The commercial. (Union City, Tenn.) 190?-193?, 1902-04-11

meu of families who were boys tel
years ago-big, lusty, mischievou
boys who loved fish fry in the sum
mer and hoh-sled ridewhen the snow
was knee-deep on the Rochester road
Of course they remember the nigh
when dozen of them, playing thu
gallant to asmany country girls witt
rudy cheeks, rode past Kinney's lit.
tie office and bombarded the door with
snowhalls.
Kinney never forgot it, because the
crash Of those snowballs sent shock
to his heart that changed the current
of his life. All night long he had
heard nothing but the monotonous
beating of the little press which his
foot kept in motion. How prosaic it
was against the rollieking jingle Of
the sleigh bells, how harsh against the
musical laughter of the girls in the
sled! And what strange thrill went
through him as he heard one of these
cry out: "Please don't throw any
more, boys, you oughtn't to disturb
Mr.. Kinney when he's busy. Please
don't"
"And is there really somebody who
cares enough about me to think of
that?" he asked himself. cam | do
ing right to shut myselfup here when
l might be out with those boys and
girls? I wonder whose voice that
was? 1t sounded like-but what rea-
son have I think that?"
Maybe he didn't have any reason to
think it, but vague, tender hope rose
above reason. "Mary'-what pref
ty name it was, he thought. MARY
Manning-Kinney," So timid was
this big, strong man that he actually
blushed at his own audacity when he
coupled her name with his. Mary
Manning Kinney"-it kept ringing
in his spiritual ear like the melody of
a favorite song. When the last issue
of the Sangamon Boy was run off and
Josh Kinney crept into bed a host of
sentimental fancies kept him awake
until far into the morning, and then
wove themselves into the fabric Of his
dreams.
Mary Manning was the only daugh-
ter of the richest farmer in Lower
Corners, and the one girl in the com
munity who had tossed aside the blue
bonnet of the district school and be-
come seminary girl abroad. She
saw in Kinney somethingmore than
clod, something higher than the
creator of weekly rural paper, She
respected him for his wide fund of
information, for his rugged sincerity,
for his physical and mental power.
She-but she herself could not have
told by what process shecame to hold
a tender regard for this modest giant
among pygmies. Possibly it was be-
cause he was at once so gentle and so
strong,
Lower Corners was suspicious
enough about most things, but it did
not stop to give the subject a second
thought when Josh Kinney took Mary
Manning home after choir practice.
He was just the bass singer and she
the organist, and of course he would |
not let her 60 unprotected. Lower
Corners thought he was accommodate
ing, that was all, and so he reckoned |
with himself as the Friday nights
came and went, but the volley of
snowballs clung to his memory when
the wild flowers bloomed in the wood, |
and so did Mary Manning's earnest
protest.
Would she protest also when he
should tell her of his longing, of his
love? You, gentle reader, know she
would not, and Josh made bold
enough one night, when the moon
light was glowing on the hills, to find
out for himself. 1t was not for 9th
ers to know what he said.
"Not necessarily for publication,
but just as an eyidenceof good faith"
said Josh long after: when twitted
about it.
There came another night when the
moon was not shining. The little
office was as dark as the great world
outside and as quiet. It was Thurs
day night, and the hand press was
still. That seemed strange to pass
ers-by on the road. They were used
to hearing the stray clack of the press
on that night long after r.. If they
had observed closely they might pos
sibly have seen that the door was
ctandinC widn oman opJ 4lzL . u |