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HIDDEN FOR YEARS.
OR THE DE9ERTED WIFE. Bv KATE TANNATT WOODS, Author of "The Minuter'» Secret^' "A Fair Maid if Marblehead,'' "That Dreadful Roy, Heiter llep worth," "Sir Tittle Rebel*, T. Dirk^- r '0ut. êmd \bmH-,''"'Dunam* on Land and flea", «î-r. (Published by spécial permit of the author.) CHAPTER VI. MY GREAT-AUNT t DISCOURBES ON TRUTH VS. ESTABLISHED CX'STOM. "Did you ever see this mys terious husband?" I asked my aunt one evening when she seemed inclined to talk. She had been ailing for several days and was unusually quiet. "Yes, I was determined to do so, not from idle curiosity, but from a genuine desire to help Annie and understand, my own position in the-• matter.- The man came very irregularly and always after dark ; sometimes I saw a pail in his hand, and 1 knew little Annie often cooked some dainty which she said, with a blush, 'would make a nice relish for John's dinner if he should happen to come home." "She never knew when he was coming, and I observed that a prolonged absence made her un happy; at such times she was nervous, and, as her father said, 'fanciful.' " "And her relatives, did they hot care for her?" I told you, Corinth, the.broth ers were at school—-the youngest, a jolly, reckless boy, at boarding school; the eldest, a fine, manly fellow, in Harvard. He was very fond of Annie before her strahge marriage, and sometimes came to Bee her'When he spent a Sabbath at the old place; but his visits Beemed to sadden her, and the brother never entered the house if the husband was in, neither did Mr. Sorr, As to Aunt Nancy, I used to say it Would do me good to send such Women to the whipping-post. Although the child's marriage had appeared in the paperB, and she was living in my hotise, that grim, hard, puritanical old wom an never onbe Came to see her, hever sent heï a kind Word, and was the first to set loose the scandal-mongers with their cruel tales;" "Was She a good Woman her feelf, auntie, good at heart, and .yet crüëi to a tnefe child for Some suspected error?" "I ddh't Understand your ideas bf gbbft; Corinth, and I am old fashibned in my notions of puri ty And honor, truth and justice; büt I do say that a woman who bbuld pass these doors bn her way to prayer-meteting and Church thrfee times every Sunday; While hëï OWn flesh and blood Was herb dying by inches and Suffering &ucli tortiirc as happy Women canhbt eVen ithagine, a Child, a Ibère child, loving, motherless; ahd 111, I Say, Woman Who CbUld heglect abuse, and Still pïaÿ and sing psalms, mtisi havè à strange bonceptibh of Divine 1'oVe and Diviné compassion." "But; auhtie," I Said, "surely the child's Only female relative Was Hot ihtentidbaily cruel, she must haVe knoWh some dreadful thing, some—" "Huèh', Corinth," said my hunt, snappishly, "hush; t Will Kot hear it; that child WA's mal igned, persecuted, killed', by the malicious tongues bf people bear ing the feacred n-ime bf Christ ians, pfeopfe who prove the exist ence of genuine Christianity by their spurious lives apd cipting ioctiines, people who retail gos fcû-è inàgùifÿ thoughtless news about ness you her by yet ' news into crime, the I-am-holier thàn-thgu disciples, who bear about with them neither sweet ness nor gentleness to remind you of the meek and lowly one." 1. had never seen my aunt so moved before, and I waited for her to regain her composure. She startled me from a reverie by uttering my name in a sharp "tone. "Corinth," she said, "I have not read those papers, and yet l am willing'to réitérai* all I have said/ ' Annie Sorr was pure and peaceable—wilful and thoughtless, perhaps, but igno rant of the world and its ways. Knowing this, I can trust her written words with you. The family are gone now; only a few old friends remain; but none to whom Annie was so dear as my self. Mr. Bosworth knew her brother—was a classmate, I think —and 1 should like to have him hear her written word. She wrote a great deal, poor child; she had her mother's fine taste for books. OnCe 1 said to her, ' You sit ton much at your desk, Annie; it will weary you. Come, now, and walk with me.'" "She put down her pen obedi ently and joined me saying: 'One of these days, Mrs Decker, you Shall read