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t yet opened. On account of the
mndant fruit crop and the scarcity help, the Ikivg mli ither . iy for r pac night, acompanied snow. by a flurry of a son was Dora Gus Havemann the to Mr. and Mrs. first of the week. Dohydrates and used to produce : in milk and as such together w Ptejjapd,sJiylakegoQ(i.,roilk : be The Methodist ladies are to have a rummage sale in the Ohio House Fri- HOME CIRCLE MAGAZINE SECTION not worth a dam' not a dam' to nobody. You look like you' mammy's relatifcs and they was all no good git away, I tell you!" - He roared ominously; for Seffy, amazed . at this from his gentle old .father, was looking straight up at him out of a child's round eyes, his lips parted, his throat exposed. Slowly, as 'his parent heaped contumely upon him, his sensitive young face whitened, and the light left it. Only, when his father mentioned his mother's name, he said with infinite softness: "Why, pappy!" But he stood without fear under the great fist a3 he had often done. "You hear! I told you to git away or I'll smash your face in! I don't want you no more. Go to your mammy's relatifes out West" he laughed hor .ridly "and see what they'll do for you! You'll live on bread and water ' they ain't got nossing else! You'll work all day and all night and you'll haf no fun they don't know no better go!" "Yes," said Seffy, turning dumbly away. . . There was no doubt that he meant to go now. His dumb acquiescence in his sentence raised his father's wrath to fury. "Yas go, and be mighty quick about it. I'm chust itching to smash you. I'll nefer send for you if you rot in the poorhouse. I'll nefer mention you' name as long as I lif- no! I disown you! Never let me see you' dam' face again go!" It was all so utterly unbelievable that Seffy turned back. This raving madman his jolly old father, who had reverenced the memory of his mother and had taught him to do so to men tion her every time he prayed? The old man had turned, but Seffy came close and touched him gently. The caress only maddened him. Seffy cowered at the passion on the face of his father. He raised his fist. "Git out dam' you!" he shouted. "If you don " But the boy could riot, now. The huge fist trembled on high a moment, some instinct of sanity strug gling to control it then it fell on Seffy's upturned face. He dropped among the clods his pale hair mingling with the dust his hands inertly outlying terror still quivering in his lips andnostrils. Blood slowly oozed from his mouth and nose, and a livid red mark began to grow upon the depression in his fore head which the blow had made. One moment two the old man looked down at this. Then he under stood that he had done it and with a savage- animal-cry he swept the boy into his arms. Seffy doubled inertly upon him, as the dead do. His father raced frenziedly home with him, leap ing fences like a hound. He put him upon the pretty white bed the boy had been wont to make with such care for himself. It was dainty and smooth now. The blood dripped from Seffy's face and from his own beard and stained the white coverings. The sight was full of horror! He staggered drunk enly away. He looked hastily for his gun meaning, perhaps, to kill himself. But then it seemed to him that Seffy sighed. He fell on his knees and agonized for the life he thought he had taken. Then he felt a pulse-beat. - With a hoarse cry . he rushed out into the road, calling for the doctor. Two people were coming toward him. It was Sam and Sally, returning from their marriage. By what he saw on Old Baumgartner's face and hands, Sam was sobered. Both understood that they were approaching some tragedy. "Who?" asked Sally, suddenly ob livious of Sam." "Seffy." "Sam!" she turned upon her hus band with command. " Bring the doctor!" Sam went with satisfactory haste. "Who hurt him?" asked Sally, as if she were ready to slay him who did. "I. I killed him- because he wouldn't marry youl You wouldn't marry him! Oh, you devil!" It was at that instant that the great change in Sally came. She. leaped be fore him into the house and up to Seffy's room. When the old man slowly followed she was there with eyes bent upon Seffy's bloody, uncon scious face. So she kept her eyes. She did not. speak. And when the doctor came, she was still there as at first unconscious as he, the doctor said. He was not dead, and presently he breathed again. But his eye3 remained closed, and, late that night, when he had drifted from unconsciousness into deep sleep, they put out the light and left him. When they came again he had dis appeared. CHAPTER XI. WHEN SPRING CAME That was a cold and lonely winter for