Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1902-12-03

chase them to Canton if need be, but
they should not again disturb his noe
turnal musings or Cry havoc and let
slip the dogs of war in his garden.
AS they crossed Tibbalrs bridge he
dropped slipper. He picked it up to
hurl at the oxen; but, true to its name,
it slipped from his fingers and went far
astream. And that slipper had first be-
longed to his grandfather!
The oxen were not in the least blown,
but he was, in every sense of the word,
and his hair looked like field of rye
through which cyclone had passed.
The night winds toyed with his linen
garment, and the stones in the road
hurt his slipperless foot. 1t haG been
fifteen years since he had gone bare
foot. But to stop before his work was
done was not like Newberry. The
churclyard was not far away, and he
would not leave them until they were
safe behind the high stone walls and
sly barred gate of the sanctuary of the
dead. They could restore some of the
moss covered inscriptions on the tombs
with their horns or scratch new ones.
for all he cared, but they would not
trouble him again that night.
On sped the strange trio, the red
oxen and the man in white, past the
Bulkeleys, past the Days, past the
Traintors, past the Goodspeeds past
the Bills; then sharp turn to the left,
and they were in the lane that led to
the graveyard. BY some lucky chance
the cemetery gate was open, and, with
final hurting Of the innocuous feather
buster and a volley of small stones al
most as harmless, he drove the bovine
marplots into the graveyard, closed the
gate securely and retraced his steps to
the highway.
He now for the first time realized
that he was full half mile from
home, and, while it was night and he
was clad in the garments of the night
season, still South Hanaford society
would not have received him in such
habiliments.
But fortune favored him, inasmuch
as it was 10 o'clock and all Hanaford
was asleep. All Hanaford? No. There
was one who was not yet asleep, Que
who was driving toward him in COW
cred buggy. Who could there be pro-
flaming the little end Of the Sabbath in
this fashion? 1t looked like the Hard
ing team. Well, he wasn't afraid of
old Nelson Harding, and, besides, there
was no place to hide. He was on a
perfectly open, treeless, level stretch
of road
AS he walked boldly along, using the
feather buster as Il cane, something
about the harness broke, and the
horse, walking half way out Of the
shafts, stopped as quarter century's
hardening 10 mishaps had taught him
to do.
With a-little scream the occupant of
the buggy essayed to jump from the
high box and, tripping, fell to the
ground.
But it was not Nelson Harding, but
-merciful heavens Miss Grayson. She
lay where she had fallen, as if Stunned.
but when Trueman ran toward her she
sat up, glanced at him and screamed
again.
Are you lurt:' asked he, and she,
after her second scream, acted as If IL
We're quite the ordinary thing for Han.
Afford men to take nocturnal rambles in
cotton r5aes. She rose to her feet and
answered him calmly, mo; am not
bit hurt, but l don't in the least know
what to do"
Trueman stepped over to the wagon
and saw that the whiff1etree had bro
ken and had released one of the traces.