all-1 have written; it is all for you and papa,'but do not let John know; he might not like it.' " "You have not told me how you came to see this peculiar, un lover-like husband, who seemed ashamed of his pretty wife," I said to my aunt. "Ashamed of himself, Corinth. Well, I went out one morning, candle in hand, and met. him in the hall as he was stealing away to his work, and although he did not look up, I saw his face clear ly, and knew that I had often seen it before. He was tall, rath er fine-looking, in fact, even in his working clothes, and al though he tried to avoid me 1 wished him a pleasant good morning. He must have been Annie's senior by twelve years, but Mr. Bosworth will know about that; it was rumored at one time that Bosworth made a bargain With Henïy Sorr to marry his pretty sister when she was old enough, and that is one reason why he should hear the story. He will be glad to know the truth." "Shall I give it to him, aunt, the package, aB it is?" I asked innocently; "Corinth de Peyster, yob must have lost your senses ! Give my Annie's story to any man living! Bless ine, I know of one only who is worthy of hearing it-, and he might havè been the poor child's loving husband;" My aunt's indignation was that of a child, a sudden flash of temper, followed by penitential tears: "I will do precisely as you wish,'' I said Soothingly; "it is indeed your Story, since you loved her, and I, too, find myself growing Very tender toWaïd her, and longing to hear the sequel to "her strange romance." "Roin anbei" flàtn'e'd otit my aunt; "Girl, you aïe toad. I tell yoii it WaS tragedy—bitter, grievous; shameful tragedy, and a Warning to all meddlers, as well àfe to thoughtless; heedless young giïls and their legal guar dians. I want Mr. Bofe'woflh to hear it read, and you must do the reading; foï I am sure you must read Feelingly the words of tho little neglected girl wllo died so long ago. Died, 'did Î say? Was IhUlftered, although the doctorih certificate did hot say so. Corinth, old as I am, it àùgers me when 1 think of th'è bash lies told on tombstones and in official reporté. You must 'see it your self lit all yoUr Chal'itAble work,'* "How so, auntie^" Ï asked, for it pleased me to hear the experi ence of one so. aged, and none knew better than myself how much good had l>een done in the great world outside by the thin hands now resting on my Aunt'e silk quilt. "You may well ask, child. There was my old school friend, Meta Barnes ; she w as a hot bis cuit victim. On her handsome monument it says: 'Died—Meta, the beloved wife of Lemuel Barnes,' and in the certificate was written: Disease, typhoid fever:' rub it out and put 'hot biscuit.'" I could not conceal a smile. - "Do not laugh, Corinth, it is sadly true. Lemuel Barnes was tyrannical, exacting and selfish but he never knew it; he does not know it now in his old age, although his second w T ife has taught him one or two truths. For sixteen years he was a poor man and Meta, loving him with her whole soul, humored his every fancy. One of the fancies was to have hot buscuit on his table every morning at 6:80 be fore he went away to his work, and hot biscuit again for tea, winter and uBmmer; through heat and cold, sick or well, those biscuit must be made and made by Meta, for no one else could do it juBt ns she did. Why, Cor inth, I have known Meta Barnes to get out of bed leaving her wee baby asleep, while she, weak and feeble, would stagger to her kitchen, make a fire and have the snowy, flaky, dyspepsia giv ing compounds ready when Lem uel was ready for breakfast. Think of it; twice every day a large pan of biscuit for sixteen years; you are good at figures and can reckoh it in round num bers, but you Cannot reckon the dragging weariness, the pitiful exhaustion of poor Meta with a little family growing Up about her." "Why did she persist in it; why not rebel?" I asked. My aunt looked reproachfully at me. "I thought you knew, Corinth, that women of the last generation never rebelled, and it is only now and then that one of yours is successful, if she tries. Lem uel Barnes' wife would as soon have thought of burning down the church as refusing to do a thing when Lemuel said he 'must have' or had always been used to 