Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1916-12-14
CHAPTER li-Continued.

questioner. She was younger than he,
and pretty and freckled; and when
she wrinkied up her nose as she
asked the question, David could not
torbear smiling. In spite of the mo-
mentary smile, the utter hopelessness
that returned to his cavernous eyes
almost frightened her. She felt as
though she had unwittingly knocked
at the door of a house that hid a
tragedy, and she was on the verge of
iismayed retreat. But under the
bunny little nose there was a kind
title mouth and a square little chin;
20 she drew in her breath and ran up
oil her colors.
1.-TWO pound ten a yard
"It's dollars not pounds here, you
know" she chided. you're English,
aren't your"
His smile was frankly bitter now.
I'm done with England" he flashed
back.
"a Yankee them" even more in
credulously.
"Yes, thank Godr' he burst forth.
She FASTENED to remove the impli-
cation of scorn in her words.
swell, 1 suppose We'll be, too-fa-
thef and I. We just arrived at Cory
don this morning. But I'm not thank
ing God especially for the prospect"
His silence seemed to disconcert
her. She may have been conscious
of something in her that imagined
rebuke he did not intend. She bit
her lip and threw backward glance.
"Three cheers for the president !"
The candor in her eyes lent a SINGER
lty to her words. She turned and
beckoned to her father, who was chat
ting at the door. He seemed to be
used to her humors, for he came for
ward indulgently with, "Well, daugh-
ter?'
He had the broad red face of a
prosperous British farmer rudy
disk in which you might discern no
sun-spot of guile. Heartiness radi-
ated from him as from the maturing
sun. His shrewd little eyes looked
on David with so honest kindness
That David gave him instant trust. A
strange thing, for David knew it was
the farmers of England whose flour
made the threepenny loaves whose
price had made the weavers go hun
CRY.
teFather, want you to"-she turned
w1nsomely to the young storekeeper-
"What is yoGr name?"
The young men surrendered. "Da-
vid Laurence"
"This is my father, Mr.. Job Gran
mer. My name is Lydia, and I'm his
only daughter and he does what I tell
him to, don't you, father?" And she
gave him a tug at his elbow
The name Lydia instantly became
for David one of those on the calen-
dar.
"Your daughter is very kind, Mr..
Cranmer."
The girl fastened to impart the one
piece of information she had cleaned
about her countryman.
HE says he is going to live here"
"a fine country, this, young man."
approved Mr.. Cranmer heartily. II
mean to settle here myself. They tell
me land is as cheap here on the will
derness border as Goals in Newcastle
Pm a farming man."
you're no farmer?" hazarded the
girl to David.
"No-I was a weaver"
"Oh!" said Cranmer, comprehend
ing, then it hasn't been all skittles
with you, hey, young MANI"
A wave of dark red swept over Da-
vid's face and he seemed unable to
answer.
nottingham way, maybe?" pursued
his questioner.
Eyes" he assented, and choked over
the word.
'Your people have been hard trod-
den, haven't they?" pressed Cranmer
kindly.
"Oh, do not mind me of It'll" broke
from Dayids lips. He bowed his head
to hide the tears he could not control.
Lydia turned to her father for ex-
PLANTATION.
Likely this young man suffered
with the Luddites," he remarked.
"Tell u.s." whispered Lydia, 1--WE are
sorry"
"Ay, d-n England" clustered
Cranmer, without an apology for the
oath.
David looked at the man intently.
There was something about him that
reused question.
nottingham market place is fair
sight" observed the farmer.
you've been thereY'
"Ay, one Whit-Monday feast"
"Clifton groves were green then"
cried Lydia eagerly.
"There was blood on the parade at
Martinmas two years ago." David
burst forth, fire smoldering in his eye
sour people gathered first at market
goose-fair in October; maybe it was
the plenty we saw there then that