l ought to have been
there. That night she seemed kinder
unres'less. She talked a heap bout the
nice things they'd all said bout her at
the Springs, but mostly talked bout
how nice it would be if we could go an
travel an go to New York an every
where, an she said we ought to read
books all the like, all that a lady there
said what she needed vas c%ultiyatin.
~ didn't like this, talkin bout her
like she was a field to be plowed up,
stead Of a flower jes' to grow an bloom
natural, all when l told her this she
jes' laughed all slapped her hands over
my mouth. She went to the Springs
right regular for a time. Then she
wouldn't go no more. Somebody sent
ner some books-four or five of 'em.
She commenced to read one of 'em out
loud to me one night. Twas a nice
story about some rich folks, some art
lists, an how they was lovin each other,
an the thing they went to, but while
got to likin the pesky books after awhile,
l told her all the time that it vas jes'
stories an that there wasn't no such
folks, in Paris or New York or any
where's else. Since she was teachin me,
a-readin out loud, I took to teachin her,
tellin her what l thought bout the
books. I told her that life was a reality
an that even if there was such people
they wasn't no better off than us, cause
there's advantages an disadvantages
everywhere, an it all mounts to bout
the same an everything in it's place is
the best. That's the way Ia write if I
wrote books.
"Maybe it was readin in them durn
books bout the fashion an the wealthy,
or maybe it was them people at the
Springs put foolish notions in her head,
or maybe it was jes' cause she come to
know she was too good an pretty for a
man like me, but anyhow she commenst
to pine an droop like a flower that's
witherin. I'd beg her to go to the
Springs all enjoy herself like she was
invited to do, but it warn't no use. She
wouldn't do it. After bout a week Of
this thing that same lady from New
York drove up to our gate an asked
Mary to come in an pay a visit to her
at the Springs. She wanted her to stay
as long as she would, an then Mary did
agree to go an stay q week, maxim the
condition that l was to come to see her
every day.
cts a lonesome time l had then. I
didn't 60 to see her but three days, AL
every day it seem to me l was unwel-
conner than before, so I thought I better
not 60 no more an let the chile enjoy
her visit. 1t look to me like the harder
I try to please her the more things
would go wrong. Wimmin folks is
curious little things, stranger, an a
awkward fellow like me don't know
jes' how to handle 'em. l had done
m~ortgaged my farm again an went i'll
town an brought her silks an dresses
an gloves jes' the right size, an when
she see In she jes' cried an said I was
too good to her. Then | got her a piano,
but nothin would suit. This was befo'
she went for the last time to the springs.
The things Is all at home now, but ]
never wants to see them again, an il
God spares me | never will. There's
nothin else to say now, but that | lef
cause I couldn't stan the sympathy al
the talkin of the neighbors after / got
this letter.
Here he paused and took from the in
side pocket Of his corduroy coat a
square envelope addressed in a round,
girlish hand. The faint odor Of violet
sachet which had once permeated the
pages could still be detected, though
mingled somewhat with the aroma o.
tobacco. 1t read:
hope that you will understand and forgive
mo, Jack, although ! know that God never
will. Twas never happy with you, and / never
y wa Sb, ma to me- make IN ys3 ao hspgy, , 4 bs aaele; w ".
When you get this, ! will be far away. Dom
try to find me, for you never can. MARY.
After the correspondent had read and
returned the letter both men were silent.
They watched the little knots Of officers
and privates talking together under the
shade trees, the squads Of ununiformed
recruits crossing the grounds to thei1
various commands, the amateur cooks
preparing the midday meal and all Of
the lazy restlessness of camp life. The
Hancock volunteer was the first tc
speak. "What posters me most in that
letter" he said in a voice tremulout
with suppressed emotion, lis that she
says that She knows that God never
will forgive her. an sure God (if there