The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1900-01-20

some rich folks. some artists. and how
they was iovin' each other. and the
things they wen. to, but While got to
likin' the pesky books after awhile.
told her all the time that it was jes'
stories, and that there wasn't no such
folks in Paris or New York or any
where else. Since she was teachn' ne
a-readin' out loud. took to teachin'
her, tellin' her what I thought bout the
books. i told her that life was reality.
and that even If there was snch people.
they wasn't no better off than us, cause
there's advantages an disadvantages
everywhere, an it all mounts to bout
the same. an everything in its place is
the best. That's the wa: I'd write il /
wrote books.
'Maybe it was readin' in them durn
books bout the fashion an the wealthy.
or maybe ii was them people at the
springs put foolish notions in her head,
or maybe II was jes' cause she come to
know she was too good an pretty for a
mar like me. but anyhow she COM
menst to pine an droop like flower
that's witherin'. I'd beg her to go to
the springs an enjoy herself like she
was invited to do, but it warnt no use.
She wouldn't do it. AFTER bout week
of this thing that same lady from New
York drove up TO our gate and asked
Mary to come in and pay visit to her at
the springs. She wanted her to stay as
long as she would. and then Mary did
agree to go and stay week, maxim the
condition that was to come to see her
every day. It's a lonesome time had
then. / didn't go to see her but three
days, and every day ii seem'to me was
unweicomer than before, so l thought
better not go no more and let the chile
enjoy her visit. 1t look to rue like the
harder l try to please her the more
things would go wrong. Wimmin folks
is curious little things, stranger, and a
awkward fellow like me don't know jes'
how to handle 'em. / had done mort
gagged my farm again an went in town
and brought her silks and dresses and
gloves jes' the right size, and when she
see m she jes' cried an said was too
good to her. Then got her piano,
but nothin' would suit. This was befo'
she went for the last time to the springs.
The. things is all Mt home now. but
never wants to see them again, an if
God spares me 1 never will. There's
nothin' else to say now, but that 1 lef'
cause couldn't stan the sympathy and
the talkir' of the neighbors after got
this letter."
Here he paused and took from the
inside pocket Of his corduroy coat a
square envelope addressed in round.
girlish hand. The faint odor of violet.
snchet which had once permeated the
pages could still be detected, though
mingled somewhat with the aroma Of
tobacco. 1t read:
II hope that you will understa nd and for
give me, Jack. although I know that God
never will. I was never happy with you.
and never was able to make you happy.
noble. unselfish man like you deserves
a better wife. When you get this will be
far away. Don't try to find me, for you
never can. MARY"
After the correspondent had read and
returned the letter, both men were
silent. They watched the little knots of
officers and privates talking together
under the shade trees, the squads Of un-
uniformed recruits crossing the
grounds to their various commands, the
amateur cooks preparing the midday
meal, and all Of the lazy restlessness of
camp life. The Hancock volunteer was
the first to speak. ''What posters me
L n