The pioneer press. (Miller, Hand County, S.D.) 1893-190?, 1901-01-17

Of the cobs casts a shoe, or a wind gets
up in the night and tears a large
branch off the great weeping willow
which shelters the most easterly cor
ner OF your garden. where the wind
sweeps up the keenest, straight from
the great North Sea. Or maybe the
corner Of the %shrubbery. where the
mushrooms have always grown, no.
body ever knew why, has suddenly
bloomed out with broad, pinkish fun
gi, and you feel as if you had found
a fortune, although you know perfect
ly well that the market value of what
you have discovered is not, at the out
side, more than threepence. Still, that
does not lessen your pleasure in the
least, and you carry them indoors and
present them to every member of your
household, your visitors if you
have any,, your family, and, finally,
to your cook, as if-well, as il you were
a second Columbus and had discovered
a new America.
Then in the country you are a neigh
Dor of everybody! If you live as Dor
othy Strobe had been used to live all
your life. you know why Janet Wen
ham was not at church on Sunday, and
why Elizabeth Middleham's girl left
that nice place at Wilmington, and
how Elizabeth Middleham cried for
days over it, and her girls intention to
take service in London and see life.
And you know all about 1t when Mrs.
Jones has her mauv dinner gown
dyed chestnut brown, and how it is
that the rectory curtains keep clean
year after year, although white silk
with q delicately tinted stripe would
be ruined in three months in some
houses. Yes, you know everything
about everybody In the country, al
most without knowing why you know
ii.
But in town, in London town, it is
all so different. 1t is true when you
get known in London, the gossiping
is nearly as bad as If you were the
center Of a small village set; but to a
girl situated as Dorothy was, London
Is a social blank. She knew nobody,
and nobody knew her. She did not
want to know any one, and apparently
the inhabitants Of the metropolis re-
turned the compliment. Yet, never
theless, it was terribly dull. Her pref
ty little fat was on the ground floor Of
the block of buildings which was dig
nified with the name of Palace Man
sions, so she had people above and
people below her. But Dorothy knew
them not. There was a sweet-faced
lady on the first floor Immediately
above her, a lady who dressed well and
had a sweet-faced little child with her
sometimes, and Dorothy fairly yearned
over her and lClged to say "Good
morning" when they met in the COM
mon hall of the Mansion. But the
sweet-faced lady did not know the
exact standing OF Mrs. Harris, wao
lived at No. 4, and in her dread Of
even rubbing elbows with "a person"
she resolutely made her eyes shone
and her lips steel whenever she saw
the slight, girlish figure approaching
her.
Then there was a lady at No. p
that was the basement, a sort of We'll
beck Abbey in miniature. She, being
a stout and buxom widow, whose
grandchildren came running in at all
times from a house on the other side
OF the High street, might have ven
tured a kindly word even to "a per-
son." but she never did. No, on The
contrary, whenever she came across
poor Dorothy she invariably smiled,
which was rude. to say the least Of
it.