the old man. The bay mare stood in the stable and whinnied for Seffy. The old house was full of harsh echoes. Its spirit seemed to have gone. Seffy's father knew now what a rare thing" is joy and what a joyous creature Seffy had been. The ground was hard to till. And often he thought about what he had said of Seffy's mother. Then he would toil up the steep stair to the garret he had become Suite feeble and take out of an old lerman chest a daguerreotype of her with Seffv in her arms. And sometimes he would cry over it until his beard was wet. "God bless you, my little boy," he would sometimes say, "that you cared for her more than I did. You nefer called her no names. "I didn't know I could be so mean to the dead who don't deserfe it, and can't talk back. And, God-a'migh-ty! If any one's to be called names, it's me! not her nor you,- Seffy, nor you! For I expect I'm a murderer!" And sometimes, when his loneliness was too hard to be borne, he would go out and sit for hours and talk to to the old bay mare! about Seffy. He fancied she quite understood, and I do, too. When the spring came he plowed alone. And this was hardest of all. To plow, around and around his vast fields with no one to meet in the other furrow no one to talk, to smile, to laugh to then, when .noon came, to sit under the shade of some tree redolent with memories of the pretty little boy, where he and Seffy had sat, from his childhood to his manhood, and eat the food which choked! Oh, if he could only have laughed at himself, at Seffy, at the mare, at anybody . or anything! If he could only have laughed! And he knew that every animal on the place wondered and hungered for little Sffy and questioned him with pathetic eyes, while he, at first, guiltily kept silent then tried to confess his shame to them. ' "Yas,". he told the mare, "I done it I struck him here, riht here! In the face while his eyes was looking in mine pleading and here was blood and here and here and dust in his hair and his eyes was closed and when I run home wiss him hi3 legs dangled like he was dead. -And he crawled away somewheres to die I don't know why they don't come and hang me. I. haf told 'em all that I killed him. But no one don't arrest me." CHAPTER XH. THE KISS LIKE 8ETTT'8 One day he went up to the vine covered house on the Hill of Delight with a bundle of papers in his hand. "See yere. Sally," he said senilely, "yere's you papers. I gif up the guardeenship. You ken git another one if you not on age yit. I don't keer a durn who. 1 m tired. If it wasn't for you Seffy would be alife." Sally drooped her head. "Yes," she said, so humbly that he relented a little. - "I got to do it.' I ain't no account no more. I ought to haf a guardeen myself. And people's making such a fuss you ain't treated us right no, you ain't! I guess I had better not be mixed in. They say that you married a drunkard, and killed a man and got to be a drunkard yourself. But I know better 'bout one sing. I killed him. Yit they say that you married Sam chust to spite poor Seffy - and yet lofing Sef. Oh, Sef Sef why dind't she tell vou so!" He went on heedlessly till he knew that Sally was sobbing. He raised her face and looked into it curiously and saw for the first time that pathetic wanness of which, also, people began to talk. "Sally," he said then, "you not well?" "Quite well," said Sally. "Then you got trouble trouble, too, Sally?'' "Oh, pappy," she pleaded breath lessly, "don't you turn away from mo, too. I have no one but you! No. I have not treated you "right. But oh, life is so hard to me!" "No," he said, smoothing her hair with his gnarled old hand. "I'fe had my eyes turned within. But I didn't know you had trouble. I heerd that Sam had took to hard drinkin' and I sought you didn't keer. You was so rackless " "Yes," she sighed, "I am reckless! And yes I drink sometimes. But it is that way I can forget." " I don't turn ag'in' no one in trouble, efen if they don't treat me right and drink" "Forgive me! Oh, forgive me pap py! The suffering is mine!" "Yas," he said, "yas don't cry. But the suffering ain't all yourn." "No, she said. "Not "all not all!" "But Sally, if I take the papers back, you won't drink no more? It ain't nice efen if you air the wife of a drunkard." "No. If you will be my friend, I will try to be what I would have been as Seffy's wife!" "It's a bargain and I'm sorry I spoke so harsh, Sally. Mebby, mebby God knows! we ken comfort -one another . I Bally I need some one, too" "Yes! Will you let me? I will have no friend but you!" "Yas! And I won't have no friend but you, Sally .' " Will you let me kiss you?" "Do you want to?" he cried trem ulously. " Yes " whispered the girl. "Me? Sally, lem me kiss youl" She put up her lips almost solemnly and with that their compact was sealed. CHAPTER XIII ONE BLOW FOR THAT TO SEFFY He took the papers home again, and was very gentle with her afterward, for the things which the world blamed in her. His was the only real kindness she knew. Her little canting world had no pity" for her. But to her drunken husband, in spite of all, she . was a loyal wife, and the old man liked her the better for it. So it - came to pass that they two, the bent old man and the girlish wife of the drunkard, separated more and more from the world and came more and more together. And often they were seen in the fields together and walking along the roads arm in arm. With Sallys little fortune at com mand, Sam had gone rapidly to the bad. And Sally came to know what tears were, and that dreadful kind of waiting which falls to the lot of such women, the waiting for the fall of a footstep which makes one shudder yet rejoice. They told her to get rid -of him," but she shook her head and thought of the inscription in her wedding ring. After a while it was the gentle old man who helped to make these vigils less intolerable going away stealthily by the back door when Sam's" unsteady step was heard at the front ; an angel of light if ever there was one in plowman's jacket. It fell grimly to his lot, too, to provide for Sam by diminishing the little farm he had longed and hoped for, acre by acre. There was no contention be tween them as to this. The young wife's wishes were his law. "He married me for that," said Sally, the first time, "and I let him marry me for that just for spite. Only no one was spited but me but me well, he shall have it all all" her voice broke a little "all but the pasture-field that no one shall have but you or Seffy when I die." Onlv once he interfered. Sam raised his hand to strike her and he laid the drunkard at his feet with a blow such as he had struck but once before in his life. "I am her guardeen!" he cried as he struck. "By the Lord, I'm her guar deen I" For a moment he gloated over the prostrate brute. Then he stood up trembling before Sally. "Forgif me," he begged. "But 1 couldn't help it. It done itself. Mebfcy God-a'mighty only knows! it was a chance to efen up for the other one. And yit it was a righteous blow yas, it was a righteous blorc!" Sally put her hands into his and sob bed. "Yes," she' said. "You are the first that ever saw " " It was too late to stop. And before it was done he knew that this was not a new. experience to her, and that she suffered it and was almost glad of it for penance. "By the Lord," cried the old man, "if he efer strike you ag'in I'll kill him!" "No," said Sally softly. "Yas!" he insisted with some of his old violence. , "No." she repeated sadly. "Because it is all my fault all the shame the shame because I deserve it! And Thou thalt nol kill! You know tre have tempers! And we have both used them!" He shuddered and thought of the plowed field, with Seffy lying there. "Good night!" he said with averted face.. "I didn't mean that, pappy I didn't mean that you killed him. He's no dead. Pappy, kiss me good night! And forgive me." But this also made her dearer to him. And so, little byjhttle, they drew closer and closer, until a certain happiness was his and a certain content hers. Occasionally they laughed. But this was not often. They were well satisfied to sit before the winter fire, she with an elbow on his knee, he with his rugged hands in her hair. And after a while she would ask him no more to kiss her good night he did it as of right, and very beautifully, on her hair so much like Seffy, that first dear kis3 that it made her sob! always. "Just like Seffy!" she said the first time and cried, pushing him out of the ' door when he would have asked a question. But he asked his question one day. It was whether she had loved Seffy. "Not until Seffy comes!" she cried. "I won't answer." "Sally," he said solemnly, "I killed my little boy. He fa dead. I hurt him I made him af eared of me he dragged himself away to die, like wild animals that air hurt by men. So you will have to tell me." "No no!" she begged. He is not dead. And some day he will come back to us you " "Sally, you said 'us'?" "Yea. Forgive me. I meant you.". "Did you mean me?" "Yes oh, yes!" "Cross your breast!" : She made this adjuration with a smile. But when he had gone, she groveled i on the floor and cried: "Us ua us!" - rZZ CHAPTER XTV. S FOB eEFTT,8 BAXJC ' And ' so three nearly foux-r-Tesrs passed land Sam was dead. . :::;' - f I'appy, sne said alterward, you f have been very good to me!" e-- t .j '