'this or that at home.' When Meta died I was with her, and the night before; When she saw me weeping, she said in heï old whimsical way, just as she UBed to talk at school: "'Doh't cry for me, dear; I shall not have to make hot bis cuits in heaven.' " "And her successor, auntie-, how is it with her?" "It makes me angry to thiftk of it; she neither toils nor spins, and Lemuel waits on her like a servant;" "Now, auntië, dear," I said; re membering mÿ big Uncle Rolfe, Hamilton de Peyster, and Other loving husbandß in ohr OWn, im : mediate family, "surely you must be generous." "Corinth, my child," said mjf aunt, Solemnly; "I remember every goöd thing; I ahl an old womah; and riot given to bitter' ness so near my end ; i observe every Irihünesè, but I tell you, if truth Were written on marble in cemeteries; or printed in medical returns, 'murder' wohld often startle pfeoplte Who cheerfully re sign themselves to a 'strange dis pensation cf pïovld'en'ce' or Some dread disease., Think ri'f 'such r'ethrns as these ! ,v Mrs\ Judge WenWyihe-^ Died froiri gettihg Up bights to cttiW for young thildtori. Mrs. WtehtWythe Was deifcafoly Wri gUrilzedv and sh'oUïft h'àvh been hatefully and foiieforl'v protected . - her husband snoAVl and slept iri fcfeacy, while she Rontraeted a. heavy cold. The disconsolate widower wonders how this sor row came to him, as no other case of consumption was ever known in the family.' Or this " 'Mrs. Comtesse— victim of billiards, late suppers, etc., etc., husband out out night after night, wife lonely unloved, uncared for, grew morbid, then despondent, and finally insane. No insanity in family previous to her case.' Or again— '"Mrs. Mechaine—Too much hard work, too numerous a fam ily, no recreation, and discour aged, died at 30, glad to be at rest.' "I might go on indefinitely, but the worst disease 1 have not mentioned—it is negative abuse. Neglect and want of affection is is slow, sure death to hundreds of women. They are not strong enough to do battle with fate, or brave enough to resist slow pois on, and their tombstones are cut leBS sharply than their poor kind hearts. 1 have seen many such, Corinth." "I am afraid I too have seen them, auntie," I said with a sigh, for I remembered certain gentle creatures I had recently visited, whose coarse, rough companions made me shiver with dread when they entered their homes. "Oyr best physicians know all these things," continued my aunt, and shake their heads. Women know them, some through deep sorrow, some be cause they are women. Michelet is right. "God accords to purity a singular gift of intelligence.' " That night I sat for hours pondering my aunt's words. (To he continued.) Quite Right. A funny man who asked the question "where is the state of matrimony?" received this ex planatory answer: "It is boun ded on One side by hugging and kissing and by cradles and ba bies on the other. Its chief pro ducts are population, broomsticks and staying out of night. It was discovered by Adam and Eve while trying to find a passage out of Paradise; the climate Is rather sultry until you pass the tropics of housekeeping then squally Weather sets in in suffici ent power to keep all hands cool as cucumbers. For the principal road leading to this state-, con sult the first pair of blue eyes you run against." For Sale. The Undersigned has for sale 100 acres land, fenced, creek running through one corner, close to timber, one-half mile from school. Terms to suit. 160 acres npimproved land) near timber, and good stock range adjoining. Abstract title, war ranted deed given. Inquire of, W. N, Knox Jr-. Recorder's office, Mt. Idaho, Ida; 7-tf. " . v m ■* - W-. E. Graham, Dealer iri furnturè and undertak er's supplies. Spécial attention given to undertaking and em balming. I have the finest and cheapest; drift Will riot be Under sold by anybody. Three doors west of the post offi'ce, GrAhge Ville; Idaho. Would You Llkë â Picture? "Tllte ELITE," GrangeVille's new photograph gallery, is how Open for business. The best con structed arid eqUippeft gallery in Idaho. NeW Instrumente, V-lab 'orate Scenery, latest rio'Yetties and styles-. Artistic photogra - phy èx'ecUted "rain or thine." 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