Year: 1876

known. but in little while it was ru
mored that the suit was withdrawn
and next Spring Lucy Reid was to bt
married to his son, Stillman Wheeler
And so it was. One bright March day
she went to the old church yOnder and
gave herself to him.


"Hc was good looking man, but
never over smart, the neighbors whis-
pered; and always thought that II
was his fathers money more than any.
thing else that kept him up"


"But Justin, Grandma Deane-whai
became of him?"


"There is dark look about the whole
matter. Lucy was made the victim OF
some terrible falsehood. never blamed
her father, for the losing of the home
stead seemed completelyfo TO shatter him.


81 only know that Squire Wheeler
and his son were at the bottom of it,
and that Lucy Reid went to the altar
believing that Justin had been false to
her."


"Dear me, how dreadful did he
ever come back?"


"Yes, the next May. Lucy had been
wife two months. Justin had not
heard of her marriage. She was at
home visiting her father. When she
first saw him, she fell down like ONT
stricken with fit. But he carried her
into the house and there learned all.
Both had been deceived.


sit was terrible scene the old front
room witnessed. Justin swore venge
ance and it was not till, with clasped
hands and streaming eyes, the young
wife knelt to the only man she ever
loved, and pleaded for the life Of her
husband that he promised for her sake
to spare his life.


"But from the day Of Justin's visit
Lucy was a changed woman. All the
light and gladness Of her being seemed
dead i'm her. She moved about her
house pale and quiet, with look Of
patient suffering in her once sunny
eyes, that made my heart ache to be-
hold"


"And her husband-did she ever tell
him what she had learned"


81 think not. His. father and Lucy's
had died in less than two years after
the marriage. The Squire was much
less wealthy than was supposed. The
next Spring Lucy and her husband
moved West, and somehow people lost
sight of Them"


Sand Justin ?"


"You know the rest, my child. He
became moody, unhappy man, asking
no sympathy and giving none. But he
was always smart at bargain, and in a
few years he had laid up enough to buy
Deacon Platt's farm when his son went
South.


Ever since, he has added acres to
his lands and hundreds to the bank /;
but for all that, he /. a man soured to-
ward all his race, a man who was never
known to give little child a smile, or
a beggar crust of bread.


81 have sometimes thought his heart
was like desert, without tree to
shade or a stream to gladden. it. And
yet it bore bright blossom once; and
believe me, children, for 1t is the word
of an old woman who has seen and
knows much of the ways Of man, 1t is
always so. The heart may be a great
wilderness, but In some of its byways
there has grown a flower"


Cora and looked at each other, and
at Uncle Charlie. just then Aunt Mary
came in. She had been out, and not
heard of Grandma Deane's visit.


But Cora stole up to her uncle. and,
winding her arms about his neck, whis-
pered:


81 shall believe it always, Uncle
Charlie, now have heard the story OF
Farmer Keep, that there is blossom in
the wilderness OF every heart"


1t was sultry August day, in the
Summer 1 passed at Meadow Brook.
The wind, low and slumbrous as the
hush of mothers voice at nightfall,
crept up among the corn, and down
among the rye and wheat fields, that
lay like broad green folds about the
dwelling of Farmer Keep.


There was no poem of flowers about
the front yard; no graceful harmonizing
touches of creeping vine or waving cur
tains about the old red homestead; and
yet it had a quiet, substantial, matter
of fact physiognomy, that somehow
made a hcme feeling about your heart.


think it must have been this uncon-
scious home feeling which decided the
course of the girl who stood at the point
where the roads diverge, and gazed
wistfully about her that afternoon.


She seemed very tired, and her coarse
straw bonnet and calico dress were COW
cred with dust. If you had looked in
her face you would not have forgotten
it. 1t could not have seen more than
fifteen Summers. 1t was very pale, and
its sweet, sad beauty made you think OF
nothing but Summer flowers drenched
with Summer rains.


Her eyes were of that deep moist blue
that rolls on: from under the edge OF
April clouds, and her lips, ripe and full,
had that touch of sorrowfulness about
them, which tells you always the heart
beneath is full of tears.


The girls hand clasped tightly the
little boys by her side. The resem-
blaDce between them would have told
you at once they were brother and sis
ter, but his life could not have covered
more than third of hers.


The little fellows eyes were full Of
tears, and the bright curls that crep'
out from his hat were damp with mois-
ture.


A few minutes later she opened the
broad back gate and We mt TO the kitchen
door. Farmer Keeps no isekeeper-an
old woman, with yellow nightcap and
check apron tied over her linsey wool
1T. a,suaroJ her knock