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A Christmas Story

A Christmas Story image
Parent Issue
Day
23
Month
December
Year
1881
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

A low brown house enibowared In simde, Vinel Hainherinjr up the porih, oíd tashloned flowera lo the door yard, a gray cat asleep In the san, and pretty Dorothy Dean standing by the ratc with liie mdk-stnuncr in her hand. It was a June moro Dg, and Dorothy, witli her sott black eyes, her sliining hair, the peach-bloom on bei oheeka, and her round whlte arma bare to the clhow, matched th niorniiiir. "Dorothy," èaHed í -harp voicr in a high key íroni tbc biittery; "don't Idle your time. There's too aiuoh to do t'or you to linter ROSSlpIng al toé gafe. "Yes, mother, Tin coming," tbc girl replied. But sUe was in no liaste to go. How could she l)e, v iih llanv Morgan standing by, and talking to lier in tbose low tones whicb mean so muoli, lookinr at her with dark blue cycs. so clear and honest, and, ala fot tl ie empty daji and tlie sbado ed sunshine snniíner to come, hiddine her good-by i A moment mote and E noch Pona1! stage wonld loom In llghl aiound tbe turn in the road, and Harry would jump In and go riding away. Tlie wordi tbev were atterlng were few and coniinoiiphice enough. Anliody might have heard theui. "You"ll think of me Baturdnyi wbcn you go up to thc church to practlce, won't you, Dorothy í Vou'il have óobody to blow the oigan." Fathcr'll let Chapín go, I f?ue, or I'U íifk one of tlie Hart boys.'1 "Bul you'll mi me, Dora f "Miss you, Harry ';" 111 miss you evwywbcre. You know that." 'J'he .-taL' uas iu j;ht. Mrs. Dean, a frown on her face, liad aguiu appeared at tbe buttery door. "Mind, Dorothy, you belonp to me," íuddenly cried the young man, stooping down; from Iiíe heíght of six feet two and kissing her sweet liis weither uas aahamed of the Balate, though ihey knew tina Mrs. Dean Id tlie doorway could sce them, and that the Stage was almost lliere. Had tbcy not been lovers all their Uves, uDil tlid not, the whole villagc know that M well that young Morman was roinp: to the city to enter bh nncle't shlpptog-hooMi and try to make li is fortune, so thut he coulU return and marry Dorotliy. "I'd have i liltle iuodety, Dorothy, if I were yon," said lier motber. "You might have kis.-el llarry good-by last niffht." ¦¦She did, over and over.'' s.iiil Chapin, who was sittin;; by tlie witulow wltli a Öook in his hand. "I peeped in at the crack of the door, and I heard lots they said." "You peeked. did you? retorted his mother, factng about quickly. l'retty business! Til teach you to peek iguin ! Mere, take that!" and the lad was amazed to liud his ears boxei), and his book thrown pal under the apple-tree. He marcbed sullenly oft', his motuer1! discipline awakonipg a sense ot liatred and in jury In his heart, as it often did. "Mother, you are too striet with Chapin," said Dorolhy ; he's ouly twelve years old." "I guess I know to train niy ovvn ctatldreo without your adrice," answered the niother. ''The boy don't have enough to do. Cbapln put away yqur book and ¦tart off to weed that onion bed. Do you hear? No loiterlng now." Mrs. Dean wai one of the women who look witli dUfavpr on boofca. Readlng ihe oonaldered a lubterfuge for the la.y. That she had two book-loving ehildren was, in In r ves, a special BgfrraV&tloa. Dorotliy moved about, SCOmrlAg tina, Btlrrlng cream, molding thebntterat la-t into bard, flnn halls with ¦ dexterlty wlrioh carne of long practice. Bui she wal not happy. Jler heart was following Knoch Pond's stage over t lic bilis to Poughkeepsic, and then sin: cinbaikd nu the boat and i-nt tO tïew Vink in lancy. Mrs. Dean saw her abcent-mlndednett, but notto lympatblze, ¦.Mother, what alia you at Ilaiiy Morgan V" Dorotliy said, alttr a while. ''You know I'm to he his wife one of these days. Why should lie nut ktsamS?" "Í urithcr likc Harry MorgaO nor one oihistribe. A Taiu, conceited, beggarly set. What mate is David Morgan's ladi wilh his airs and hia povt-rty, for your latlii-r's daugtiterf '.Mother, la Harry to Manie that his folks are shittk'ssV You ïnu-i own.that he is not the least like thein." "lownnotbiDg of the kind. What is bred in the bone, say 1, will come out in the tlesh. Ilis wite, iiuleeil ! II is wife you'll never be Uil the longgrass grow over niy grave. Mark niy woni-l Dorotuy shuddered and sighcd. lint -he w.