The Celina Democrat. (Celina, O. [Ohio]) 1895-1921, 1911-04-21

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"Who?"
You know-Henrietty' beau"
Dead" he said. simply.
And she's dead, too" She sighed
a little.
Yes, poor Henrietty Shafern never
| go to market and stand behind that
stall any more"
Mrs. Martin stood up and sat down
again. A quiver ran through her
fine little body. She flung out pas
sionate hand: IF were John Shafer,
I'd get to the bottom of that bust
ness I'd do it if it killed met"
The room was so deep in dusk that
the two men sitting there seemed like
two figures set in a paler cloud Of
gloom Each piece of the simple
kitchen furniture, seen through the
gray dimness, which was but a con-
tinuation of the grayer one gathering
outside suggested possibilities of rich
old carving. The CLINT of the pans
along the wall was like that of rip
pling water.
John Shafer turned uneasily towards
his father. That still figure opposite
looked almost noble. He began to
speak. blurting out the words as
though it were hard to say them.
Il want to know why you treated
her that way"
For a moment there was no answer.
Then it came almost gently across the
dimness: she wouldn't let me do any
thing different"
John burst out again with a shrill
vehemence that yet had something Of
a certain wild dignity.
you didn't treat her right. You
hardly ever talked to her or looked
at her. You let her alone She Just
worked like a dog and didn't get any
credit for it. l think you ought to
tell me why
she didn't want it any other way
l couldn't be any different"
But why-but why?" cried the boy.
His voice beat back to him as though
from an iron wall. 1t was more than
he could bear. But why?" he cried
once more.
Il can't answer you any different,
John"
1t seemed a long time before eth
er of them spoke again. A foot over
head, moving back and forth in the
vacant chamber, brought them both
a consciousness Of that outside, mex
orable life which goes on whether
we be quick or dead The clock
ticked sharply on the mantel. An
drew Shafer sat so motionless that his
large figure looked as though cut out
of the dark
You ought to believe me, boy"
An odd hushed sense of the end of
things came to the younger man.
There grew on him a feeling as Of
a still presence in the room, Of a
shape with pale, pushing hands held
up between him and that secret Of
a score of years, Yet he burst out
into struggling last word. She was
a good woman" he faIteTed.
Il amt saying anything against
your mother, John. She kept the
house clean, and she cooked the meals
regular, and she worked hard in the
garden, and stood twice week in the
market And now" Some remnant
of passion burned up in the mans
voice. 1t trembled. And now-she's
laying out in the cemet'ry."
The clock licked sharply on
There can't anything be done about
it now. Don't you go worrying about
it, boy"
John sat dumb. vt began to grow
DINNER in the room.
I'm going out awhile" said An
drew Shafer. He rose up from his
chair and strobe heavily towards the
door, and opening it stood for mo-
ment in the stream of thick dusk
from the west. His speech rang out
with the force Of an oath Me and
you'll begin all over again, boy"
The sky was sharp with stars. There
Of the yard, a clear dark mass against
the clearer dark, rose the line of
gabled farm sheds. He pushed across
and undid the latch of the stable door.
The warm scent Of hay, the crunching
sound of the COWS at their cud, the
hushed, impalpable stir Of the housed
air came to him as, slouched and
lonely, he waited there. His foot struck
against the shaft of the market wagon
lifting its larger bulk in the corner,
and in moment tall, familiar figure
seemed to lean silently out of the
gloom. 1t was young, radiant, un-
touched Of wind or weather His
youth griDped him hard. He slipped
the latch back and gently moved away.
The garden next. A place Of ghosts.
The long procession Of the years the
splendor and the pathos, the memo.