Manchester Democrat., 1919-03-19

355: Can! TODAY
st. Lawrence county. Kate Fullerton
Is my friend and wish to see her"
"Come up to the steps, sor. Don't
git off yer horse-'tl I've chained the
dog. Katell be out In minute."
He chained the dog to the hitching
post and as he did SO loud, long,
wailing cry broke the silence Of the
house. It put me In mind Of the COM
plant Of the damned which I remem-
bered hearing the minister describe
years before at the little schoolhouse
In Lckitysplit. How it narrowed me
The man went into the house. Soon
he came out of the door with lighted
candle In his hand, a woman following.
How vividly remember the little MUIR
mur Of delight that came from her lips
when he held the candle so that its
light fell upon my face! jumped Oh
my horse and gave the reins to the
man and put my arms around the poor
woman, whom loved for her sorrows
and for my debt to her, and rained
kisses upon her withered cheek. Oh
Godl what q moment 1t was for both
Of usl
The way she held me to her breast
and patted my shoulder and said my
boy Pin a low. faint treble voice 30
like that Of Q child-lt Is one Of the
best memories that I take with me into
the new life now 60 near, from which
there Ia no returning.
She led me into the house. She
looked very neat now-in . black
gown over which was spotless white
apron and collar Of lace-and much
moro slender than when had seen
her last. She took me into a large
room in the front Of the house with q
carpet and furniture. handsome once
but now worn and decrepit. Old. time.
stained engrayings Of scenes from the
Bible, framed in wood. hung on the
walls.
I told all that I had heard from
home and Of my life in Cobleskill but
observed. presently, faraway look in
her eyes and Judged that she was not
hearing me. She whispered:
"SallyT
"She has been at school In Albany
for a year" I said. "She is at home
now and I am going to see her"
''You love Sally?" she whispered.
"Better than love my life."
Again she whispered: "Get mar
riedr'
1--WE hope to in 1874. I have agreed
to meet her by the big pine tree on the
river bank at eleven o'clock the third
Of June, 1874. We are looking for
ward to that day."
A tall, slim woman entered tho room
then and said that supper was ready.
Kate rose with smile and followed
her into the dining room where two
tables were spread. One had certain
dishes on 1t and white cover, frayed
and worn. She led me to the other
table which was neatly covered with
snowy linen. The tall woman served
supper on deep blue china. cooked
as only they could cook in old New
England. Meanwhile / could hear the
voice Of the aged squire-a weird,
empty, inhuman voice 1t was, utterly
cut of from his intelligence. It came
out Of the troubled depths of his
misery.
So that house-the scene Of his
great sin which would presently lie
down with him in the dust-was flood
ed, hundred times day, by the un-
happy spirit Of its master. In the
dead of the night heard its despair
erhoing through the silent chambers.
Kate said little as we ate. or as we
sat together in the shabby, great room
after supper, but she seemed to enjoy
my talk and I went into the details Of
my personal history.
The look on her face, even while I
was speaking, indicated that her
thoughts wandered, restlessly, in the
gloomy desert Of her past thought
Of that gay. birdlike youth Of hers OF
which the old man with the scythe
had told me, and wondered. AS I was
thinking Of this there came cry from
the aged squire so loud and doleful
that it startled me and I turned and
looked toward the open door.
Kate rose and came to my side and
leaned toward my ear Whispering:
1T Il my father. He Is always think
ing Of when I was q girl. He wants
me-"
She bade me good night and left
the room. Doubtless 1t was the out
ragged, departed spirit Of that golden
time which was haunting the old
squire. A Bible lay on the table near
me and sat reading it for an hour or
so. A tall clock in a corner solemnly
tolled the hour Of nine. In came the
tall woman and asked me In the
brogue Of the Irish:
"Would you like to 60 to bedi"
"Yes, am tired"
She took candle and led me up
broad oaken stairway and into a room
Of the most generous proportions. A
big four-post bedstead. draped In
white, stood against wall. The bed,
sheeted in old linen, had quilted COW
ers. The room was noticeably clean;
its furniture of old mahogany and its
carpet comparatively unworn.
When I undressed dreaded to put
out the candle. For the first time in
years I had a kind Of child-fear Of the