-is used to her mother, and her nature sentially a wholesome, filad hearted one. 8he was too heallhy for morhiil fancies, and too satMicd Kiid trustlul in lier love to cherish any fcars that itmiglit come upon evil days, or he bUghted by ilisappointincnt. Only slie feit lnel . Lonely all that husy day, and louely when uiglit caine, and lonely mornlng and eVening for ni.ui v days. "You're frettine a bit, niy dcar." said her father tenderly one afterñoon hen the September unds were tweeping thlOOgh the eiini, and tlie ater and goldenrod were COUrting each other on ihe highway side. "Not niuch, father. It's strange Harry doesn't write, though." "He don't Now that is strnnge, pet, Never mind. 111 go to the store myself to-day." He walked off down the road. Dorotliy watched liim. It struck her that his step was less alert thau formerly, and that the shoulders were grpwlng more bent than ever. Her dear, patiënt fatheri With a sudden realiz.it ion ot'all thathe was to her. she watched hini until he was out ot' sight. Jiy and by he returued, and in a cherry vóice callecl her. She eame to the wooi!pile, and sure euough he had a letter. ketters were rare in those days compare to wkat they are now, for this is a story o thirty years agO. Still, wlien Dorothy reai berepistle, the foond tlmt she had mle recelriiif one letter, and 'herheart ache as sliu read lier lover's wonder and regre tlmt she had not answered hlra. She walked Into the kitchen wliere he mother was busy kneading the bread. Ther was :i ilash in her eyes which equaled an tlmt ever burned in her inother's, but sh spoke very quietly. "111 thank you "tbr the letter I ouglit t have liad a Diontli ago, inothur.'' 'Ynu'll lind it in the clock. Itts been tbere safe ever since it came, for any on wilh i yes to see." Dorothy, did not reply. She carried he precious budget up to her little white room her refuge in so many weary weary boon and tbere she read and re-read them many linies. And before an hour had passed sh' had written an aniwer, half sby, half pas ¦tonate, but wholly weet to Harry Morgan, wliom it reached indue course. That autumn brought the first rea trouble of her life to Dorothy. Her fathe sickened and died. How strange it seeniei in lc without father! Often and often a simsel she walked down the winding roac to the graveyard, nnd the re, sitting by the lowlv mound where her father slept, gatli ered comfort and courage in the sure knowledge that it was well witli liini. He hac loved the Lord, that she knew, and he ha( gone lo dweil in the golden city, wliere thcy walk in white, who have washed their robes in the blood ot the Lamb. An un wonted silenee feil on the household. Cross and desperate as poor Mrs. Dean was, she had loved her husband, and her grief was real and deep. But it was not grief whlcl eoald be comforted. It repelled condolence rather than invited it, and when Dorothy would f ai n have thrown her arma aboiit the sad woman, and whispered Inving words, she was obliged to be still and refrain. One bright expectation shone before her witli the beauty of a star. Christmas was coming] She would sce Hany, and as the weeks paaBed, and the long storms came, ihuttlng the little InTand village up, at times lor d:is, trom comuiunieation wiih the rest of the world, Dorothy lived in the thought of the pleasure thev would have when Harry came home. Even her sorrow at her father's death seemed to fade and recede as the December days grew toward the 25th. Her mother observed and resented this, and on the Saturday before Christmas, when uardaughter, who was the