The Washington times., 1903-11-22
Copyright 1908. by Miss Mary Cholmon-
deley.l

deleyl
n HE stood at her low window. with
its uneven wavering glass, and
- looked out across the prairie. 4
little snow had fallen. not much,
only enough to add a sense Of desolation
to the boundless plain. the infinite plair
outside Of the four cramped walls Of her
log hut. The icg hut was like tiny
boat mooreG n Some vast, tideless, i'm
passable sea me immensely Of the
prairie he rushed her in the earlier
years Of he. married life. but gradually
she had bec me accustomed to il. then
reconciIed 20 il. at last almost part OF Il.
The gray had come early 10 her thick
hair. a certain hxity to the quiet eour-
age of her eyes Her calm, steadfast
face showed that she was not given TO
depression. but nevertheless this even
ing as she stood watching for her hus-
bands return. for the first distant speck
Of him where the cart rut vanished into
the plain. a sense of impending misfor-
tune EMBODIED her with the dusk. Was
it because the first snow had fallen?
All, me. how much il meant. II was as
significant for her as the gray pallor
that falls on a sick mans face. 1t
meant the e.dless winter, the greater
isolation instead OF the lesser. the pow
erlessness 70 move hand or foot IN that
al enveloping shroud. the struggle, not
for existence-with him beside her that
was assured-nOt for luxury, she had
ceased TO care for it. though he had not
ceased to care for her sake, but for life
In any but its narrowest sense. Books
letters. human speech. through the lo--S
months these would be almost entirely
denied her. The sudden remembrance OF
the larger needs Of life flooded her soul.
touching TO momentary semblanee OF
movement many things long cherished.
, but long since dead. like delicate sea
plants beyond high water mark that
cannot exist between the long droughts
when the neap tide does not come. She
had known what she was doing when
against the wishes OF her family she OF
the South had married him of the North
when she left the busy city life she
knew and clave 10 her husband. follow
ing him over the rim Of the world, as
women viii follow while they have feet
10 foIIow with She was superior TO her
husband in birth, cultivation refine
ment. but she had never regretted what
she had done. The regrets were his for
her. for the poverty TO which he had
brought her. and 10 which she had not
been accustomed. She had only one re-
greet if such thin strip OF word as
regret can be used TO describe her pas
sionate, controlled desolaton4 immense
as the prairie. because she had no child
Perhaps if they had had children the
walls Of the log hut in the waste LIght
have closed in on them less rigidly. 1t
might have become more of a home.
Her mind had taken its old mechanical
bent. the trend OF long habit as she
looked out from that low window. How
often she had stood there and thought,
III only we might have had a child,
and now by sheer force OF habit she
thought it yet again. And then a slow
rapture took possession OF her whole be-
ing. mounted. mounted till she leaned
against the window still faint with JOY.
She was to haze child after all. She
had hardly dared believe it at first. but
as time had gone on a vague hope,
quickly suppressed as unbearable, had
turned 10 suspense, suspense had elter-
mated with TIE fierce despair th.-t pre-
cedes certainty. Certainty had come at
last. clear and calm and exquisite as
dawn. She would have a child in the
5pring. she had not dared TO tell her
husband till she was sure. But she
would tell him this evening. when they
were sitting together over the fire
She stood motionless IN the deepening
dusk, trying TO be calm. And at last
. ~~D~NO~-~-~~O~O~ON0c-o