Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1900-02-10
MONICA.
1 LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS

ing. lcrTy tOiu us ycSlcIudy hc was do
gay as old boots. As l looked like one, l
suppose was at least half as gay as he
was. After all, there is nothing like leather,
no matter how ancient"
There's an h in my bhoot," says Kit
with some disgust Really, the ignorance
Of some people-even the ntcest-is surpris-
ing"
'Then why don't you take It out%' says
Monica, frivolously. mot thatl know IN
The very least what harm poor lnnocent
letter could do there"
'rYou don't understand" says XII, pitt
fully.
II don't, indeed" says Monica, unaDashed.
"a bhoot Is an Indian ghost"
"And so you thought looked like an In
dian ghost! with turban! and an Afghan!
and a scimlter! Oh, Kit! Did i really look
like the mahogany table beneath tie silver
moonbeams? and did my eyes glitter"
"What goose you arep' says Kit, roar.
ing with laughter. NO, you looked lovely;
but was reading all Indian story yesterday,
and II came into my head"
You read too much, says Monica. Much
learning will make you mad II you don't
fake care. Remember what Lord Bacon
says, Reading maketh full man. How
"a
Madame O'Connor, for example?'
"F'rancs Bacon never mean: II In that
sense" says Kit, Indignantly II really
yo,lder at you, Monica" And, having so
scolded her idol, sh2 relnpael into silence
Tor o considerable time;
'Oh! whas lovely dog-ro9eoP says Mon
ica, presently, pointing to q hanging spray
of pink blossoms, satlsf Ing a.. o happy
tyat
She sprilgsup amossy bank Gs $50 speaks,
regardless Of the blackberry branches that
cross her path, barring her way, and catch
ng viccusly at her skirts, as though TO
hinder her progress.
"Oh, take carew cries Kit, forgetting all
about lord Bacon in her terror lest her pret-
ty sister shall not show to the best adyant.
age in her lovers eyes. Your gown will
De torn. Walt--wait, until | set you free
from these dreadful thorns."
"Alas! how full of bricrs is this working
day world" quotes Monica, gayy. There,
now am all right, and have got my pref
ty roses into the bargain. Are they not
SWEET SCeetr' holding them right under
Kits nose.
"They are, indeed. And, by the bye,
'hcre we are like the clown" says Kit,
pointing 10 a low farmhouse in the dis
tance.
Reaching it, and finding the door as usual
open, they enter what might be the hall IN
another house, but is here the kitchen.
There Is no leading up TO il. From the mo-
moment you cross the threshold the Kitchen
lies before you.
1t Is large room, if it may so be called,
with d lltige fireplace In which dozen fires
might be slowed away and forgotten. just
now there is d flame somewhere In Its back
most DEPTHS that cannot possibly annoy
these June visitors, as one has to search for
it TO find it.
An old woman, infrm and tOothless, yet
with all the remains Of great beauty, SITS
| covering over this hidden turf fire; mum
bling TO herself, IL may be Of golden days
now past and gone, when she had been the
| fairest colleen at mass or pattern, and hao
counted her lovers by the score. Yes, those
! were good old times, when the sky was eyel
blue and all the world was young.
Two younger women, sitting nearh but
thcr from the chimney nook, are gossip
idlv. but persistently, in the soft, mel
| lluous brogue that distinguishes the coun
! Cork.
As the Bercsford girls enter, these two
latter women rise simultaneously and court
esy with deep respect. The youngest o.
! them, who Is so like the handsome old wo
man In the corner of the fireplace as to b'
Enthusiastically Of kin TO her, comes quickly
! forward to greet her visitors with the kindl!
grace and the absence of consciousness tina
! distinguish the Irish peasantry when doinl
! the hOnOrs of theft own homes This lacl
) Of ndltUdise hOnte arises perhaps from tht
fact that they are so honestly glad to wei
come guest beneath their roof that the!
, forget to be shy or backward.
She makes a slight effort to pull down he
tucked-up sleeves, and then desists for whlcI
any one with mind artistic should be de
youtly grateful, as her arms, brown as the,
are from exposure to the sun, are at leas
| shaped to perfection. She is dressed in
maroon-colored skirt and body, the skirt S
turned up In fshwife fashion Gas zoe wore
some seasons ago. that dark blue petit
coat beneath, of some coarse description
can be distinctly seen.
Her throat Is a little bare, her arms, as
have said, quite so, far up above the elbows
She is stout and comely, with beautiful
laughing mouth, and eyes OF deepest gray
merry as her lips. Outside, lying about, hal
naked I'm the warm sunshine, are three Q
four boys with the same eyes and moutl
undeniably her children.
"Whisha It's myselfs glad to see ye, sh
saws, with beaming smile. Good luck I
yer purity faces. 'ris long time now, Mis-
Beresford, since ye came, or Miss kitthere.
Il promised your mother a pudding, an
/ have brought it, says Kit.
Look at that, nowl IT'S a trouble "
are to We entirely. Mother, wake up "A bl
an thank Miss Kit for what she's brougl
ye."
"Yere too kind, ashore, too kind, nun
bles the old woman in the corner turnin
ewes that are still full of light upon I'll
child, ''to think of an ould 'ooman now
the grave as it might be. Ay, faiX! An II
bells a-rngin' too. can hear 'em som
times, when the winds down. -eh-"
"Nonsense, mother! the yard lchurc
yardl will be lonely for ye yet awhile, sa!
Mrs. DAILY, Junior, cheerfully. "See, nov
taste this: twill do We good An you'll S
down. Miss Monica. I hope. Take car
honey, till dust the chair for ye." This
dexterously done with the corner of h
apron. AN yell take dhrop o tay to
maybe; oh, We will, now, if only to pla;
me, afther yer long walk, an all to hon'
the ould woman"
"Ah, there is Mrs. Moloney" says n
addressing the second younger woman, WI
is a thin little peasant with somewhat di
contented expression. THE sun blind'
nv ewes so that could not see you at firs
Have you heard from your boy at seap'
Eyes, miss. Praises be above! He's dol
well, he says; but it's belize I'll never see
sight of his handsome face again.
"Oh, nonsense, now, Mrs. Moloney,- II
dear? What are We talk!n' like that for
says young Mrs. DAILY, who seems to be u
parish consoler. 'Sure it's back he'll
wild We before the new year"
"Oh, yes, hope so," says Monica, softl
"'Tis hard to hope, miss, wild the rowlll
wind O. nights, an the waves dashin up
the beach,"
"Ye're an ould croaker," says Mrs. Dal
giving her good-humored shake. "A
| NOM oit dn1yn Mice Monica an Miss Kit, q