The Calhoun chronicle. [volume] (Grantsville, W. Va.) 1883-1984, 1900-01-09

engraving OF Raphaels est. Catha-
rine." In the small bookcase were
worn Testament and the poems of
Tennyson and of Byron, a faded blue
satin marker inside the latter; while
on the mantelpiece were curious
Indian shells, such as children love
to listen to, and photograph, yell
lowed with age, OF handsome young
fellow in naval uniform. Over this
was pinned a bunch of white everlast-
ings.
Betsy took mp the photograph and
busted it tenderly, laying it back with
a sigh. She guessed her mistress's
sorrow of bYgone years, and, though
she herself had no sympathy with
such things, yet, by strange CON
catenation of ideas, this knowledge
made her more than ever tender with
Miss Mary now. Poor soul! Door
soulr she murmured to herself, as
faint sounds proceeded from the
kitchen, and Miss Mary's kind voice
alternated with profuse thanks from
the mother of the sixteen infants and
the triplet
Yes, Miss Mary had romance-a
tenderly cherished, well-nurtured
romance, which was at once her de-
light and her woe, and which grew
but stronger as the years wore on.
At twenty she had loved a sailor lad,
a handsome young naval lieutenant,
who had gone out to the West Indies
and had never returned. There had
been sort of tacit engagement; at
any rate, Miss Mary had given away
her whole heart-so much so that she
had never had any of it to spare for
the suitOrs who came after. Stories,
indeed, reached her from time to
time about her love. People said he
had been wild. Some even limited
that he had deserted her. Miss Mary,
in her fond loyalty, refused to believe
these tales, and chung, with n CULVER
ing lip, to the idea of his early death.
cor if he be wandering about the
world somewhere" she said once, in
n burst of unwonted confidence to
Betsy, che may perhaps come back
some day"
"Why, you wouldn't know him
after all these years, even if he was
alive, said Betsy.
'Know himl of course | should"
said Miss Mary. "He will find me in
the old place-he will know where to
come; so, dear Betsy, leave the door
always open"
But this Betsy firmly declined to
do. She was mot going to risk hav-
ing her wits frightened out of her by
thieves" she declared, whatever
Miss Mary might say or do" So she
drew the line at the garden gate, and
always left that uafastened If this
ill-advised proceeding gave tramps
admittance into the Toulouse or
coal-cellar. why, what matter? 'They
was Miss Mary's Goals; she might do
as she liked. Sometimes destitute
old ladies would use the coal-cellar
as a kind of casual ward, and con-
descend to spend night there, leav-
ing the remains of their breakfasts
and few of their rags as presents
behind them. Betsy bore it uncom-
plainingly, knowing what Miss
Mary's trouble" had been
1T was a mercy" she thought to
herself, that it didn't take her in no
other way"
But to Miss Mary herself the "trou-
ble," in course of years, became al
most a Joy. 1t faded from the blood
red intensity to a rOseate afterglow.
She Rugged herself, so to speak, with
the recollection of what had been.
Her youthful lover became brighter.
fairer, dearer even than ever he had
been in the PARKWAY reality. She
envied not the lot of other women,
with husbands, babies, grown-up
sons. Their life partners were com
monplace as compared with hers,
glorifed into the regions of romance,
CORDED into the perfect star" of forty
years ago.
He was brave. handsome, chiv-
alrous,' she would say TO herself.
mentally comparing her lover of
former years with Mrs. Browns burlv
coal merchant, or Mrs. Minis drunken
boor.
And as for other women's babies.
their charms also paled by contrast
with Miss Mary's dream children. "
The fond maternal feeling that is the
basis Of every true womau's life found
It's echo even here, and the little old
lady's imaginary darlings helped to
make her days less empty. "My boy
| Claude would have been just twenty
| five, my daughter Emmeline lust
twenty, and how like her father" she
\ would murmur. when i'm the glimmer-
I ing twilight she would imagine these
/ treasures beside her, i'm the land of
what might have becu." But Miss
/ Mnry's elatiou was all for the soil
\ tude OF her own heart Like her
I namcsako of old, she hid all these
things. Only Betsy knew or guessed
at q quarter of her poor old mistress
| fancics
limo wore on, and IT, seemed as If
nothing would occur 60 disturb the
/ even tenor Of tho two solitary womeu's
+ livcs-that they would go down 10 tho
grave in nm uucventfui and peaceful
silence. But Fate willcd otherwise
/ One uIght-it was i'm carly autumn
/ Miss Mary was aroused ~ nine o'clock
/ by loud knocking no the outcr door.
/ IT was Sunday night, and she was
alone in tho house. The faithful Betsy
| had gone to- her Primitive Nctho.
/ dists, and Miss Mary, who had been
/ ailing Of late with q cough. had not
/ attended her usual Sunday evening
service at church The loud knock