The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1903-04-09

2 while IN the day coach. The life she
had known had been the life of cities;
and in the cities she had learned how it
was with the submerged tenth. This
other life was the life of country peo-
ple-of people who had grown up on
the wide prairies; and it must be very
very different.
The other party to the bridal tour ex-
pOstulated.
why are you always going into the
mob, and fraternizing with common
place peoples" he asked, for he had
much goods laid up for many years,
and was trying to teach her what it
meant to be rich, and to live a safe and
sheltered life.
Because / have always been one of
the mob myself" she rejoined, with
happy laugh; and SO they went into the
day coach, and she threw her cloak
over the arm of a double seat, and set
tied herself contentedly, while the OBJ
jector went on to the smoking car.
The DIRECTORS name was Van Hover,
and in his less dignified moments he
called her Nell.
The train was speeding through
mOnOtOnOus prairie country, which
frOsts had scared to dull yellows and
browns. The towns that it passed lay
stretched out on those plains, with long
streets that struggled away over the
prairies, and dull stations, to which the
men OF the town hurried when it was
time for the train to come in, that they
might stand on tiptOe and stretch their
necks and peep in at the car windows.
Mrs. Nellie Van Hover looked at them
curiously. They were like their coun-
try, she unused; dull and uninterest-
| ing people, There was monOtonous
sound in their voices, even-yes-as
John had said, they were commonplace
especially this woman who had just
come in, and had taken the seat oppO-
site the newspaper woman. For mo-
ment the latter regretted that curiosity
had brought her to the day coach; and
she regretted still more that she had
taken a double seat. Double seats are
for intimate friends who can look into
one anothers eyes; but there could be
nothing in common between herself
and this hOpelessly uninteresting young
woman in the shabby black dress, with
the many-times washed blue ribbon at
the throat, and the cheap felt hat, out
of shape, and adorned with one forlorn
and bedraggled plume. The woman of
the cities leaned back and closed her
eyes YEARLY. What kind of life did
these country people lead, she wonder
ed. to make them like that? What a
dull, dull life it must be, to so smooth
them down and fade them out.
She opened her eyes, and saw that
as the train ran the young woman was
looking out of the window, with diff
ferent look. 1t was not a monotonous
look-it was a panied, drawn, fright
ened look. Her eyes were seeming to
dwell on objects as though she knew
them, and were devOuring them hun
grily, and yet with fear and avoidance.
Once it was field with yellowed corn
stalks standing here and there-noth-
ing to be seen, one would think-yet
there she was, leaning out Of the win
dow, staring at every rain-washed fur
row, her lips apart. Away back from
the track of the railroad wss a farm
house, EMPOWERED in trees. She watch
ed it as long as it could be seen, with
wide, dry eyes, her lips apart, and
something beating in her throat that
gave the watcher a sense of pain.
Now how would woman like this
take it if some great tragedy were to
come into her life? The newspaper
woman dwelt on the subject, as Curl
ously she could, consistently with her
conviction that the woman was hope
lesslv commonplace.
ellis! Twenty minutes for din
ner!" shouted a strenorian voice up
and down the car; but it was not this
which startled the little newspaper
woman. It was that the woman Oppo-
site, white-faced, had sprung forward
and caught her arm.
"Oh," she said, gaspingly, "loan me
me your cloak--let me put it on--just