Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1899-07-22
ONLY A STORY.

The afternoon sun blazed down on
the brown roof of the little railway sta
ton, and a train puffed forth great bill
lows of black smoke into the white heat
ed air. A group of listless, lounging
farmers was outlined against the un-
painted wall of the depot, the stolid
look of indifference upon their faces
seeming to make them akin to the
shriveled grass and dropping clover.
That they We're really hopeless was not
without cause The summer had been
hot and wretched and desOlate. The
corn had dried before it came to a tassel,
the wheat had rusted and the meadows
Drowned before the having time
Caine Denton took off his iaunty
straw hat and leaned from the window.
His quick eye took note of the express
sionless faces of the lOungers and their
attitude Of hopelessness. Poor DEVILS"
he murmured to himself "Wonder
what they have to live for anyway"
The keen eye moved on past the un-
painted buildings to the hot glare of
the sandy road a child stood thrusting
her little bare feet into the dust and
watching him shyly under the shadow
of her sunbonnet Caine whistled softly
under his hreath-he loved child-and
was rewarded by shy smile, quickly
suppressed by the insertion of two little
brown fingers between the red lips.
THE only bit of brightness in the land
scape, - he thought, and as the train
moved laboriously forward, land now
that is gone " and he leaned back in
his seat wearily.
He was a handsome fellow, women
would say-and really they are the
judges the world most honors-the
breadth of his shoulders and the depth
of his chest making one forget that he
was little short in stature Perfectly
formed, with the muscles of gladiator,
he was n delight to the eye. Then his
face, clear cut, with high, noble fore
head crowned with soft, wavy, brown
hair, the firm, square chin, the keen
blue eyes full of fire and intelligence
under straight dark brOws, was remark
ably pleasing One studying it would
say, HE Is tinancier, practical, firm
born to success, but in the mouth
certain full Tipped tenderness which in
dicated a struggle with passion, the
kind which filings reason to the winds
and gloats i'll possession.
Was there anything wanting in his
life that was necessary to happiness?
No, the world would say. Wealth, sta
ton, hosts of friends, We're his. Yes,
and love All children loved him and
many women. He had sown good seed
and brought many brokenilife out of
darkness into light.
He had never married-the reason,
perhaps, because of the nonappearance
of his ideal Several years ago he had
met woman, and several times during
the progress of their acquaintance he
had imagined that he loved her There
was in her flashes of intellect that he
admired; there was the deep, under
ground swell of passion that he secretly
loved in a woman; there were the little
loving ways of speech and manner that
reminded him of his dead mother; there
was the desire to be helpful that touched
him and the Griseldalike patience that
hurt him, for he felt his incompetence
to act as she would have had him act.
Yet there We're moments-but she was
not beautiful-and he was an artist by
nature.
The train whirled on through the
meadows barer and browner. Caine
turned his tired eyes within. The crisp
pages of his magazine opened to story,
''ShadOws. Wearily his eyes travelled
over its first page as they had travelled
over the dreariness of earth parched
landscape. He turned the second page
and frown of perplexity knit the dark
brows This description! How it
brought back days of long ago.
Caine laid down the magazine 1t
brought it all back-that time when al
most he loved Il woman. He read on.
Twas a simple little story of love and
faith and the love and the faith belong
ed to the wOman-is it not often so?
The man all but loved woman who
was poor and plain, who had naught to
attract but heart full of sympathy
for humankind, full of longings for bet
ter things, full of an ungovernable
idolatrous worship for that which she
could not attain.
The man had left her, knowing she
loved him, successful, secure in his own
strength to live his life alone-and the
woman loved on. How her heart was
laid bare in the story What fervor,
what passion, what longing We're eX-
pressed There was u prayer for the
loved one i'll every line-and the heart
break at the end
"Good God!' he thought. Can only
a woman love after allf'
How weak We're his own emotions be
side this. What We're idealsY Did not
this suffering of another for oneself put
away all thought of them?
What Il fool, ii blind fool, he had been
not to see that the woman was breaking
her heart for him, dying slowly, cruelty
for the nOurishment that only love,
with its duties and cares, can bring.
A flood of pity swept over his soul