The Kalispell bee. [volume] (Kalispell, Mont.) 1900-192?, 1902-11-11

COULD HAVE wEPT.
dishes. She had indeed not done SO
much work as usual for Thursday
morning, for her husband was at home
that day, and he had done the churn-
ling for her, and the butter was now
waiting to be gathered and sailed.
That was the next task that awaited
her, but she was so tired she sat down
to rest a minute in the low wooden
rocking chair that belonged to the
kitchen.
Ten years ago blue eyed Mary Far
rington was a pretty country school
mistress, full of life and fire and ambi-
ition. She would go to college, she
would study English literature, she
would go to Europe and study litera-
ture again, she would return to Ameri-
fca and be a college professor herself
and have a career. 1t was pretty
dream of a girls ambition, too pretty
in truth. At least Mary Harrington
was too pretty for it to be realized.
Lovers followed her footsteps, among
them John Murphy, and John Murphy
decided that Mary Farrington's edu-
cation was finished. He was only
farmer, and one of her other lovers
was a schoolmaster and the third one
a lawyer, while John Murphy did not
speak quite dramatically But he had
a forty-three inch chest, and he could
pick her up under one arm and run
half mile with her 1t seemed some
how that just so he caught her up and
ran away with her from both the
schoolmaster, who had dyspepsia,
and the lawyer, who had cold, clam
my handshake, like the wagging of
seals fippers.
And now! She moved feebly back
and forth in the kitchen rocking chair.
She was so weak and nervous she
could have wept. She breathed long
drawn breaths like the dying, and the
past came back to her as it does to
the dying. Oh, that silly marriage!
If she could only get out of it, only go
back ten years and live her life as she
had planned it! She saw herself the
handsome, brilliant young woman col
lege professor, honored and loved, with
white hands and pretty gowns and
literary and artistic people around her.
Now, now! There was the rugged
little farm with a mortgage on it.;
there were the five white headed, short
nosed, freckled children that looked
like John Murphy, all except the
fourth, the one who was always whin-
ing. That one resembled her. There
they were, there was she, with not a
dollar to spare for anything but bald
necessities, and Mary Harrington SO
loved grace and beautiful things. 1t
seemed as if she had to buy new pair
of shoes for one of that pile of young
ones every week. Would anybody think
now she had ever been pretty, the
hopeless, bowed, broken down farm
wife of thirty-two?
During the late autumn and winter
John Murphy had work as teamster
at dollar day, and that was almost
the only money they saw. He was of
duty today because it was Thanksgiv-
ing.
Miss Bookman, the children's teach
er, just such live. pretty girl as Mary
Harrington had been, was going to tell
her pupils at the schoolhoIse of the
first Thanksgiving day in America and
show them pictures of Indians.
But now Mary was too tired to dress
the young ores, too tired to get dinner,
/ too tired for anything, so she just lop-
ned down in the kitchen rocking chair.
Thanksgiving? The only Thanksgiv-
ing to her would be death-sweet death
which comes not to the life weary.
liz John or the children had come near
her at that moment, she would have
spoken GROSSLY to them, which was I'M
usual, for Mary was gentle and sweet