The St. Mary banner. (Franklin, Parish of St. Mary, La.) 1889-1931, 1909-02-06
thought, that she had any right to call

torical lectures with her. one bleak
March evening, and Grand-aunt Mir
lam had never asked him to come in
and warm himself TO-
IF you're going to keep company
with any one, Adeline,' the old wo-
man had sourly uttered, "let it be with
some one that can support you decent
ly. l hain't no faith in these sproutin'
DOCTORS
That was the end of it. Doctor Hunt
never came again, and poor Adeline
remained an ungathered rose upon the
family stem. She had liked Francis
Hunt; she had even wild enough to
fancy that he liked her, But Grand
aunt Miriam had decided the matter
for her, as she decided everything else
Yet. in sptse of this, poor Adeline
cried when she put the old woman's
d9g-eared books and crumpled papers
! into the fire, with the yellow letters
that Grand-uncle Fassett had written
her before they were married, and the
lock of faded fiaxen hair that she had
| cut from the coffined head of her only
baby. dead sixty years since
This letter is different color from
! the rest she said mechanically, as
she sorted out the discolored heap.
LOOK, Aurora, do you think"
She checked herself abruptly as she
ntted on a pair OF spectacles chat first
Concession to the standard of ap-
preaching old age and scrutinized the
| folded piece of paper still more close
| ly
Why" she said, the seal amt
broken! Why, it's directed to me,'
1t was directed to her, and in Doc
tor Hunts peculiar, angular hand
writing that she would have known
| if she had seen it in China or Pata-
sonia. She turned pale and began to
trem5te
why, Addie, what's the matter?"
said Aurora, looking up from the chest
of widowed garments, which she was
| examining.
Don't come near me?" flashed out
Addie. Its my letter-I'm going to
read it myself"
Aurora looked at her in silence
ITS from Doctor Hunt" gasped
/ poor Adeline. eWritten twenty odd
years ago, and asking me to be his
wife. And Grand aunt Miriam had
hidden it away. and l never knew any
thing of it. Oh, Aurora! Oh, Aurora,
what must he have thought"
E And the poor, faded little woman
burst into teaTs-the tears which in
middle age are so fearfully unbecom-
ing!
It's queer. amt it?' said Aurora.
IG What would you do, Aurora?" fall
tered Adeline. Would you go to him
would you
81 don't know what l would do" Au-
rora answered slowly. Twenty years
ago is twenty years ago."
But he wrote this letter to me, and
I l never got it! And he has right
to an answer!"
Yes, s'pose he has"
Adeline thought it over all day.
There was no more work for her. She
sat at the window with the time-yel-
lowed letter in her lap, staring out at
the autumn leaves as they doated down
through the misty air outside, thinking
thinking! Aurora glanced at her
sometimes, but she did not speak. She
herself, a hard-favored, masculine wo-,
man, had never had lover; she could
not help feeling secret reverence for
the sister who had attained this crown
of womanhood.
At sunset Adeline re-arranged her
hair, bathed her face, and tied on her
little crepe bonnet, with the stiff, white
frill in front.
What are you going to do?' aurora
| asked.
Il am going to him. said Adeline.
I'm going to show him this letter, ana
tell him all-how it happened"
But as she trudged along the leaf
carpeted autumn lanes Doctor Hunts
carriage whirled by. He was sitting in
it, and he was not alone. AS Adeline
stopped and looked after it, the doc
| tor checked his horse. A pretty, red
checked girl got out. And then the
doctor drove on. Still Adeline stood
there, looking at the dust that followed
| the wheels. @
| ooh, Adeline," said Eustacla Bent.
I'VE were jusa going to your house. l
| wanted to see if could get you and
Ausora to do some sewing for me- Doc
tor Hunt was taking me there when |
| met YOU. He has asked me to be his
wife. l am to be married to him in
January"
Eustacia Bents fair, dimpled face
was all aglow; her blue, lons-lashed
eyes shone like stars; the roses of last
June were not pinker thar. her cheeks.