The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1904-01-21
] LECTA'S WAY
I BY horace SEYMOUR KELLER.


THE lusty young farmer, prize
mixer and hay tosser of the Twin
Farms, laid aside his corn cutter and
crawled upon the fence, from which
elevation he could survey the valley
below, where the little station was
situated.
There comes the train; getting
nearer and nearer, Lecta. There, it's
rounding the curve and shooting over
the bridge and-poor little girl! !
know it's tough, mighty tough, for he
was your first city beau. The other
girls have had them before and knew
how to take them. The engine is
steaming into the depot yard and-I
can see you, dear, l can see you stand
ing by him. Poor Lecta! Now you're
shaking hands with him and-no, he
don't kiss you goodby. Has got feel
ings for you and don't want to make
you abashed before all the folks. The
trains off, the last car is switched
around the turn; he's gone, and your
summer dream is over, poor little
girl"
Then Eli resumed his work. Every
time he slashed stalk he gritted his
teeth-why, he did not know. Every
time he bundled and stacked he NUT
tered: There, hang you! Stay where
you belong!" Up and down between
the rows he went, slashing right and
left with his sharp cutter, bundling
and stacking, doing the work of TWO
men. Eli knew how to make every
motion count. He did not drag nor
loiter; he worked, worked, worked
until the sun began to sink in the
west. Then he numbered his back
and shouldered his cutter and turned
from the field. He reached the path
leading to the house, and said, as he
looked back over the result of mis-
days toll: There, hang you! Stay
where you belong!"
Supper over, and Eli is up in his
room preparing for the great ordeal of
his life. His best clothes are laid on
the bed; the wonderful tie that Lecta
said was SO pretty, the fancy coiored
shirt that was his special pride, the
tan shoes and the neat Fedora. all his
finery lies there.
mot such a pretty face as the other
fellow has got" uttered he, as he
scraped the down from his chin. Hes
pale and thin. but he can sing and
make the most of his good looks.
have no good looks, can't sing no more
than a hen hawk. Don't know much
poetry-hes got all the poets and their
pretty songs at the end Of his tongue
But the summer dream is done for,
and Lecta will be glad to see me low,
/ hope. Poor little girl! You'll forget
all about it soon. I've stayed away
and given you both clear road. I
haven't bothered, nor snooped, nor
watched you. You've had your fun.
Now I'll resume mine" Thus the
young rural swain muttered as he ar
rayed himself in his best. To his ell
der brother Jim. whom he met at the
side door, he said: Leave the door
unlocked for me, old boy, when you
come back. You won't stay so late as
/. Tidy hasn't had a city beau l
may have to urge Lecta some Lecta
and the young fellow parted to-day.
Maybe she'll need cheering up bit u
Luck to you, Eli. Give my love to
Lecta," said the other, as he walked
away. Jim turned and looked after
the tall figure swinging with long
strides through the moonlight, and
muttered: ''Lecta, pretty little girl
almost too pretty for dear Eli Won
der, l wonder how it will be with you
/ wonder how it will be with Eli?"
Lecta was leaning upon the gate IN
der the beeches. She was leaning
with one hand against her chin, the
other hand was pressed to her bosom
The Moonlight, drifting through the
branches. fell upon her; she looked al,
most too dainty and pretty for Eli tC
approach. She was SO occupied with
her fancies that she did not hear the
sound of footsteps, nor did she see
the friend of her childhood until he
doomed up before her. Then she
started, looked into his eyes anC
stepped away from the gate. His
eyes were so blinded by the beauty Of
the face before him, his heart was