The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1908-02-08
THE EVENING STORY
Hills and Home.
(By Lulu Johnson.)

| HIS ana Home.
| (By Lulu Johnson.)
| The porter smiled cheeringly as
Miriam emerged from her berth and
made her way down the aisle toward
| the dressing room.
Good mawnin.' he observed. as he
| sprang to take her bag. "This yer's
a shore-bad day. TIL dinin' cab I'll
! be on in half an hour
He surrendered her bag at the door
| OF the dressing room and returned to
his work. There were few berths
left to make up. and Miriam had been
the last to rise.
| men constituted the passenger list on
the through car, so when Miriam re-
| turned to her berth It was all In or
| der. The car. too. was deserted, as the
| first call for breakfast had summoned
| all her fellow passengers to the
diner, glad of any break in the mono
tony Of travel.
Miriam followed the others, rejoice
| ing in the conductors assurance that
in the evening she would eat her sup
| per on firm land for at nightfall they.
were due at Schofield, the little sta
| ton where Miriam Bradley was to
change for the slow stage coach that
| would carry her to Muddy Bend and
her new field of labor.
| She was glad that there remained
Out ten hours OF train travel. 1t mad
proved a tiresome trip, though back
home she had hooked forward with
| eagerness to the journey.
| Once she had run down from her
Vermont home to Boston, and there
| had been short visits to nearby smaller
| far, and naturally had anticipated
much pleasure in the novelty
| But after all she had found the long
journey disappointing. The long,
bare stretches of prairie were a
novelty at first to this girl, brought up
| In the heart of the Green mountains,
but they became intermfnable, and
| now her eyes hungered for the sight
| of her native hills.
Under the driving rain the sodden
plain looked more dreary than it had
| the day before. She tried to fix her
| thoughts on a book. but the letters
| danced before her eyes, and she
caught herself looking through the
| car window and wondering If there
were no hills at all in this dreary ex-
/ panse.
Back home there must be snow on
| the ground, and the boys and girls
| were doubtless enjoying the coasting,
| while the evenings would call out the
big "bobs'' and her own crowd would
take part in the fun. Vaguely she
| plains ever knew the delights of the
| long, swift journey down the gilt
1 tering white incline, and she sighed
for the little valley she had always
| known as home.
| Yet she thought sternly that she
/ had done the one possible thing. The
| field in the east was already over
| crowded with teachers, and she had
heard that only In the great and
growing west did a newcomer have
| ing 1t must be or-marriage with
| Jimmy Meeker. Even now with hun
| dreds of miles between them she could
feel her face flush as she recalled how
| he had asked her to marry him that
| she might have home and his protec-
ton.
He had meant we'll, no doubt, and
ever since they had gone to school to-
gether he had shown his manly
preference for her, but he had put it
rawly that evening, to say the least.
With her nerves still tingling from
| the shock of discovering that her en-
| tire heritage had gone down with the
| local bank, his proposal, SO awkwardly
worded, had been the final straw. In
dignant1y she reminded him that he
support made his offer ring with
pity-and she wanted not pity, but
| love from the man she married.
It had all seemed very dignifed. al
most heroic at the time. but now,
with the vastness OF the unbroken
prairies settling down upon her like
| a black shadow, her heart somehow
had room only for his answering plea,
that he could not ask her to be his
wife while he was struggling law
yer and she the only heireSs of the
comfortable Bradley estate.
AS the day passed and she was hur-
RED through the fiat, dismal country,
both her reason and her heart rose in
rebellion, and when the call for
| luncheon was sounded, nervousness had
done its work. She wanted nothing to
eat.
The porter had seen just this brand
of inconsistencies before. and he asked
permission to bring some tea and toast,
at least to her section. Abashed by the
tears that came to her eyes at his
friendly suggestion, he sought another
car and the conductor. Then this kind
ly official sat down beside his tired
Young passenger and tried to make
Conversation. They were just passing
q section house with it's few surround
ing buildings and tiny school house.
Near the latter was an improv1sed
"slide." ~.
THAT'S the way the prairie children
make hills" he said, little dreaming
that he was touching a very raw spot
in his companions heart They pile
I'D the snow industriously, pour water
on it Just before shutdown, and In the
morning it is jolly fine slide"
After that Miriam watched for the
manufactured hills. The pitiful substi-
tute for the sport of her girlhood some
how made her feel more desperately
than ever the mighty chasm she was
cutting between her old life and her
-. .~.~ ,,n< ,-.fchsn~ 4or