The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1899-03-12
YOUTHS PAGE


rior Mrs Ellerton. felt herself turning TO
ice.
who is this Mary Bethel" Mrs. Eller-
ton repeated
Why" faltered Ruth, "she lives at the
cove, and
'And if so. she had better return there.
How often continued Mrs Ellerion, pitt
lessly, how often have I warned you
never to pick up acquaintance! And these
fisher-folk, of all people, am more than
surprised, Ruth; l am"
But Mary Bethel heard no more. with
a sob of heart-anguish, she burst through
the gateway. and, her patched skirts flut-
terng. ran wildly down the road toward
her home.
1t was not much of a home this refuge
of the Bethels; a two-room hut with
brown sods banked round It, as an anchor
age. Even with this. sometimes the wind
swooped down so violently that the little
structure would creak and groan, as if in
fear of being demolished.
AS Mary reached the beach, her father
came from the hut aud lifted her up and
kissed her.
Were off agin, little gal" he said. "I'u
be away a couple O. days, mayhap. Mind
the home, and-why. what's the matter?"
Mary hid her face In his blouse. 'Tain't
nuthin dad" she sobbed.
"There, there! Don't take on" said her
father, consolingly. "Ye've bin alone over
night afore" He kissed her again and
left her.
The motherless child went into the lone
ly cabin, and. stationing herself by the
window, watched the schooner fade into
the distance.
Presently, down the hillside came her &C
quaintances of the morning, dressed in
while and blue boating suits. She envied
them their pretty rowboat, and turned a
glance of contempt upon her fathers lum-
bering dory; she envled them their dainty
gowns and, despite what she, so recently,
had suffered, more than all else she envied
them their aristocratic mother. She's
a real lady, she is,' she unused, with a
vague idea, however, of what constitutes
q real lady.
With heavy heart, she turned from the
| window and proceeded to darn her own
and her fathers clothing; for the little
maid, since her mothers death, performed
all the duties of a housewife.
Time passed unheeded, until the sun
| light was suddenly dimmed. She glanced
out; the sky was overcast, with biacksr
| clouds to the southwark, while beyond the
cove danced small boat-could it be that
of the two girls? What could have tempt
| ed them to venture so far?
There came an impatient knocking, and
Mary opened the door. Before her stood
Mrs. Ellerton-not the naughty woman of
a few hours before, but mother, with
a drawn, scared face.
my grls?" she gasped. "Where is your
father?'
ITO the fshn banks"
81 thought-his boat there
Mark shook her head; "father uses that
for near-ishin'."
"IS there no one?" pleaded Mrs. Eller-
ton.
.oThere's no man about but I dunno"
| Mary said obviously. II reckon l might
row the dory that fur, but I'm afraid
1 couldn't bring both boats back the tide
is runnin' out now"
ooh could you-could you row out to
them?"
"Twould be a tug. I might have 70 let
the dory go-nd 1 don't know what faith
er'd say"
Don't mind the boat-In pay for that.
But, oh, hurry-do, do hurry!"
The dark clouds were rapidly rolling up,
| and far away a black ribbon OF water,
| showing that wind was coming
I'm go, num-" Mary said quietly.
'T will 20 with you" TREMENDOUSLY ex-
claimed Mrs. Ellerton.
mot less'n you kin row." Mary answer
ed. Reckon I'll have my hands full,
| ltOuL any G&tId DhAAcA5t @AAiNl HiAA1 tHN
| agitated Mrs. Ellertons broken words OF
thanks rising in her ears, she bent to
| the oars.
The tide carried the dory along at a
| rate which quickly overhauled the tru-
ants. But the wind was swifter than the
tide. 1t came in long, fierce puffs, with
| short intervals of calm between. The
black rim of the ocean broadened. And
| the fisherman's daughter, familiar with
| fa1f hot Vunitld .la a rap
AS Mary neared the cedar boat, she saw
that the two girls were frightened to the
| verge of tears.
1--WE lost an oar" Ruth exclaimed, land
the tide is running away with usp'
Mary considered the sky and then the
frail skiff.
Climb in her, quick" she commanded.
The girls obeyed, and Mary pushed the
empty boat from them.
"Oh, why did you do that?" cried Ruth.
"'Cause," Mary answered, commencing
to row, "'cause it'll be all we kin do to
| fetch ashore without a-towIn' nuthin'."
isn't this boat awful tottery?" asked
| Ruth.
"P'raps; but IFS a safe 'un."
''But you are not headed for the cove. -
II know IT, Couldn't do nuthin with
this heavy boat 'gainst such a tide. II We
fetch the point wen be dom well. Put
out that spare oar-no, not on that side
t'other Now, don't nobody say nuthin
! but pull away fer all you're wuth."
For some minutes they tugged at the
| heavy oars Then Gertrude asked tremu-
lously, Mary, isn't the tide taking uf
! out?"
tits touch an 60" answered Mary. As
she spoke, she put the bow about, anC
the others uttered cries of fear. The
black line OF wind-beaten water was