Gilpin observer., 1904-06-09

affected, though with fortune perhaps
Southern families, including all the
Beauchamp line.
To this strong haven of refuge had
come Mary Ellen Beauchamp from
the far-off Western plains, after the
death of her other relatives in that
venture SO ill-starred. The white
haired old widow who now represent
ed the head of the Clayton family
her kin somewhat removed, but none
the less her cousins" after the COM
prehensive Southern fashion-had
taken Mary Ellen to her bosom, up
braiding her for ever dreaming OF
going into the barbarian West, and
listening but little to the plea Of the
girl that poverty had driven her to
the company Of those who, like her
self, were poor. Now, such had been
the turn of the wheel, the girl was
nearly as rich in money as her older
relative, and able to assume what lit
tie of social position there remained
in her ambition.
Mary Ellen was now we'll past
twenty-seven, a tall, matured, and
somewhat sad-faced woman, upon her
brow written something of the sor-
rows and uncertainties of the home
less woman, as well as the record of
a growing self-reliance. If Mary FL
len were happy or not none might
say, yet surely she was dutiful and
kind; and gradually, with something
Of the leadership she had learned in
her recent life, she slipped into prac-
tical domestic command Of this quiet
but punctilious menage. By reason
of an equal executive fitness Aunt
Lucy rose in the kitchen also to full
command. The Widow Clayton found
her cousin Mary Ellen a stay and
comfort, useful and practical to a de-
gree unknown in the education of the
Southern young lady of the time.
OF her life in the West Mary Ellen
spoke but little, though never with
usefulness. Her history had seemed
too full Of change to be reality. For
the future she made no plans. 1t
seemed to her to be her fate ever to
be an alien, a looker-on. The roses
dropped across her lattice, and the
blue grass stood cool and soft and
deep beyond her window, and the kind
air carried the Groom of the wooing
mocking bird; yet there persisted in
her brain the picture of wide. gray
land. with the sound of an urgent
wind singing in the short, tufted
grasses. and the breath of a summons
ever on the air. Out there upon the
Plains it had been ever morning.
Here life seemed ever sinking toward
its eventide.
This old family and the family
house were accepted unquestioningly
by the quiet Southern community
now. as they had ever been. as a part
of the aristocracy of the land, and as
appurtenances thereto. The way of
life had little change. The same
grooms led out the horses from the
stables, the same slow figures cut the
grass upon the lawn. Yet no longer
were the doors thrown open upon q
sea of light and color. The horses
were groomed and broken, but they
brought no great carriage of state
sweeping up the drive between the
lion-headed pillars of the gateway.
When Mrs. Clayton feebly sought to
propose brighter ways of life for the
young woman, the latter told her gen.
| tly that for her, too, life was planned
and done, the struggle over. and that
she only asked that she might rest.
and not take up again any questions
for readjustment.
"You will change after a while.
honey" said her protectress; but
Mary Ellen only smiled. 1t was enough
| to rest here in this haven. safe from
the surging seas Of doubt and hope
| and fear, of love and self-distrust. lie,
| it be settled. Let it be ended. For
her no cavalier should ever come rid.
ing up the graveled way. nor should
lights ever set dancing again the sha.
dows in the great dining hall over the
heads of guests assembled in her hon.
or. 1t was done-finished. And Mary
| Ellen was not vet twenty-eight