The silver messenger. (Challis, Idaho) 1890-1912, 1907-02-05


burrows over the old mans strongly
bridged nose; the deeper chisellings
at the corners of the resigned mouth,
now telling of war between will and
weakening muscles.
A feeling of half-harmonious conces-
sion to his own early affection for his
companion, mixed with a sense of his /
newly attained position of Importance |
as pastor, was betrayed in Paul's Il +,
want you to come and hear me preach"
"Preachl Yes, for sure We all /
like to do a bit of preachin, and It's |
not wonderful when one thinks how
well duty runs hand in hand with lik-
ing; but sometimes the best words of
a preacher are those he doesn't say.
Harps and golden crowns and such
like things-what's the use of such
to me?"
You have no religion, Davy."
"Ther's. a lot o. religion in good
temper"
Paul Bolitho got up from the bench
and walked up and down the path, the
lmpetuosity of his youth apparent in
svery step. Stopping in front of his
Did friend, his head shot aloft by the
Involuntary Strengthening of the spine.
Il want to make men honest, women
virtuous." he said.
"Mebbe they would be if they wern't
!nterfered with" The smile that
played round the old mans mouth,
spoke of intimate knowledge of the
world.
Make what rules you can for your
fellowmen, but make none for women
they're exceptions" he advised.
Tho mebbe you don't know yet that
you counts 'em O. any vally. Ali" he
ehuckled, you're terrible young if you
haven't thought o woman to be reck'nd
with; for sartain sure they'll come
| even into your life. Women with their
crinkly hair, their dancin' eyes an
feet, their smiles an their mischief,
their altogether stonishing ways, that,
bad or good, sort O. paralyse a man"
But
''They be wonderful tryin', too, an
'zasperatin'; for they'll bear no con-
troll"
Davy's voice faltered, the periods of
his talk became detached, stopped al
together Changing the pipe over
from one side to the other of his
mouth, lie smoked in silence for some
minutes, whilst he dived into the re-
sesses of his mind.
You don't remember my Mary-no,
s'pose not-but you can see her ev'ry
time you leok at my gran'-nO, my
great-gran' daughter, Sally. 1 wouldn't
I - - l.,
the sound of it gives me now, after
all these years, funny feelin' in my
heart"
I've heard my grandfather speak OF
your wife"
"She was-well, she was just Mary.
The close knittin' of man and woman
as comes about when, day in and day
out, they're together, is wonderful
There was only one thing for which
we ever fell out. She was always
Iookin' at girls-specially pretty girls
to see if one took notice O. me. The
very name of a girl drew her to 'zas
peration. You wouldn't remember
Lizbeth Richards, neither?"
Before Paul had time to reply, ht
answered for him: No, to be SURE
not.
We'll, she was a girl always up Il
some devilment, a mischievous, blue
eyed girl. l didn't know then, though
l knew afterwards. that people haC
been talking of her an me-but won
en- always will gossip; their lungs il
as big as bellows, and the bette
the women are, the worse they talk
well, 'Liz'beth, she come in on
day: so yer off, Davy? says she.
was startin' with the boats to tn
North An because she looked at m
with a tear in her eye, or just becaus
! l was young, an a fool, an aattered
or because couldn't help it, or be
cause she wished it, or for some res
son or the want of any, I put my arr
around her waist and gave her a kiss
AN just then, Mary. who 1 though
was in the next room, she came in
J She was all a-trembly an was skeaT
. as I had never seen her before. Sh
seemed not to know what she was dc
: ing-a sob, a cruel, deep sob-i
, sounded like a cry, strangled in TIA
, throat-came from her lips. But
seemed to me Mary was maxim
strange fuss over so smah a matter
though the most violent feelin' in tn
world is one woman's hatred o. al
other"
, Il started to embrace her.
Don't you touch me, and your arr
lust from Lizbeth's waist!'
"She went back a few steps. SCENE
to me my heart was bein' tore out (
my breast and the pain O. it was III
bearable.
what made you do it? Why di
you act so cruel to me?' she asked.
"T didn't mean no harm; twas n
more than-than-' l stared at he
dumb, findin' no words small enoug
to tell her in. At last: I've knowe
Iizbeth ever since she was slip o.
child says.
do you know all the things folk
says about herT she said. DO 70
reckon that if it had been me that ha