The Butler weekly times. (Butler, Mo.) 1881-1918, 1899-07-13
A Restoration.

10 the DoWeQ 1ead OF the woman be-
fore him. Time was when he would
have proudly claimed both for his
own. But now he would not have
dared to touch one OF those shining
curls with his rough, brown fingers.
His glance dwelt upon her for a
little while and suddenly the look
of wounded love faded into one OF
great tenderness.
Never mind, Minnie" he said,
struggling to speak without that
sob in his throat. You can't help
not lovin' me, child. II oughtn t
to expect it. An tell you it was
right an mighty brave of We to tell
me just how it is. Some women
wouldn't a done that. Don't cry
about me any more, Minnie. I'll be
all right when I get little used to
to bein' alone again. There's no
fool like an old fool as the say in is
I've kind o pictured you sittin'
there ia that dull old ranchhouse
year after year. Sittin' thar with
the light from the window or the
fire shinin' on you an on the head
of little children at your knees. Why
it's been 20 real I've even thought I
heard the sleepy kind of song you
sung to the littlest one smuggled
against your breast"
A sob from the woman stopped
him.
80, Henry" she said, don't talk
like that! 1 can't bear it! 1 don't see
why don't love you-you are so
good! But
"There, there, never mind. You
can't help it, child. We won't say
any more about it. You just pack
up and go to your ma in San Fran
cisco and I'll send you ysur share of
the property here. Don't fret. An
if you'd be happier free from me
altogether L won't make you any
trouble about gettin' divorce"
So the romance of Henry and Min
ME BallentYne seemed ended. The
man decided his farm near Highmore
S. d, to his wife and kept only a
few hundred dollars for himself.
After year or so she secured d.
vorce from him and for five years
their lives were spent far apart.
One month ago Minnie BallentYne
saw a man in army blue walking
feebly along the streets of San Fran.
cisco He seemed poor, old, almost
helpless, and she stopped her car
riage to let him pass Her heart had |
grown tender because of its own |
vague, unsatisfed longings, and she
was quick TO sympathize with the
afflicted or oppressed.
"Poor soldier" she murmured. |
Then he raised his head and she
cried:
Henry, oh, Henry" leaping from
her carriage and clasping his arm
with her little gloved hands.
Il was Ballentyne, discharged |
from the United States volunteer
service, and returning with honora-
bic scars from the Philippines. He
had been terribly i'll with the fever
and was scarcely able to speak when
she insisted On his getting into the
carriage. But she helped him with
great tenderness. and when she saw
two great tears making their way
down his bronzed and furroWed |
cheeks she turned away to hide her
She saw his wasted form,
his miserable poverty and distress,
and realized that he had suffered fer
her. A wave of tenderness swept |
over her, and she knew that she
loved him in spite of all her foolish
ness and discomfort.
Henry" she said, will you take
me back. It was all a mistake. Say
you forgive me"
So it happened that the little
town of Highmore was startled last
week by the arrival of the two who
had parted there FIVE years ago, but
had been remarked and had gone
back to the old home together.