Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1905-12-06

IN.
and stay where hearts are hollow.
close her eyes; lay her out in the
summer silk that should have graced
my wedding; take the seventy-fve dol
lars I have laid away in the bank to
buy her coffin and pay her funeral
expenses.
About this time there comes a legacy
Of a hundred from an old uncle of
ours. send May off to school with
this, determined she shall not be like
Sophia. am left alone. I do my
own work. I eat my solitary meals,
sailed with lonely tears. 1 have
ceased to hope ever to hear from Fred
again.
The June days come again, hot and
long. There Is the sunshine without
happiness and stiffness without rest.
lock in the glass; am all eyes;
my face Is sharpening out, my collar
bones protrude, I am getting waspy
and thin; so much for putting my trust
In man.
Old SHIPPER looked at me to-day, even
kindly, and said:
Miss 10, you must have a vaca-
ton for week or SO; this hot weather
in the country will do you good, and
you can work the better on your re-
turn"
So 1 thank him, thinking sadly that
no trip to the country can make me
happy now; that I am heir henceforth
only to woman's undisputed legacy,
tears, and longing after the love and
appreciation she will not receive.
The big-hearted manager Of the road,
who is acquainted with me, has given
me q pass to st. Paul and return. 1
care little which way 1 go, and have
selected this route because it passes
through the town where Fred Langley
lives. Though / half deSpise him for
his fickleness, still have a woman's
curiosity to ride through this city, even
though I only catch a glimpse Of his
Office window.
1 get brown poplin travelling suit.
I find that old maids generally wear a
brown poplin, and the older they get
the more colors they wear, especially
scarlet. I have always hated red. 1
cannot see my way clear, just yet, to
putting it on my hat, so I get more
youthful bunch Of blush rosebuds.
One hot, bright July day I set out
on my lonely trip; once seated in the
train by the open window, my spirits
rise, for I always did love to ride in
the cars; there is a pleasant rush and
excitement about them that pleases
me; we are flying so fast, through
white towns and over bridges and out
into the vast Wisconsin prairies, not
smooth and rolling like those of Illi-
nois and Iowa, but rough and rugged
thickets, with little cabins set down
here and there like birds nests in the
grass; focks Of ragged children troop
out Of these and stare at the passen-
gers-the dear little dirty creatures!
What an inventory they take Of my
Milwaukee hat and my dusty suit!
Here Is a field starred with swamp
lilies, scarlet lobelias and wild asters.
How l long to get out and gather
them.
see by the towns on my ticket, and
know by the warning whistle, that we
are within mile Of Fred's home The
big manufacturing town is already in
sight; the sand and sawdust and coal
smoke are flying. OF course I have
my head and shoulders out Of the win
dow, with my eyes and mouth full Of
cinders, and gaping wildly about me.
The train CRATES, jars and stops. The
usual amount Of women with boxes,
budgets and parasols bundle off the
train. The teachers association Is
held here this week. and a tribe of
lank, sharp-nosed, hungry-faced wom-
en- get OFF also, teacher written all over
them, from their ugly hats to their ug-
ly shoes.
Can I believe my eyes? Who is it
that steps up and shakes hands with
two Of the lankiest, most wizened old
maids Of them all, but my Fred, with
a smile as sweet as the morning; takes
their satchels and shawls and turns TO
the lady with him, whom 1 know. by
the elegance Of her dress and a certain
high-bred sweetness about her, is his
sister. The Oldest old maid says:
80 kind in you, Mr.. Langley. TO
meet US! We would have been SO be-
Wildered in this place. SO good in you
to take so much trouble"
mo trouble-most happy" but he
says it rather languidly.
He glances up at my window, and
in spite OF cinders and soot my caved-
in hat, my hair all flying, and my face
burning like live Goals, he knows me
and drops the parcels.
''Take the shawls a moment, sis" /
hear him say, and in another second
he is on the train, leaning over the
seat, asking me a dozen questions in
a breath.
81 am going to ST. Paul." is all I
have time to answer; and he Whisners