Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1914-11-14

BOrden'S solitary little caplH always
carried with them note of loneliness
Even when they blew across the noun
tains out of warm June sky they
were apt to rankle the parsons sociable
heart and remind him unpleasantly OF
the cesolateness Of the situation. But on
this late winter evening as the snow
sifted in through the shingles OF the
cabin, and swirled up through the
cracks of the door, the sound OF the
wind was positively terrifying.
1t was o'clock, and the parson sat
smoking before his open fire. BY way
of keeping off the draughts he had pull
ed a faded frayed- at the edges red
sweater ovtl his rough gray shirt ana
looked anything but clerical, in fact IN
the three years that Sidney Borden had
spent as missionary minister of the
mountain region around Roadsenu'
practically all of the clerical exterior he
had acquired in the seminary had worn
off. In the busy round Of his self-im-
posed duties as school teacher, doctor,
agricultural advisor and general TREND
in need he had little time for sermons
and church services
AS Sidney sat at the fire he pulled
vigorously at his pipe to drive away
the sound Of the wind. Then he went
and got the small, old-fashioned cylln-
der music box which had been one or
the contributions Of the most recent
missionary BARREL" sent from pros
porous city parish. To be sure, the
music cylinder had lost about half of
the small teeth, or it would never nave
found it's way into the barrel. The re-
suit of this deficiency was that 1t pro-
duced a rather meaningless succession
of tinkling sounds, with now and then
a few notes which the parson recognize
ed as strains from "Traviata,' the
~Soldiers' Chorus or 'Lohengrin.' He
wound it vigorously and placed 1t close
beside him on the hearth and then sat
and listened attentively for the familiar
strains.
This seemed almost to drive out the
sound Of the wind and Sidney was just
bending down to rewind the little IN
strument when he heard an unusually
strong rattle at the door. He looked up,
realizing that some one was at the
door and opened it. Then he saw
Jerusha, the old stage driver, lantern IN
hand, and beside him much beshawl-
ed and bemufflered figure of woman
the figure of Marie Reagh, though, or
course, with all the mufflers and shawls
and in the dim light neither Jerusha
nor Sidney realized that her figure was
young and graceful.
"I reckon this is where you are to
STOP" Jerusha drawled to the woman.
"It is the parsonage and here is the
parson." Then, turning to Sidney: "She
says she is the new teacher for st.
Matilda's, and that she is to go on in
the morning. You'll be lucky If you
don't get stuck with her for another
day with all this storm coming"
Then in another minute Jerusha had
plowed back to his sleigh, and Sidney
and Marie were standing rather help
lessly trying to make explanations. st.
Matilda's was small church school for J
mountain girls about five miles further
on in the mountains. 1t was conducted
by tall, rigid lady, who, though she
was Sidney's nearest neighbor, struck
terror to his heart. Marie produced
letter of introduction written in this
lady's faultless hand, asking Sidney to
accommodate the young woman, Miss
Reagh, and then drive her over to the
school. 1t was a usual exchange of
courtesies, but as Marie proceeded to |
take of the disguise of her many
shawls and wells and to warm herself |
by the open fire he had misgivings.
Il am very sorry I haven't decent
live here alone. I spend SO many days
and nights travelling through the noun
tains that it isn't safe to keep house.
keeper. So you see I live in rather
rough fashion. have a school here in
the daytime, when the weather is good
enough" he said by way Of explaining
the rows Of desks which cluttered one
end OF the living room.
DO you live all alone? asked Marie,
laying aside her hat and peering around
the room in vain for a mirror.
YES" admitted Sidney. But it isl
perfectly all right your being here. I
frequently sleep in the-the-in small
house on the place." he said, thinking
he could somehow make bed in his
small barn, land if you can manage to
rough it here you're exceedingly well
come"
Sidney had never felt so embarrassed
in his life. He had forgotten, since he |
had seen only the clumsily dressed (
daughters of the mountain folk, that
women were such exquisite things, and
now all the charm of it rushed in upon
him.
by the way" he said, picking up his
music box from the hearth and offering
her the large chair, "Of course, you
utes later they were sitting before the
fire at the little table laughing over the
supper that they had both made ready. |
And now you are to be teacher at
st. Matilda's? he asked, finally.
Marie blushed. you see have spent
all of my life in the CITY," she explain
ed, 1.-The last few years tied down in an
lucu OAc udy tlic
of church I sometimes used to go to
talked about the poor mountain people |
down here and the work to be done, L
decided / would leave the city forever.
had no one to keep me. So I told the
minister I would do whatever was |;
needed and he said he wanted teach 7
o. for st. Matilda's." !
Sidney laughed, rather puzzled at her
Soung enthusiasm, forgetting that only
few years before he had come down
here in the same mood.
That night Sidney slep in the hay
and Marie had his cot which he had !
pulled up before the fire for her. The
next day the storm had not abated, and
Sidney felt an intense joy at the
thought that Marie would have to
spend another day under his roof and
that the day was too stormy for the in
trusion of school children. AS early as
he dared he was outside his little cabin |
wondering if she were as lovely by day
as she had been by night. - She opened
the door and revealed herself in crisp
blue bingham with a short little apron. !
The cot had been pushed out of sight, |
the room been put to rights, and coffee /,
was boiling on the hearth.
do you know" said Marie, as they
dour topathar for brea |, ia AL |