Dakota farmers' leader. (Canton, S.D.) 1890-19??, 1908-10-16

| She spoke to aim sometimes, and he did
not hear. She repeated the sams CUES
| tion twice or thrice, in her soft iow voice.
standing Gloss beaide him, and he did not
answer. There were times when it was
difficult 10 arouse him from that deep
! abstraction; aad at such times the utter
Darkness and solitude OF her own life
weighed upon her like q dead weight, an
almost unbearable burden.
What il to become Of us both in all
the long years before U.S." ahs thought
de3pairingly. Are we 10 be always far
apart--liv:ng in the same bouge, spandin.
all our days together. and yet diyided?'
Sha had married before she was eigh-
teen and al one and thirty was still in the
bloom of wouanhood, younger than most
women of that age; for her lie had been
subject 10 none OF those vscissituGea and
fcvfrs whicl &c women of the world.
She had ncvc: kept n secret from her hus-
band. never trerrbIed At opening n MILL
ner's account, or blushetl at the delivery
Of "a surreptltious letter. The struggles
Tor pre-cmincncc. tho socixI race in which
nome women waste their energies AID
strain their nerves. Werr unknown TO her.
She hid lived, rejoicing ia thu mir and
VOC DIilb'lHr. tITltlAluX OIt q cup y He
in which there lniu.led no drop OF poison.
Thus il uas hat not one line upon the
transparent skin marked the passage OF a
decade. 1hc violet eyes had the Iilnpid
purity. and the emotional lips had the ten
der carnation of Eirihood. Mildred Grss-
void was as beautiful AT thirty-one 81
Mildred t'sussst had been at seventeen.
And yet il seemed 70 her that life WAS
,.1ar .-1 ,t>, 49,. I.. ia .~--al -
care fo- her.
Many and many An hour in that lovely
solitude beside the lake abe sat with hands
loosely clasped in her IMP or above her
head, with her books lying forgotten at
her feet-~ali the newest books that libra
rinns could send to tempt the faded appc-
tito Of the rcader-snd her eyes gazing
v~acantiy over the blu OF tar lake or to-
ward the snow peaks on the horizon.
Often in these silent musings sh" recall
cd the past and looked at The days that
were gone as AT Il picture.
She remembered just such an antunla
~ this: a peerless autumn spent with
her father at The Hook-spent for the
0lost part on The river and in the garden.
the sunny days and moonlit nights being
far TOO lovely tor any one to waste in
ucoI =. flfT Sc VculseuLl ilTblu2S WSS nor
long past. II was just ten years since
she had come home to that house to find
Fay had vanished from it. and 10 shed
bitter tears for the loss Of her companion.
Never since that time had she seen Fay's
ace. Her questions had been met colby
or ensrily 10y her mother and even her
father had answered her with un.atistac-
tory b~rcvity.
All she could learn was that Fay had
been sent to complete her education at
a finishing school at Brussels.
"At school! Oh, poor Fay! ! hope
she is happy"
"She ought to be-" Mrs. Fausset an
swered peevishiy. 1.-The school is horri-
bly, expensive. saw one OF the bills the
other day. Simply enorinou=. The girls
arc taken TO the opera, md have all
sorts Of absurd indulgences."
still, it is only school. mother, not
home" said Mildred compassionaicly.
This was two years after Fay had
vanished. No letter had ever come from
her to Mildred, though Mildred was able
to write now, in her own sprawling child
ISL fashion, and would have been delight
ed to answer any such letter. She had
herself indited various epistles to her
friend, but had not succeeded in getting
them posted. They had drifted to the
waste paper basket, mute evidences of
wasted affection.
As each holiday time came round the
child asked il Fay were coming home, |
always to receive the same saddenins neg
.tive. s
One day, when she had been more ur-
gent than usual, Mrs. Fausset los, her
temper and answered SHARPLY: |
mo, she is not coming. She is never
coming. 1 don't like her. and ! dsu't
intend ever to have her in any house of
mine, SO you may as well leave of plaSu-
ing INC about her."
"But. mother, why don't you like her?'
Never mind why. dou't like her.
Tlat is enough for you to know"
But mother, if she is ia theirs dangh-
ter and my sister. you ouSh, to like her,"
pleaded Mildred. very mucl, in earnest.
How dare you say that! You must
never say it again-yOu are n naughty,
cruel child to say such things !" exclaim-
ed Mrs. Fausset. beginning to cry.
"Why naughty! Why crnel: Oh.
mother ~ and Mildred cried. too.
She clasped her arms round her moth
cr's neck and sobbed aloud.
Dear mother, indeed I'm not nauSh- |
ty,' she protested, but Bell said Fay |
was papa's daughter. OF course she is
his daughter Bell said; and Il she's |
fathers daughter, she's my sister. and
it's wicked not to love ones sister. The
psalm | was learning yesterday says so,
Behold how good and how pleas
ant it is for brethren to dwell together
in unity! And it means sisters just the
same. Miss Colvillc said, when l asked
her; and I do love Fay. l can't help |
loving her"
"You must never speak her name again
to me- said Mrs. Fahsset rcsolmtely. Il
shall leave of loving you If you poster
about that odious grill"
'Then wasn't it true what Bell saidg"
"Of course not"
Mrs. Faussct. fancying herself III. grew
to be really ill: and from chronic lassi-
t,,ic developed organic disease of The
heart. She fingered nearly two years, a
invalid, suffering a COOL deal,
and giving other people a great deal of
She died soon after Mildred $ |
sixteenth birthday, and on her death ted
she confiied freely in her daughter, who !
attended upon her devotedlyf all
her illness, neglecting everything
else in the world for her mothers sake.
The year Of mourning was a very quiet
for father and daughter. They
a little, spent six months 10 l.eip-
sic, where Mildred studied the piano I'M