The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1900-04-13

that this was the
chief event of her day. She then tool,
time to look up and down the long vii
lage street, to exchange greetings with
passers, to inquire about the sick, and
to receive the latest bit of village news.
She and her mother lived like two
sparrows in the small, weather-brown
house with the $500 mortgage en- it
The debt had been incurred in poor
fathers time; and after his death the
two patient, toiling women strove vain
ly to reduce it. Whenever they had
saved a few dollars of the principal.
visions higher, taxes increased, or Mrs.
Hill would have one of her ''poor spells"
and the money would melt like spring
snow, leaving the debt no smaller.
Thusa had tried working in the silk
mill in the next village; but she was
far past youth, her fingers were too
rough and awkward for the delicate
winding and spooling, and, her appre-
hension was slow. Her place was want
ed for younger, swiftcr worker, and,
with humiliation and secret tears. she
took up again the making of sheets and
pillow cases, or the fashioning of sim
pie garments for children and unfas-
tidious 'help."
Standing at the gate, her faded blue
eyes gazing into the perspective of the
quiet street, Thusa Hill did not look
like a subject for romance. The
straight, scant folds of dark blue cal
leo fell stiffly about her thin little fig
ure, the sun of early April cast chilly
CLEANS on the plain bands of ash-col-
ored hair done up in small knot, her
shoulders were curved and her chest
was hollow. Yet, in the years gone by,
a lovers voice had whispered to her On
long, sweet summer evenings, and a
tender hand had stroked her, brown,
abundant hair.
How different life might have been,
If Henry Gleason had not misunder-
stood that ride with Nathan Burnside!
True, she had promised Henry that
she would be at home that evening;
and when he met her driving with
Nathan-in answer to a sudden and
urgent appeal from Nathan's sister
Henry had given her one swift look,
proud and stung, and had turned on
his heel, following in the dust of Ma
than's wheels.
Hislook had aroused her defiance, and
she would not send word of self
justification. He might have had more
faith in her-she had expected to be
home long before it was time for his
visit. And so, as young hearts are
written, the word was never spoken
justly as Henry was entitled to it-and
weeks and months glided into years, till
Thusa was 40.
Henry had married his cousin, a
feather Drained, selfish creature, whose
own folly and vanity brought on her
death few years later. Now he lived
in his childless home, with hired farm
boy and bustling housekeeper. On
winter evenings, sitting alone by the
fire, the thought of his early love some
times fitted across his mind, and he
felt sorry for her struggles, both be-
fore and after the death of her father.
But mans pride is hard possession
say what you may about the obsti-
macy of a woman-and Henry Gleason's
was like the granite of his native New
England hills.
Thusa went into the house, stirred
the fire and filled the kettle. Her
mother was hemming pillowcases in
the tiny sittingroom beyond, and
called out, as she heard her daughters
movements:
"There's few of those stewed
prunes in the buttery, Thusa. Couldn't
we have them for supper instead of in a
pie? Iseem to crave something besides
tea and bread and butter. But it's just
as you say"
: "Of course we will have them for
supper, if you want them, mother"
said Thusa. 81 don't know as 1 want
to spend time tomorrow rolling out a