The Forrest City times. [volume] (Forrest City, Ark.) 1871-1919, 1899-11-17

away you nave III IN your power to stay
me with word. Say that you will
marry me in a month and l will stay
here until you are willing to let me go,
Phoebe Donne."
Her head was bent low now. and
the tears would not be stayed.
"Obed, you know j love you, but !
cannot think it is right to bring to YOU
only fretting and toll; for the care of
my father is toll and trouble,
though l would willingly bear it ali
if l could keep you here near me-
You can keep me here, and with
you. Why, what were my love worth
if it would not help you in your toi,
and be glad to share your cares? Do
you think that being man. l have no
feelings but those that are selfish? ]
tell you, Phoebe Donne, | am willing
to work for you, help you, love you,
in all ways that man can"
Il know it, but there are trials that
sour love; and mans patience fails
before the many trials of another mans
| whims, and then there comes the feel
| ing that love has imposed on him bur-
| dens he has no right to bear; and so
he broods and grows cold, and his love
| dies; and / could not live if lost your
| love-"
The man stood silent. He was think
| ing of her words and of her acts She
loved him and was willing to lose that
| love so that she should not bring him
| care and toll. And he? Why, he was
| about leaving her simply because she
would not marry him when he thought
she should. Well. he was willing to
take her, care and work included, if
she would come, and was not that
enough? No; for he forgot that he had
shown only impatience when she had
tried to reason with him, and was this
the way to show her that he could bear
the strain sick mans fancies would
| entail?
She had forgotten this, but oh, he was
| so willing to take her with it all. and
he loved her SO, and to be put off when
his heart was crying for her love and
the power to call her wife. Then he
| conquered his hot words and said, more
quietly:
Phoebe, / may have been wrong and
hasty in saying what l have, and in
starting away from Hardstone. but the
place is one to kill man with work,
for which he gets no pay; and then to
have to put his love back, how far in
the future he knows not, is very hard.
See, am willing to stay here, knowing,
too, that in the west can have home
| and comforts | cannot get here for
twice the toll. IL you will marry me
l am willing to take all it will bring,
of sorrow and i'll, SO that you are my
wife. Is there more that man can
do?"
There is no more, and l do not ask
you to do more; but will your love be so
strong that it can see me bestow care
and attention on another, when you
may desire my services? That is the
point, Obed, regarding which l have
hesitated. Oh, if / only knew?" A
smile, calm and restful, stole over her
| face.
AS she paused, breath of sea air
came wandering up from the low lying
beach and seemed to linger about the
solitary tree. Then the bird that had
sought refuge in it's branches broke
forth in low song, that sounded like
voice of hope and promise.
Would you be willing to stay here.
| TO put away the golden promise of the
west, and bide the fancies of an in
valid. for this?' And she held out her
toil-marked hand.
He looked at her, and then his eyes
| went wandering over the red hills to
yhar fa,- oF Az. 4
with green rose like wall against the
sky. And he thought: rs the smile
and love of this woman. with toll and
poverty, worth the promise of peace
and rest, without it, in the distance hid
by those mountains?"
Then his soul called his eyes back
TO her face, and he knew her love was
better, even with poverty to share it,
than the richest promise that lay be-
yond the mountains. So he took her
hand and said:
This is all to me, and, unless it can
go with me freely, / will stay with il
here"
Was it fancy? 1t seemed that to both
of them low voice whispered: 1T is
we'll" But around them was the glare
of the sun, and the red glaring land.
and even the bird was still; vet the
word had been spoken, and, though it
was only a whisper, it gave them
strength.
He stopped and picked up his stick
and bundle, and together they walked
on toward her home. 1t was small cot
standing in the shadow of hill. A few
vines and bushes grew about it, and,
with sickly green, strove to relieve
the sameness of the scene.
In the doorway, reclining in a
rough-built easychair, sat an old and
feeble man. AS he saw them approach
he uttered peevish wish for them to
hurry.
She turned and looked at her lover.
He took her hand and, standing before
the sick man, said:
Mr.. Donne, have asked your daugh-
ter to be my wife. l think that it is in
my power to help you both to rest and
A