The Leon reporter. (Leon, Iowa) 1887-1930, 1901-01-31
The Lost Manuscript.

NIou years ~ udQ WlLnSLOOQ the Storm
OF the changing seasons. Three
generations OF Spauldings had dweit
beneath It's roof, and the comedy and
tragedy Of human life had been en-
acted within its walls. Levi Spaulding,
the last Of his time and generation,
had made his home there for more
than forty years. He was a man Of
education and rare intelligence, a
man Of studious habits and thoughtful
ways, a man of much Importance to
his own township, who was known
throughout the county as an easy
writer and a fluent speaker. Stress Of
circumstances had forced him to give
up larger sphere to return to the old
homestead, there to till the soil and
TO take from Mother Earth the living
she owes her children. For a number
OF years his leisure hours had been
spent in writing history Of the town
In which he was born, work that
would be of great value to the towns
people when published. In his eight
teth year the book was completed, but
before 1t reached the hands of the pub
fishers, the old homestead and all 1t
contained was swept away by fire. His
wife and granddaughter Mertice,
girl of twenty. made up his family at
this time, his son and wife having died
when Mertice was but small child.
The sunshine of the old homestead, the
comfort and joy Of her aged grand
parents, was Mertice Spaulding. She
was a girl Of sterling character, with
q beautiful face and heart of gold. 1t
had long been Levi Spaulding's pet
scheme Sat the result Of his literary
labors should be his beloved grand
daughters wedding dover. Alas!
nothing but ashes remained Of those
once fair hopes, and the old mans
spirit sank beneath the blow.
The site of the old homestead was a
beautiful one, though lonely in the
extreme. Five miles from the village
Of a, It stood high upon hilltop.
with background Of woods and
mountains, wide sweep Of sky, made
gorgeous by the ever-changing sunsets,
above, green meadows with silvery
cleaning brooks and wild flower
blooms, below. With the nearest
neighbor a mile away, there was but
little chance Of succor in their hour of
need. A defective chimney was sup
posed to have been the cause of the
fire, and their feeble efforts were use
less to quench its power. In one short
day the treasures of q century, the
hopes of years, had vanished in smoke.
It was the night following the fire
that Mertice Spaulding and her lover,
John Wilder, stood in the early gloam-
ing beside the ruins of the old home
stead. With her grandparents she had
found temporary home in the village,
and she and John had driven out to
view again the smouldering embers
Of that cruel fire. The girls face
looked pale and worn in the dim light,
yet the blue eyes glanced trustingly
into her lovers face, as she said with
Q smile:
i II shall make but a poor bride now,
John, for with the loss of grandfather's
book. have lost my wedding DOVER"
a slight color crept into the young
mans face as he answered little Bit
'terly: What a pity that even that
much couldn't have been saved!"
II know it. john" answered Mertice,
"and yet that is. nothing compared
with the loss of sur dear old home,
the home where grandpa and grandma
have lived so long. It. is for them,
John, that grieve, not for us who are
young and strong and can make new
home 80 easily. But to have such
loss come to the aged is like tearing
out their heartstrings, like uprooting
the very source of their lives. We
must be very tender of them, John,
and make them our first care"
Perhaps you would like to postpone
our marriage for that purpose, Mer-
tice?" said John, quickly.
Mertice's face crimsoned holly.
why, no, John, thought perhaps
we had better hasten it instead, SO that
we might help them to make new
home the sooner" said she, her voice
trembling with the effort of her
words. Dear, know that you love
me too well to blame me for thus
speaking" she added, leaning against
him confidingly.
/ For an instant John Wilder did not
speak, though his arm frightened about
the girls waist.
i "Of course, Mertice," said he at last,
yet his words sounded cold to her
strained ear, its Ill right for you to
speak, and yet I'm not sure that l
want to be saddled with two old peo-
bile to begin life with"
! As though he had struck her a blow,
Mertice shrank from his hold, and her
Alps whitened as she answered, slowly:
you shall not be saddled with them,
John, nor with me either.'
There! Mertice, don't be angry"
said John, impatiently. But as
things have turned outaI think it will
be wiser for us to wait while rather
than to hasten matters"
II am perfectly willing to wait, John,
forever" answered Mertice, with
trembling lips.
"That's for you to decide, Mertice,
though never should use so unkind a
word" answered the young man.
coldly.
i "A deadly sinking at her heart seemed
30 benumb the girls senses. Silently
she watched John as he stepped out
into the road to where his restless
horse stood paving the ground. The
bhadows Of night had settled about
them, and the charred and blackened
ruins yawned with deeper gloom.
"Come. Mertice, 1t is growing late;
hAdn,t wa hetter be going hack pr aaid