The silver messenger. (Challis, Idaho) 1890-1912, 1907-10-08

over the nre ana sat uOWD 10 LHlHh.
Those hens Can Celinda be trust
ed to let them out in the morning and
shut them up at night? Will she re-
member what | said about the setting
hen, and the eggs in the yellow bowl?
MOI" said Miss Hepsey mournfully to
her own thoughts. IF / conclude to go
to Portland. | must just bid good-by
to my chickens before go!"
'Hepsey," said Aunt Mcguire, put
ting her head in at the door, don't
forget that gray flannel; but you
mustn't pa; too much for it; I'd rath-
or go without" Aunt Mcclure disap-
peared, with her widows cap tilted on
one side of her pepper-and-salt curls,
and her niece unused on.
But, unfortunately added eggs
were not the least of her troubles. She
knew just as well as If Nine. Demon
est had told her, that faded, brown
alpaca is no dress to make any impress
sion in-only a dowdy impression
and that upon this visit to Portland de-
pended a great deal more than few
chickens.
There was Hiram Stackpole, living
not three squares from the family she
was about to visit She should meet
him; how could it be avoided unless
she always kept herself yelled to the
chin? She trembled at the thought,
but at the same time child herself for
trembling. Why did she care for
meeting Hiram Stackpole any more
than Deacon Nutting? He surely
would not speak to her unless she
would give some sign of recognition.
At seven next morning the Poole
vile stage drew UP before Aunt Ma
CURES door for Miss Hepsey. AT the
post office they stopped 10 take the
mail bag and young man.
Why Fred Tracy, how do you do?"
exclaimed Miss Hepsey, her eyes brim-
ming over with welcome, and the
youthful look flashing back to her
lace, giving momentary glimpse of
her departed freshness and bloom.
Are you going back to Portland,
Fred?' asked Miss Hepsey, the care
worn look returning to her face.
Yes; I've rusticated three days, and
that is all can spare. I'm in Stack
poles store he continued carelessly.
"Ahem. | believe he is an old ac-
quaintance of yours? I happened to
mention once that / had cousins at
Pooleville, and then he asked me i'll
knew lady there by the name OF
Hepsibah Dillon"
"Ah!"
A. queer little sparkle shot out of
Miss Hepsey's eyes. 1t might have
been pleasure, it might have been
pain.
Yes. He was very particular to in.
quire Just how you were situated"
At last, with the usual flourish and
energetic crying out at the horses. the
stage drew up at the depot, and in five
minutes Miss Hepsey was on her way
to Portland and to her fate.
With the noisy wheels Miss Hen
sey's thoughts flew backward to the
days when she had been Young
and beautiful. Hiram had loved her
then, there could be no doubt of that
His looks had said it a thousand
times And even if looks and tones
and signs and intimations had been
all at fault, had he not told her all
his heart in written language. strong
and unmistakable?"
She would never forget that letter
for 1t was the last he ever wrote NOT
Tor lack of response on her part. No
she had written immediately and there
mad been no equivocation in her an
swer.
ana tEen the sweet expectation that
mad resteo over her through days. and
weeks, and even months. until hone
deferred had made her heart sick He
never wrote again; he never came;
and If her letter said too much, or IL
he suddenly discovered he had mistak-
en- his own feelings, she never knew
somewhat less than a year after
this, Mr.. Stackpoles sister, Lucy, who
mad come to Pooleville on a visit, died
suddenly at Fred Tracys Uncle
J0hn s. and Hepsey was there with her
good sense, her good taste. her quiet
nerves and ready hands, when Hiram
came to take his dead sister for her
burial in the ancestral tomb.
He came into the darkened parlor
Unexpectedly to Hepsey, as she stood
by the casket putting rosemary and
Persian lilacs in the still hands that
had unwittingly done her grievous
wrong.
Nothing passed between the two
old friends but such looks of sad sym
pathy, as strangers might give and
receive about a bier, and then Hen.
sey, who was needed no longer. went
away, with her heart full OF wounded
love and proud regret.
This was ~ years ago. She had
never seen him since. And now thew
would meet again. Well, what cared
she? When past event is dead and
buried, why should it's ghost wall
There is always enough to do ana
bear in. the living present For in-
stance, at this very moment she ough+
to be thinking out the plot Of a nov,
story, for Miss Hepseys faciIa nor
was all she could depend upon for tha
| winning of her daily bvo,a