Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1917-08-10

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right a few yards ahead, skirting the
side of deep gorge. They took few
steps further, and Louise stopped short
with q cry Of wonder.
Around the abrupt corner an entirely
new perspective was revealed-a little
hamlet built on q shoulder Of the
mountain; and on the right, below a
steep descent, wide and sunny valley.
1t was like a tiny world of its own,
hidden in the bosom of the hills. There
was long line of farm buildings, built
of gray stone and rooted with red tiles /;
quaint. whltewashed house of cOnsid-
cradle size, almost covered on the
southwark side with creepers; a row
Of cottages, and a gray-walled inclO-
sure-stretching with it's white tomb
stones to the very brink of the descent
in the midst of which was an ancient
church, in ruins at the farther end,
partly rebuilt with the stones of the
hillside.
Louise looked around her, silent with
wonder. 'It isn't real, is it?"' she
asked, clinging for a moment to John
Strangewey's arm.
"Why not? You asked where the land
was that we titled. Now look down.
Hold my arm if you feel giddy."
She followed the wave of his ash
stick. The valley sheer below them,
and the lower hills on both sides, were
parceled out into fields, inclOSed within
stone walls, reminding her from the
height at which they stood, of nothing
so much as the quilt upon her bed.
Her eyes swept this strange tract Of
country backward and forward. She
saw the men like specks in the fields,
the COWS grazing in the pasture like
toy animals. Then she turned and
looked at the neat row of stacks and
the square of farm buildings.
81 am trying hard to realize that
you are a farmer and that this is
your life" she said.
He swung open the wooden gate of
the churchyard, by which they were
standing. There was a row Of graves
on either side of the prim path.
Suppose" he suggested, you tell
me about yourself now-abOut your
own life"
my life, and the world in which I
live, seem far away just now" she
said quietly. Il think that it is doing
me good to have a rest from them.
Talk to me about yourself, please"
He smiled. He was just little dis
appointed.
"We shall very soon reach the end
Of all that have to tell you," he re-
marked. "Still, if there is anything
you would like to know"
"Who were these men and women
who have lived and died here?" she
interrupted with a little wave of her
hand toward the graves.
"All our own people," he told her.
She studied the names upon the
tombstones, spelling them out slowly.
"The married people," he went on,
"are buried on the south side; the
single ones and children are nearer
the wall. Tell me-" he asked, after
moments hesitation, "are you married
or single?"
She gave a little start. The abrupt
ness of the question, the keen, stead
fast gaze of his compelling eyes,
seemed for q moment to paraiyze both
her nerves and her voice. 1t was as If
someone had suddenly drawn away one
of the stones from the foundation Of
her life. She found herself repeating
the words on the tombstone facing
her:
"And of Elizabeth, for sixty-one
years the faithful wife and helpmate
of Ezra Cummings, mother Of his chill
dren, and his partner in the life ever
lasting"
Her knees began to shake. There
was a momentary darkness before her
eyes. She felt for the tombstone and
sat down.