The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1900-06-15

toned it," @.. ,'> !. S,''-
'"Thomas?"
"Wen, mother?"
'It was on this day IS years ago
that you were-you WERE"
'Goin' to get married. Tom con-
cluded the sentence somewhat grim.
ly. $50 + was"
"Thomas, why didn't you?"
"Haven't I told you, mother, hun
dreds of times?'
Eyes; but, dear, I've never believed
YOU"
"Mother"-Tom looked at the old
lady with the utmost solemnity-"I've
told you the truth. She and I were
not suited to each other. My hair
was too red, and her eyes were too
black. Twas lucky we found. it out
in time. I reckon some one'd been I'M
happy if we hadn't"
''Are you sure, Thomas, that some
one hasn't been unhappy anyways"
"Well, tolerable certain, mother. She
she got married almost right away
to another fellow, didn't she? I don't
think the disappointment was very
close to her vitals, or she wouldn't
have done that
''But you, my boy"
"Me?" Tom laughed. "Have you
seen Inc mopin' or pinin' or -dwindlin'
away durin' the past IS years? I
guess not. And it stands to reason,
don't it.. that / would have moped
on1 ,,;rol or1 <7,v;n<7lo1 ,o,~,o - TT
took it much to hearth. Mother. don't
you be frettin' your old gizzard about
this thing any more; it amt worth
it. Please to pass the doughnuts.'
The meal was finished in silence.
Tom had his overcoat on before he
spoke again.
cts quite ways over there" he
said, land I reckon I'd better be
startin'."
"Then you're really goin', Thomas?"
"Of course, mother. Why not?''
His mother offered no reply to the
question. She only sighed deeply and
put up her tremulous old lips to be
kissed, clinging to Toms shoulders
until he gently pushed her aside.
"I'll be back to dinner-maybe
earlier" he said, cheerily. "Have the
house pipin' hot, mother, for I'm
thinkin' I'll run the temperature
down bit when I come. It's cold
enough in the boiler, but out on the
hill where the wind blows free I'll
warrant it's colder than the comfort
OF strangers"
Then he strobe away. His mother
stood at the window watching him un-
til he turned the corner into the
highway which led straight through
the village to the hill, two miles dis
tant. where the dead slept.
"Poor Thomas! Dear child!' Mrs.
Hunt uttered the words half aloud as
she poured boiling water into the
dishpan. II amt so blind that I cant
sec it-not so blind as that-no, no."
She shook her head dolefully. 'He
hasn't been the same child since
that day, rs years ago, when he come
home with ghostly smile on his face
and told me twas all over between
him and Maria Bates. I almost
tainted with the shock of it, for I
wasn't real strong then. havin'-hav-
in lost Joshua such short time be-
fore. I thought then twas the girls
fault, and think so yet. She's made
the poor boys life a bed of thistles.
just because Dick Morglinton had
prop'ty and wanted her to marry him.
l hope she's been happy. but it'd been
only a righteous Judgment on her if
she'd have come to a realizin' sense
long ago of what she's missed by not
havin' Thomas. Think of him goin'
to that funeral on day like this!
There amt more'n one man in thou
sand would do it's
Toms mind, also, was busy with
thoughts of the past as he plodded to-
ward the great house where the Grape
was fluttering. He was wondering
whether he had acted wisely; whether
the reward had been worth the sacri-
fee. He told himself that it had. At
any rate, it was too late now for
He entered the darkened house and
seated himself upon the edge of a
chair near the door, almost beneath
the heavy curtains. The room was
nearly filled with people, all of whom
he knew; but in the restraint-that
tenseness which comes at times like
this-he looked at them, and they re-
turned the look, with unresponsive
eyes. 1t was as though they were
strangers.
Suddenly the curtain behind him
moved slightly, and he heard his name
spoken. He was startled, but con-
trolled himself by mighty effort.
He knew who uttered the, words, al
though they were spoken in the faint
est of whispers.
''Tom-come!"
He arose unsteadily to his feet, and
passed into the hall. A woman, clad
in deepest mourning, stood waiting
for him. J.
"Maria!"
The woman extended her hands.
"Tom, my dear FRIEND" she whis-
pered, lit was very, very good of you
to come. I feel $3.50 alone, and
despite it all have remembered that
it is your birthday. have gift
very poor little gift-for YOU
She fumbled tremblingly at the
bosom of her dress, and drew forth
locket, fastened by slender gold
chain. She opened it, showing him a
picture of himself.
1T is the portrait You gave, Tom,
before-befOre-'
II know-I know" whispered Tom,
huskily. 'It means that-that you.
are still faithful"