Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1902-01-10
CHAPTER XXIv.


word, Sally listened while Mary told
her of the relationship between them;
but the mists which for years had
shrouded her reason were too dense to
be suddenly cleared away; and when
Mary wept, winding her arms around her
neck and calling her AUNT and when
the elegant Mrs. Campbell, scarcely less
bewildered than Sally herself came for
ward, addressing her as "sister," she
turned aside to Mrs. Mason, asking in
whisper what had made them crazyF'
| But when Mary spoke of little Willie's
| grave and the tree, which oyershadowed
| it, OF the green prairie and cottage by
the brook, once her western home, Sally
listened, and at last, one day, a week or
| two after her arrival in Boston, she sud
denly clasped her hands closely over her
| temples, exclaiming: "It's come! It's
come! l remember now-the large gar
| den-the cross old mantle dead mother
the rosy-cheeked Ella l loved SO well
THAT was my mother-my mother" in
| terrupted Mary.
| For a moment Sally regarded her In
tently, and then catching her in her arms,
cried over her, calling her cher precious
child" and wondering she had never no
| ticed how much she was like Ella.
And don't you remember the baby
| JaneT' asked Mrs. Campbell, who was
| present.
Perfectly-perfectly," answered Sally.
He died and you came in carriage but
| didn't cry--nobody cried but Mary"
1t was in vain that Mary tried to ex-
| plain to her that Mrs. Campbell was her
sister-once the baby Jane. Sally was
not to be convinced. To her Jane and
the little Alice were the same. There was
none of her blood in Mrs. Campbell's
VEINS "or why" said she, 'did she leave
us so long In obscurity, me and my niece,
Mrs. George Moreland, Esq.,
This was the title which she always
gave Mary when speaking of her, while
to Ella, who occasionally spent week
in her sisters pleasant home, she gave
| the name of ''llttle cipher" as expressing
exactly her opinion of her. Nothing so
| much excited Sally, or threw her into so
violent passion, ms to have Ella call
her aunt.
"1f l wasn't her kin when l wore n six
| penny Calico" said she, 81 certainly am
not now that dress in purple and fine
| linen"
When Sally first went to Boston
! George procured for her the best possi-
BILE medical advice, but her case was of
so long standing that but little hope was
| entertained Of her entire recovery. Still.
| everything was done for her that could
be done, and after a time she became far
less boisterous than formerly, and some
| times appeared perfectly rational for
days.
True to her promise, on Mary's twenty
first birthday, Mrs. Campbell made over
| to her one-fourth Of her property, and
Mary, remembering her intentions to-
ward William Bender, Immediately offer
ed him one-half of 1t. But he declined
accepting 1t, saying that his profession
| was sufficient to support both himself and
Jenny, for In a few weeks Jenny, whose
father had returned from California, was
coming and already neat little cottage,
a mile from the city, was being prepar-
ed for her reception. Mary did not urge
the matter, but many an article of fur
| niture more costly than William was able
to purchase found its way into the cot
tage, which, with its overhanging vines.
climbing roses and profusion Of flowers,
seemed just the home for Jenny Lincoln.
And when the flowers were in full
bloom, when the birds sang amid the
trees, and the summer sky was brishs
| and blue, Jenny came to the cottage,
| joyous, loving bride, believing her owh
| husband the best In the world, and Won
| dering if there was ever any one as hap
py as herself. And Jenny was very
| happy. Blithe as bee she fitted about
| the house and garden, and if in the morn
| ing a tear glistened in her laughing eyes
| as William bade her adieu, 1t was quick
| ly dried. and all day long she busted her
self in her household matters, studying
| some agreeable surprise for her husband,
and trying for his sake to be very neat
and orderly.
| There was no place which Ella loved
| so we'll to visit, or where she seemed so
| happy, as at the Cottage" and as she
was of but little use at home, she fire.
ouently spent whole weeks with Jenny.
becoming gradually more cheerful-more
! like herself, but always insisting that she
should never be married.
The spring following Mary's- removal
| to Boston, Mrs. Mason came down to the
city to live with her adopted daughter,
greatly to the delight of Aunt Martha,
whose home was loneier than it was
wont to be, for George was gone, and
Ida, too, had recently been married to
Mr.. Elwood and removed to Lexington,
Ky.
And now q glance at Chicopee, and our
story Is done. Mr.. Lincoln's California
adventure had been successful one, and
| not long after his return he received from
| George Moreland conveyance of the
farm. which, under Mr.. Parker's effl-
| cient management, was In n high state of
cultivation. Among the inmates of the
poorhouse but few changes have taken
place. Miss Grundy, who continues at
the helm, has grown somewhat older and
crosser, while Uncle Peter labors indus
triously at a new fiddle, the gift of Mary.
who Is still remembered with much af-
fection.
Lydia Knight now young lady OF
sixteen, Is q pupil at Mount Holyole.
and Mrs. Perkins, after wondering and
"a hara tho Oonnv pamp from