The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1909-05-19
THE EVENING STORY
A Burnt Barrier.
(By Mario Moptrosa i,

OF smoke that was rolling up from
the sheep-dotted pasture. She went
cross lots and came to the charred
remains of the old farmhouse. where
a knot of neighbors. helpless and
wondering, gathered round the path
etically small pile of rescued house
hold effects.
Doxy was not a young woman, but
she was OF the type that time touched
gently. Her eyes were soft and gray
and expressive Of a past but unfor-
gotten time. Her optimistic fatalism
ble.7
ST don't see how Won MANAGED to
save so many things" she said to her
friends, each of whom at this en-
couragement began to point out what
he had snatched from the flames.
See, Miss Barton" cried a lad,
friumphantly thrusting a tin can into
her hand, "I hearn you say as how
it fust thing.'
"Oh, Jim! There is $50 in It'll"
Her father, Seth Barton, now ar
full of memories which were srnoth-
cred In the philosophical remark:
windi'
You and Doxy'Il come right home
with us and stay" cordially Invited
the nearest neighbor.
The others followed suit in this
proffer OF hospitality, rendering wide
open doors.
you are SO kind, but we'll stay
invitations. Our barn upstairs is fit-
ted up snug as a fireside, you know"
Her fathers stoical face frightened.
He had a catlike clinging to home;
not from love of every heartbeat for
1t as in Doxys case. but because he
could not bear the thought of uproot-
ing and transplanting.
The neighbors carried the goods
and chattels to the barn and helped
Doxy arrange a temporary home.
evening work their wives prepared
supper. Any event, joyful or calami-
tous, in the district was deemed an
occasion" worthy of a general re-
past. After supper they departed for
their homes. Seth settled down to his
evening pipe and weekly paper as if
nothing had happened.
Then Doxy. In the soft shadows of
the dusk, stole out and went through
the garden to the blackened ruins of
tottering walls and crumbled mortar.
All the voices of long ago called to
her-most persistently the voice of
the youth who ten years before had
wooed her.
and Jed Knox, in moment of hot
headed anger, had sworn he would
never again cross the Barton thresh-
old.
Time and events showed him that
he was entirely in the wrong and that
the quarrel had been of his own max
ing, but he held stubborn1y to his
oath. With quiet and firm dignity
Doxy had refused to see him else
where than in her own home.
AS Jed's stubbornness increased, he
grew bitter and morose, avoiding all
mention of DOxy.
She started at sight of man COM
ing from out the ruins. but in an in
slant she recognized Sol Upper, the
village carpenter, early in line for a
| contract.
.'Sol' said Doxy briskiy at want
you to build me a house as near like
this as you can"
oval, Miss Barton. tell me how
| much you can put into q house."
There's the fifty Jim saved, the
bank account, little insurance-some
| that Hobbs owes us"
After a mental accounting she gave
| the total of her capital. Sol shook
| his head discouragfngly.
"You can't do 1t noways for that
money
s'Knock out the cellar" command
| ed Doxy, land take off the blinds. In
the fall I will use the turkeys for
| blinds
1.-The turkeys!" repeated Sol. won
"The money get for selling them,
I mean
When the blinds were off. the bay
| window deducted, the gables torn
away. the stairs removed and a gen.
| eral clearing of fireplace. attic, paint,
plaster, lath and partitions had been
| effected, the amount of cash value
available was triumphantly reached.
The architecture appealed to Sol as
| easy to build. but was not in accord
ance with his ideas what a
( dwelling should be.
your house won't have no insides,
Miss Barton, but I'll be on hand to-
morrow to Begin" said he disapprov-
ingly.
When he had gone she again re-
sumed her twilight reveries.
Miss Doxyi"
| She started, and, turning, saw the
figure of a lad so like the youth of
| the long ago that there was a mo-
mentary stirring In her heart like
pain.
Don't you remember me. Laurie
Knox?"
| He was Jed's young nephew, who
had been used as a child to spend his
summer vacations with his uncle.
| Little Laurie! A mani
ct hope so.'' he replied. taking her
hand. II came today for visit af-
of the fire, and Uncle Jed asked me
| to come and see you and ask If there
was anything we could do to help
you. Won't you and your father
come over to Uncle Jed's and stay,
| just for a night, anyway"
Had 1t been SO long. then. his strug-
| giles? She pondered sadly. 1t hurt
| her that he could not come himself,
but must send another. She thanked
| the boy kindly, but declined the in
vitation. After talking a few mo-
ments of old times she babe him go
i to the barn and see her father.
| "You had better come. too." he
pleaded. set don't believe It's just
good for you to stay here"
She smiled at his boyish wisdom.
"Just a few moments more, Laurie,
| and then I'll join you and father"
1t was very quiet. A lone bird
| called. She felt solitary and ontlawed.
| f,~S Cd, int ted