Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1914-02-11

he felt Ike KIP van W inkie'
Amy. | don't believe you remember
me-" He smiled tentatively at her.
The girl smiled, vaguely and edged
toward the front door. Ma" she
called.
! "wellT" cried an impatient voice
from within.
"Heres-here's an old gentleman to
see somebody" she ended crudely and
then fed in the direction of the gate.
where young man in red necktie
/ was suddenly waiting to take her to
drive in a shining new buggy.
/ "Old gentleman Abel Durham turn
ed crimson at the opprobrious term.
1 The front door opened and faded
little woman came out drying her
hands on her Bingham apron. She had
: obviously just concluded washing the
Sunday dinner dishes, and she sank
into the nearest rocking chair with
weary sigh, removing her apron and
tossing it aside all in one swift ges-
, ture.
"Howdy dog she queried without in
terest as she surveyed Abel's immacu-
late figure Wont you sit down a
spell? Pas over to Westwood today.
l guess you're the new preacher from
North Teltieet. amt your
Abel Durham stared at her This
faded little gray haired woman was
the mother of the girl he had taken for
Amy. So this must be Amy. Amy
must be married! A chill feeling took
possession of his well ordered being.
and he suddenly thought of his room at
Miss Polock's, and great fear assail
ed him that Miss Anastasia might rent
the room to some one else before he re-
turned.
I'm not the new preacher he said.
with a sickly smile. I'm Abel Dur
ham. Don't you remember me-?
The woman sat up and peered down
at him from Amy CoX's beautiful blue
eyes. Abel Durham!" she gasped at
last ITO think of your catching me
like this. I'd never have known you
you've grown so fatr
"Fat?" echoed Abel helplessly.
She laughed with amusement. Don't
you know it? My, don't you remember
how thin you used to be? The boys
used to call you Skinny Durham. l
remember once Jake Fenlow called you
that and you struck out at him and
you had an awful fight. You licked
him, too. although you was such a
skinny little fellow, You couldn't lick
him now; you're too fat!' laughed Amy.
81 couldn't, Ell? What has become
of Jake Fenlow?" demanded Abel
fierceIy.
81 married him." said Amy calmly.
There was long silence.
'1ve got to be going" said Abel sud
denly 81 was just looking around the
mountain, and l thought I'd drop in
and see you
"Glad to see you. Come in when
ever you're passing by" invited Mrs.
Fenlow ambiguously. Jamie. what
are you up to in thereT' She darted
inside the house. and Abel Durham
took advantage of her absence to de-
part.
He hurried down the mountain road,
painting and putting with the unaccuS-
toned exertion. He overlook the shin
ing new buggy and noted with a sick
ening recollection of his own lost youth
that the young man in the red necktie
had, his arm around pretty Amy's slen-
der waist. He heard the girl giggle as
he rushed past them in a cloud of dust
raised by his own hurried feet.
Along by the river bank he overlook
the stage making its lazy way toward
the station. and he buried himself in
it's musty depths with sigh of relief.
All the way back to the city his mind
was busy with plans for the future.
so that when in the quiet of the Sun,
day evening he presented himself at
Miss Anastasia Pollock's parlor door
he was not only Immediately CARRIED,
but his mind was set in order as well.
Anastasia was reading by the light
of a pink shaded lamp, and a pink
shawl was thrown about her shoulders.
lending a fictitious glow to her pale
cheeks. Her fair hair was slightly
loosened and softened the sharp out
lines drawn by relentless time.
For a moment Abel Durham watched
her. queer little feeling of wanting
to protect Anastasia from the storms
of life disturbing his heart Remove
Miss Pollock from this boarding house
atmosphere. place her in a charming
home. let her rest and rest again-why,
Anastasia would be handsome! He
longed to do it, and the desire had been
born in him way back there on the
mountain. when he had realized that
it was too late to take up the broken
threads of youth. The threads of his
middle age We're interviewer with the
threads of Anastasia Pollock's life. To
gether they would make a fabric of
gray and silver, with the rosy thread
Of romance running through.
"Oh, Mr.. Durham" fiuttered Anasta-
STA as he closed the door and came for
ward
81 can't go away, Miss Pollock" said