St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1899-05-27

tHat tnc nOuSeuotu IBiSlt hihc pSdeS.
For the rest he was dull ard docil.
enough. listening with pathetic crcdu!-
ity to Mrs. Smiths assurance that Mair-
ly would come soon. which was her
formula when she wanted 70 be kind.
Mairly had been taken by the vicar
to her new home. She locked such
quaint little figure in her long lilac print
gown and white apron. the uniform on
the orphanage, that the Wears daugh"
ters called her ''sweet little dear.
ana gave her silver six-pences. and the
servants kissed her and cried over her.
She was some years younger than the
usual age of admission. and the girls
al the home seemed very big to her. The
long rows of lilac print frocks and
white aprons bcwilders1 her. and the
sameness of voice and expression never
ceased to perpleN and distress her. II
there were some who were inclined to
tease and torment her. there were others
who would have liked to make pet OF
her. but Mairly never distinguished be-
tween these: she suffered the carcsses
of one in exactly the same spirit as
she endured the petty tyranny OF an
| other.
The teachers found her good and obe-
dent. and She went through the daily
routine with immovable patience. but
| without interest. When there was some
unusual sound in the house. or visit
from stranger. Mairly's face sharp
ened into a look of intense expectancy,
n T., -f,sl lx. tSNH haA
same dull patience. One day. when
visitor had come and gone. Malrlys
Gisappointment expressed itself in
sudden demand of the matron:
"Please. ma'an. when shall l sec
Don:"
You will see him some day, if you're
good GIRL" said the matron. kindly.
But when. ma am, please?
81 can't tell you that. Mary.
Its much easier to be good il |
know when." pleaded the child: but
the matron could make no promises,
and Mairly abandoned her hope from
that day.
One night in the early spring she
awakened with the sound of Don's voice
in her cars, crying "Mairly." most pit
eously. She lay quiet until the Usual
time for getting up. and when the
household assembled for prayers she
went up to the matron with the Gust om-
ary bob and curtsey.
"Pleasc. ma'anl, must go to Don.
"You can't do that, Mary. I'm afrai'l.'
81 must go. / must CO." sobbed the
child, her fortitude giving way for the
first time. ''Don wants me. he Keeps
crying and crying; he walked me last
night with his crying"
1t was in vain they tried to comfort
her-Don was in trouble. she must go
to Don. She kept sobbing this out. till
| at last she was pronounced naughty,
| and put in room by herself to get over
| il.
Mairly was very quiet when she was
let cut. and by evening the scene was
forgotten. In the early morning she
| awoke again. and sat Up listening, but
| without making any sound. She crept
out of bed and put on her clothes IN
the dark. pausing now and then to hear
the steady breathing of the sleepers in
the long dormi:ory; then she took her
shoes and went out along the corridor,
past the open door Of the teachers $
| room and down the creaking stairs. In
! the basement she got her cloak and
bonnet. and, by standing on chair,
shot the heavy bolt of the playroom
| door, and SO into the yard. There was
no way ont of the grounds. but at the
| end was a space rallied off for hens,
and out of this small opening had been
| made for them into the field beyond.
The door into the hencoop was only
latched, and, by dint of great struggle,
| Mairly was out through the hole. leav-
| ing part of the lilac print behind her.
| There had been sickness and fever at
l.ancton, and one of Mrs. Smiths chill
dren had been dangerously i'll. With this
trouble in the house, it was not noticed
that Don was ailing also. One day he
could eat nothing, and at night he
tossed about, dreaming. when he slept,
of strange places and people. Toward
morning he awoke in a fright and fell
to calling: ''Mairly.." In the day he
/ was better, he took his meals with the
rest and played on the doorstep with
the other children: but at night the
same tormenting dreams came back,
and he awoke again crying: "Mairly!
| Mairly." This time it seemed to him
she answered.: wait bit. Don. I'm
coming" He lay still contentedly till
it was time to get up. and then, with
out waiting for breakfast. he ran off
unnoticed toward Langton Fell. Out
side the village he met his old friend
the shepherd, and stopped to tell him
that Mairly was coming home. and that
he was going to meet her. The old man
laughed and nodded kindly. saying:
"Ay, ay. lad. hurry along; mind you re
not late;" and Don trotted on up the
hill.
1t was some hours before Mairly's
fight was discovered at the orphan
age. and at first she was only looked for
in the grounds, for it was thought i'm
possible she could have got out. AT
length the piece of torn lilac print in
the hencoop gave clew. and by noon
she was traced to the roadway station
The booking clerk had booked half
farr to Fazerley by the workmen's
train: he thought the child was with
some workmen; he had seen one Of
them lift her into the carriage. At
Fazerley the porter remembered that
a workman i'm the early train had asked
him to show little girl the road to
Langton; he had put her on the way
when he went to breakfast.
The matron drove to Langton: and
it was only when she arrived with ths
vicar at Mrs. Smiths that Don's absence
was discovered. No one thought of go
ing to the little fellside cottage unit
the old shepherd came through the vii
flage again in the afternoon: and by
that time it was early dusk. There was
a bitter east wind blowing. and the
; promise of a hard frost: and the whole