Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1898-10-29
THE COMING HORSE.

The curate sat in old Mr.. RObSon'S s
chintz covered armchair, nodding now
and then as the mistress of the farm
paused in her outburst of excited speech
He was married and the father of ten
children, but bourgeois youthful affec-
tations still hung thick about him, for
instead of leaving his cup and saucer
on the tray, he held them in his lean
white hands, crooking his little fingers
daintily, while his speech was usually
punctuated with many 'sweetly pref
ties" and "passionately fonds," with
al good man, according to his lights,
and endowed with a certain liking of
the dutiful in his fellow creatures.
He had come up by the widow re,
quest for her daughter was dying, and
she was too proud to speak of her wild
trouble to kinsfolk who had never
viewed her with any courtesy since her
marriage to man aged enough to have
been her father.
She was slightly incoherent in her re-
quest for advice, but the curate thought
he understood.
Really, Mrs. Robson" he said gen
Wy at lUSG, ~ 10 u luOSU Idlulul CdS6
Yes thank you, another cup of tea
three Jumps, yes; have sweet tooth.
Of course think that you should have
consulted me before when Hannah was
in better health and then l could have
admonished her. Now we can only pray
But none the less it is our bounden duty
to tell her that she should wrest her af-
fections from all unworthy worldliness
and look up to the skies, whence COM
fort''-
Mrs. Robson s face had grown cold
and hard, a heavy perspiration shone
on her forehead.
81 didna mean that, " she said, "when
sent for yo', l thowt that yo' would
understand. 'Tis O. Squire Amberstones s
son as | wished to ask. My wench is
dyin, All as l beg is as he may COON
oncet again, ridin on his bay, an gi'
her kind word" She softened sudden
ly. "Oh, Mr.. Fryston, for tn love O
God, do this thing for me. Twas bu'
boy an girl playin at love. Theer was
no thowt O. i'll. My dowter's as pure an
good as chrisom child bu' what wi
him was just laugh an a jest wi tn
prettiest girl Oh tn country side, wi
her meant Observation-Disclosures. I've no
blame for him. bu' he's broken her heart
clean i twain. An only today has hoo
told me all what hoo's suffered
"You were much to blame. said the
curate sententiously, balancing his
spoon on the rim Of the teacup, every
much to blame'-
She clasped her hands and wrung
them painfully, so that she might not
burst into hysterical laughter. "Mr
Fryston," she said hoarsely. I'm a
clean minded woman, an Hannah scarce
II. thowt nothin O. it. He were wisest
O. us all, for he must ha' seen danger,
all he staid away, an three months has
killed her."
II can do nothing-nothing, began
the curate.
"Aye, bu' yo' can," she walled
"Yo' know what love is. Fetch him to
her for goodby. Hoo Gamma pass i
peace wi'att him. Hoo's my only one
my only one."
The curate was touched at last He
rubbed the corner of his more suscepti-
BILE eye furtively. "Ill go to Paulton
and bring him back if can, " he said,
tomorrow.
"'Tis O. no use sayin tomorrow, "
she interrupted impatiently. "Hoo may
pass at any moment. 'Tis bu' O'Clock,
an tits tn last thing my wench III ever
want.
The sound of knocking on the floor
above stopped her. Hannah s walked"
she said. There's owd Lizbeth beating
the planks wi stick. l nun leave yo',
Mr.. Fryston. | know as yo' wunna fail
ne."
She did not wait for his reply, but
hurried up stairs to the chamber where
Hannah lay in little bed afront the
hearth. The mother had been pretty in
her youth-indeed she was not income
iy even now-but the daughter was
wonderfully, piteously beautiful Her
face was pure white, save for the dain-
tiest flush in the cheeks her lips We're
scarlet hued and finely cut, her great
brown eyes luminous. She had spread
her nut brown hair over tho embroider-
ed pillow and crossed her hands lightly