The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-01-04


He was not lover of nature; in fact. he
observed the changes of the seasons only
On connection with his outdoor amuse-
ments The hard frosts of winter were
very well when he wished to skate; a thaw
with intermittent rainfall was preferable
when he felt disposed to follow the hounds;
the heat and gorgeousness Of summer were
tust right FOR cruise on Lady Roses
Yacht, and the cool breezes and mists OF
autumn were delightful when he made one
of party of guns UP in the north. During
the spring, when in town, 1t was all one
to him; he had his cab. and he never ac-
cepted an invitation to a garden party or to
a river picnic.
Just now his many acquaintance won
dered what it was that could keep him so
long away from the world down there in
Essex. He was not entertaining any of his
friends, and he hated solitude. What could
It be? they asked one another. What had
really called Valentine TORI out Of town,
before the season was over, had been bust
ness OF Importance with his steward in con-
nection with the letting of Weald Hall-a
property which had lately fallen to him. 1t
was a fine old place, Weald Hall, replete
with historical and romantic stories. The
from the hall and connected with it by an
underground passage-was a favorite Sun
day afternoon resort Of the local rustics
Here they would sit on the grass-grown
mound which was crowned by the old tow
er and repeat with much coloring what
they had heard about the place. Some
times some of them would think the truth,
even when colored, not sufficiently horrible
Io;-
cold; therefore they would invent matter
to please their own tastes. Clumsy. ram
bling, impossible though these improvised
stories were, they gave infinite satisfaction
to the ignorant and credulous.
Weald Hall and the surrounding lands
were mortgaged, for Valentine TORI was in
low water; he had gone the pace for years.
When Mr.. Berkeley. a Lombard-street bank
er. asked to become his tenant, he readily
accepted him as such. Not until the au-
tumn, however, would Mr.. Berkley take
possession of the hall. Yes. business had
called Val TORI here, but what had kept
him here was another thing.
1t was morning, and early, very early for
him. Grass, leaf and flower were yet dew
bespangled. and the lark was singing the
first song of the opening day. 1t was not
for these things that Val TORI sauntered
under the oaks of his park. His head was
one spot He was growing impatient. He
looked at his watch. He took the half
smoked cigar from his mouth and dashed
II to the ground. He swore. He quickened
his pace and was soon out of the park
WELL" If Mahomet won't come to the
mountain, the mountain must go to Ma
homet," he muttered. Across several fields
he strode and over one or two stiles he
bounded, until he reached a narrow, high
hedged lane-Honey-pot lane the rustics
told him ii was called. Not far distant
was a MISUNDERSTANDING 1t was to
this house he was making his way. He
had not proceeded many yards up the lane
when q young woman came In view. She
was crossing from one field to another, and
carried a milking pail, also a milking stool.
She was handsome faced. with weli-de-
veloped form. and her years numbered
twenty-three.
''Ahi Where are you going, my pretty
maid?" he exclaimed, as he neared her.
She started. She had not observed him.
Her cheeks grew a shade redder than they
had been before he spoke. She smiled and
dropped him a respectful curtsey.
How unkind you are growing" he con-
tinued. 'T waited in the park for you a
tremendous time. I expected to see you
near the Belvedere. How was 1t that you
did not meet me there?'
ION, sir, couldn't do that I can't help
meeting you here now. like this. because
I'm on my way to my work. I'm going
a-milking, sir, so grandfather can't be
angry along Of me anyway; but COULDN'T
60 right away in the morning and waste
my time attacking along of fine gentlemen
when twenty-three cows Is got to be
MIXED"
But, Martha, or Matte, as your grand
father calls you. you are much too charm
ing to spend all your time in dairy work;
in fact, my dear girl. you are superior to
your position. 1t is a shame that you, such
a fine, handsome girl as you are, should
have TO work at all"
''Oh, don't talk such nonsense to me, sir
1 come of Woodworking folk. and what's
good enough for them's good enough for
me. Grandad always says that, and he
never says anything that isn't wise and
true"
Hang your grandfather. Mattel! don't
care what he says. repeat you are toe
handsome-too good in every way for such
work as this"
the clear morning air.
your laugh is very musical, do you
know?" Val TORI said.
II don't know what you mean. sir" she
replied, and laughed again. Grandfather
plain-spoken; he don't put his thoughts into
fine words, and I'm just like him. If words
isn't plain, can't make them out"
you are really very refreshing. quite IN
keeping with your meadows and your COW:
and your butter and cream; and when yol
approach there is scent of new-mowr
hay. You delight me, Matte"
Your talks too fine for me, sir; can
make out quite what you mean. I'm only
dairy-maid, and don't understand anything
that amt plain. s'pose it's something yer!
nice, but, / tell you, sir. it's all giboerisi
to me- Sometimes parson talks that ms
in church on Sundays that grandfathe
can't make him out at ALL It's all ver1
well for fine ladies and gentlemen. the!
know everything, but for working-foiK
like me and grandfather. talk must d
plain"
He smiled at her and caressed his tawn!
mustache How old are you, Mattle. III