The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1911-04-27
On Counting
Night
BY Ed T ii g II A 7


artist. and the author and he seemed
always to have great deal to say to
one another. They often came to the
little Miller farm TO spend care-free
week ends. undisturbed by obtrusive
critics and condescending art pa
irons. and tonight, as was their Gus
tom, they tipped their chair legs back
against the shingles their feet
stretching out toward the piazza rail,
their eyes searching the stars be-
yond
Below. on the steps sat the pretty
daughter of Farmer Miller gorgeous
in the panoply of counting evenings,
her soft hair, of mornings so allur-
ing in the careless disarray OF gold
brown strands, caressing slender neck
and warm flushed checks, now
knotted in a tight, awkward wad;
and the soft house dress which
usually chung so PRETTY about her
shapely little figure, displaced by a
horror of stiff starched bingham. 1t
was counting evening, and she sat
primly upon the steps complacenty
conscious of the importance Of the
occasion and of her own immaculate
splendor But the eyes %. Elizabeth
Miller were troubled, and a frown
puckered the usual serenity Of her
Drowned forehead.
Was it after all, sha Doudered, so
wonderful a thing to Dee loved and
wooed by young Dave Statson? OF
course he was handsome and rich, in
his own account, and richer still in
anticipation OF greater Kings, for
some day he would be the sole own
er of the old Stetson place, with It's
wealth of barns, and greenhouses, its
exbanse of sun-kissed hills and rich
brown meadow land. IT Is true, how
ever, that he might have had. Nellie
Wharton, the Justices daughter, or
pretty Mary HI ward, for the asking.
Nellie had been away to school and
Mary's father, part owner OF the big
Howard mills, was man whose
wealth and influence Were in no way
to be scorned.
Yet. for all that, David had turned
to her, despite the greater attractions
of wealth and beauty Tonight
within ear shot of the softly mOdu.
LATED voice of the writer man and the
answering echo of his friends sympa.
thetic understanding, the eyes of Lis
beth Miller were troubled and the
frown, deep pickering, deted the
calm tranquility of the summer
stars.
She could hear plainly, every word
of the author, though he was sub,
timely unconscious of her presence,
hidden as she was behind the piazza
pillar. He was speaking strange, in
comprehensive words, socialism,
anarchy, democracy and the tyranny
of the powers. But it Was not the
words, or their import, it was the
voice with its peculiar richness, its
strange risings and fallings it's num-
erous subtle infections that held and
thrilled her inmost being. David
might say: Il love you, | love you, /
love YOU" a thousand times, but his
passionate outpourings could not
move her one-half as much as the ut.
terances of this strange creature, cold
and impersonal as be was. She
thought: He must sec that / am
pretty! Perhaps, in time" Her
cheeks famed scarlet under their rich
coat of tan.
Well, she would wait. The writer
and his less prepossessing friend
would be returning from time 10
time, during the long summer So
she would have ample time to think
it over, and sufficient occasion TO
impress the writer with her unsur-
passed weekday deXterity and her
wondrous Sunday sp.endor.
There was the cc'se silk that Aunt
Sabina had left her She would wear
that one day-and grandmother Mil
ler's black Jet necklace and earrings
should be called upon in time of ne
cessity. She knew that the women
in the great city were beautiful, but
she would show this man that she
could cope with any fair damsel Of the
far metropolis.
She patted her pink Bingham
thoughtfully and lifted her hand APP
provingly to the shapeless couture
above Then her chin rose in proud
determination. Yes, she would tell
Dave at once. She would so and
meet him when the front gate clicked
and inform him Of the fact that there
could be no more counting, no more
strolling in forest pathways on sum
mer afternoons, no more winter con
fidences over the open fire The
thing should be ended at once and
for all time.
And yet in spite of the fact that her
braiu was dazzled with the thought
of the tall, slender man. with his
keen. well chizzled features and far
seeing, but frankly impersonal eyes,
the vision of the br0ad-browed face,
heavy but regularly nodded, its dark
eyes cvershadowed by a shock of
wavy hair, thrust itself persistently
upon her.
Yes, David was handsome and big
and kindly, and he knew how TO turn
pretty compliment She recalled
the night of the dance in Evans
barn. 1t was two years ago that he
had Offered" and yet it seemed but
yesterday, so pleasant had been the
time of counting. There was a sud
den throb of the fiddle in her ears, the
scrape Of many feet upon bare, swept
boards, the sweet pungent odor OF
new-packed hay, the lights Of lamps
swinging high from he rafters, and