The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1899-04-16
The LITTLE CITRATE.

The curate and Miss Edmiston were walk
ing down the main street of the village en-
gagged in conversation, which, being that Of
a recently affianced pair, aeed not here be
repeated.
Miss Edmiston carried herself with an air
OF pretty dignity, made none the less appar-
emf by the fact that she was fully two inches
taller than her lover. tn. Rev. John st. john
He was a thin, wiry little man, dark-haired
and pale cor,pexioned, and was much
troubled in his daily walk with certain un-
conquerable shyness. That he should have
won the heart of handsome Nancy Edmston
was matter of surprise and discussion
among the residentS in Broxbourne.
Such very undressing young MANI
said the maiden ladies over their afternoon
tea.
''Sc ridiculously retiring! How did he ever
come to propose?" remarked the mothers
whose daughters assisted in giving women
an overwhelming and not altogether united
majority in BroXbourne society.
The men, on the other hand, voted st.
John a good scIt. and his parishioners in
their rough ways, owned to his many quail
ties.
You're a dear little girl, Nancy" the
curate was stammering, looking up at his be-
loved, when the were both stopped short on
the narrow pavement. burly workman
was engaged in chastising small boy with
weapon in the shape of stout leather
belt The child screamed and the father
presumably, cursed
Stop" cried the curate.
The angry man merely scowled and raised
the strap for another blow. ST.. John laid
a OBTAINING hand the fellows arm, the
temerity of which caused the latter such
surprise that he lcosened his grip for a mo-
mert and the youngster fled bowling up an
alley.
what the"-spluttered the bully. dancing
round the curate, who seemed to shrink
nearer to his sweetheart
"Let US go, DEAR, he said. He had grown
white and was trembling.
fwo Of he or,,o
cronies appeared at the door of the alehouse
opposite, and seeing how matters stood,
crossed the road and, with rough hands and
soothing curses, conducted their furious
friend from the scene.
"Horrible!" sighed the curate as the lovers
continued their walk.
Miss Edmiston's head was held trife
higher. eff 1 were man." she said, II
would have thrashed him. 1 would, indeed"
you think I should have punished him
them" said the curate mildly. He was
much larger man than I, you know
Nancy was silent. She was vaguely but
sorely disappointed in her lover He was not
exactly the hero she had dreamed of. How
white and shaky he had turned!
'eYou surely did not expect me to take part
in a street row, Nancy" he said presently,
somehow suspecting her thoughts. He knew
her romantic ideas. But she made no reply.
$50 you think 7 acted in a cowardly fash
ion?" he questioned after a chill pause.
''I don't think your cloth is an excuse any
how" she buried out suddenly and cruelty.
The next instant she was filled with shame
and regret Before she could speak again.
however the curate had lifted his hat and
was crossing the street. An icy 'Goodby!"
was all he vouchsafed her.
Mr. ST. John was returning from paying a
visit of coincidence some distance out of the
village and he had taken the short cut across
the moor. 1t was a clear. summer afternoon,
a week since his parting with Nancy A
parting in earnest it had been, for the days
had gone by without meeting or communlca-
ton between them. The curate was sad
Young man. though the anger in his heart
still burned fercely. TO have been called
coward by the woman he loved was not
thing likely to be forgotten. His recent
visit too had been particularly trying. In
his soul he felt that his words OF comfort
had been unreal that, for all he had striven,
he had failed in his mission to the bereaved
mother So he trudged across the moor with
slow step and bent head, giving no heed to
the summer beauties around him.
He was about half way home when his
sonber meditations were suddenly inter-
rupted. man rose from the heather, where,
he had been lying, and stood in the path
barring the curates progress.
Now, Mister Parson" ne said, with mem
ace in his thick voice and bloated face. . q
'.Good afternoon, my man., returned St.
John, recognizing the brute of q week goo
and turning as red a turkey cock. 70,
..IIl good afternoon We, Mister Pafsoni
MOI Ye don't pass till I'm done VII yea
cried the man, who had been drinking eheay-
ily though he was too seasoned 10 show any
unsteadiness in gait ~