The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1898-09-23
DEBORAH's SECRET.

Deborah Beal had secret which she
guarded as the miser guards his gold,
yet the very air of Connecticut hospi-
tally draped the long piazzo around
the Beal homestead, fingered in the
swaylng vines of bitter-sweet, nodded
from the creamy sprays of the wild cle-
mats, and breathed in the fragrance
of the golden honeysuckles, while the
odor of currant jelly streamed through
the open windows, across the dusty
road, to the solitary figure on the OPP
poslte doorstep, man perhaps of 40
summers, who just then was pondering
over a passage read that morning.
What rights are his who dare not
strike for them?" he repeated, mus
ingly, but how could he approach her
after silence of so many years? And
then, Deborah Beal had secret.
He remembered how, just Is years
ago, he, John Hastings, had brought
letter from the office addressed in a
bold, masculine hand to Deborah. He
had asked the name of her correspond
ent, and she had stubbornly refused to
offer any explanation.
The golden haired playmate of his
schooldays, but for this slight misnn-
Outstanding, would have reigned for
years the mistress of Willow farm.
Time but enhanced her comelness, he
was fain to confess. Her hair, as
golden as ever, was beautiful as the
rays Of the SUN filed the west piazzo,
casting halo around the quaint rocker
in which she sat every afternoon, busy
with her needlework.
The Plymouth rocks were running
about in their yard restrained from
wrongdoing by wire fence, while in
the creek, down by the tangle of elders,
the ducks We're sailing about, their con-
teptnent only equaled by the two colts
peering inqoEingly through the bars
further ur the hill.
Yes, she had ordered the netting for
fear they might be tempted to wander
across the way. What did he care
about the hens? 1t was the secret.
Even that might remain forever a mys-
terry if he could but summon courage
enough to walk up the path dazzling
with brilliant coleus and scarlet geran-
iums, and ask Deborah to begin their
lives anew.
What rights are his?' " he slowly
repeated, as if summoning strength,
when scream rent the air, shrill
cry of defiance, woman's scream
Deborah's- she alone, unprotect-
ed .
For an instant he hesitated, then
dashed across the lawn. The sight
held him spell-bound In the path,
fronting the meadow, stood Deborah,
frantically waving golden wig at a
large hawk. Her screams had rem
dered him powerless to bear away his
intended victim, who was trembling at
her mistress feet, cackling in rage and
alright.
A thought flashed through John
Hastings mind as he strobe past the
naples, through the tiny rusty gate,
into the dusty road to the meadow be-
yond, where his fair neighbor now
stood, still uttering hysterical cries,
and still holding the golden tresses
aloft.
Deborah" he said, apparently not
looking at the bowed head before him,
which he perceived was crowned with
short curls, SIS this" and he pointed
ruefully at the golden locks fallen now
in the clover at her feet, 'is this the
secret?'
And with one shy, upward glance
Deborah whispered Yes"
1T happened that while you were at
Maiden that winter mothers illness
and afterward my own" she confessed
later; almost brain fever, the doctor
thought, and l lost the curls you were
SO proud of. 1t was the height of
Stiffness, but | wrote to a prominent
firm, and upon your return you never
imagined that the golden curls you so
admired ere-detachable. The letter
you handed me was from the same
firm, telling me of preparation to in
sure these short locks" she said,
loI the WIZ udu ioHS ago
been banished, "a rapid growth. I'm
fortunately, it proved futile, for these
diminutive curls still continue to -four
ish. And this, John, is Deborah Beal's
last secret"
"Yes," he answered, gravely, Deb
orah Beal's last secret, for tomorrow
is her wedding day"
"Cut-cut-cu came clear and
shrill from the wire netting.
Its Clover Deborah said. How
that hawk did Brighten mel"
But John Hastings looked immeasur-
ably happy.