The Marion daily mirror. (Marion, Ohio) 1892-1912, 1908-02-29

wooded valley, over the far-off rim of
purple hills, and rested wistfully on
the tremulous blue beyond. She laid
her arms along the top of the worn
gray bars, and leaned her rosy face
Upon her folded brown hands, and
fetched a long sigh from the very
bottom Of her heart. And still she
kept her eyes fixed on that patch of
shimmering sky. How well she knew
that spot. set apart from all the rest
Or the spacious empty heavens by
two jutting shoulders of the hills
J. II wish, oh, wish as how could
60! II only gran mother an gran
dad could git along without me for q
spell!"9
She turned, picked up her two
pals. each half.full Of water from the
spring, and started up the long, stony
lane toward the house.
Somewhere far beyond that spot of
sky, according to her painstaking cal
culations and much eager study of the
maps In her school geography. lay the
city OF Lydia's dreams. From early
childhood she had heard and read of
Boston. and longed for It. Girls whom
she knew, her schoolmates, shy,
shabby, and awkward. had gone
thither. to disappear from her view
for a year or two. They had returned
In glorious apparel, selr-confident and
glib OF tongue. to dazzle down all
criticism in their quiet Nova Scotian
backwoods settlement.
Lydia had 1t In her mind that she
would never learn those bold glances
and that loud chattering in Boston. but
her imagination was all on fire with
ton only, she thought, could ever find
fulfilment 1t was not lack OF money
that kept her, chained and fretting, on
the old farm of Stony-LOnesome. as
John Cassidy's place was called.
II was with very anguish of ap.
prehension that Lydia's grandparents
watched her growing restlessness.
Their fear was no mere selfish pas
sion. The grandmother, indeed, a
gentle, mOtherly woman, would sit
rocking In the sunny porch, and think
ing. thinking, thinking. Of what Stony
Lonesome would be without "Lyddy."
Far worse than this, to John Cassidy,
was black horror of Boston, which
lay like a nightmare on his soul. He
loved Lydia with all the pept-up force
Of grim, undemonstrative nature;
yet the thought of his own pain at
losing the sunshine OF her presence
hardly touched him. His dreams were
racked with visions of Lydias ruin.
He had never seen city; and he had
Imagination. In his eyes Boston was
q sort OF Babylon, where vice, In gro
tesquely lcering shapes Fashioned
from boyish memories of an illus
trated copy Of the Pilgrims Prog.
ress'). caught openly In the streets at
the white skirts of innocence
Lydia knew that her grandfather
hated Boston with hate that would
endure no argument: and she knew
that her grandmother also trembled
at the name. The reason for this,
however was far indeed from her
remotest guess. The old. old tragedy
was at the foundation OF 1t. Lydias
mother. grown heartsick at IS with
the bright desolation of Stony-Lone-
some, had shaken OFF restraint and fed
away to Boston. After two years at
service there she had come back TO
6tony.Lonesome broken with pain
and shame. deserted by false lover
Her mother. taking her back to her
aching heart, had striven to comfort
her: but her father, for three long,
bitter months. had held sternly aloof
from her contrition. Then. forgiving
her upon her death-bed. in an agony
OF love and grief which she had pitl
fully tried to soothe. he had taken her
child TO his heart with a consuming
devotion. To him, thencoforth. life
found expression only In terms of
Lydia. This was the name her dying
mother had bestowed upon the child
AZ for the name "stony-Lonesome,"
never was appellation more apt. John
Cassidy's father. an eccentric recusa,
had built his house upon a hill ON the
remotest edge OF Brine settlement.