organist of the little cliiueh, put on her cloak and muis and called Chapiu to go with her for her customary iiractice, 6he said : "I thought you Iooked for voung Morgan to be here to-day. You've been all Sul dancing ever since you.got up. 1 don't -re huw you can be so giddy, Dorothy, and your poor father lying beneath the snow.1' "Father is happy in heaven, mother," mswered Dorothy, gently; "and I'ni sure, ïf he can see me, he s wifling for me to be glad at Christmas. Harry will not be here ;ili Christinas eve. Come, Chapín dear, there's to be more music than usual toniorrow. Away they tramped over the hard, shining snow, Chapín talkiug merrily. Sudlenly they passed into a different mood. '"I do hope, Dora you and Harry won't get married untill I'm a man. I never could stand living alone with mother. She makes a fellow so blue." Don't borrow trouble, dear. It will be 3rears before liarry and 1 can thiuk of marrying, I'm afraid." "Ttiere's a letter for you, Miss Dean,'' shouted Kuoch Pond that night, when the stage came in. "Least ways it's for your larter. I brought it up, tori diiln't think you'd go to the store this evenlu'." 'thanks, called Dorothy, as Chapin ran out for it. Butherheart misgave her as she ran u[) staris. It ran as follws :" AI Y iSwebT Doka- How wretchedly dsiIppointed 1 am no words can teil; but uncle Jared has gone west on business, and Mr. Stiles is sick - pneumonía - and I cannot get off. I'll run up along towards spring; and here's a rib'jon I nieant to lave brought you. It is wliile, and jou eau wear it if you are in mourning. I'm sorry to think of you in that sad, somber dress, darling. Do not forget me, and just ancy a dozen kisses here tor you. Iiour aithful Harky. Bo all the joy was gone from that mas tor Dorothy. "eople remarked Uow ill slie pluyed nextday, and the rector very gmrUy usked lier if she could not give mure time to practico hereafter. opnug canie, but again no ílany. Sumruer, and he would 'surely return not vacation. He was looked I'orat home, and his letters were tull of hopefulnes, when lo! he wassent to India oii a vtsci as superqargp. Tlie wide world was betweeii thein now.and tlie greal seas, for he had not had au lioiir to spare tor llillsdule uiid goodbyes, and it would be a ye.ir or fifteen months before the lovers could meet. In the ineanlime Chapín, growing weary of his inother's scolding, starled oö one night with a little bundie in his anus, and il was weeks before they knew what had become of him. Then he wrote trom a great stock farm in Jiebraska, where he liad fouiul euiployrnent. Dorothy and her motber were left alone. She became used to i - rything. and, üke a sensible f?'1'1. oul' lieroiue did uit give up lier time to tears and uielancholy, but occupied hcrscll 'witli hei sc-wing, her books, and her uiusir, uhcii her housework was over. There was plenty of t hal, lor her mother was feebier thau she had been, and was obliged to residu niucli to yuunger pair of hands. Neither did she Btay away irom the society of the country side. She had friends and admiréis enough, fop she was a beauty - an heiress in a small way - and better still, was regwded as a very smart jrlrL Alore than one young farmer in the neighborhood hitched his horse and bugjry at the Deans' door Suuday evenings; but though Mis. Dean pleaded and renionstrated, and (omelinies wept, to none would Dorothy listen except as a friend. '11 you're waiting for tliat good-for-nothing, my poor cliild, you'll be an old maid." she said, one day. "I'U never consent for you to lake him.'' "No, mother? Notif that were my only uav to be happy {" pleaded Uorothy, in her loving way. "You may take him when I'm dead, if you will," the mother answered. ' You i ol si i girl, Idaresay he's had half a dozen sweethcai ts ginofl be left you." -Hush mother !' exclaímed Dorothy, imperatively. It was hard to bear. Long months, with no letter, and no tidings from thedreary seaof llarry and his ship. Other maidens were niarrled and went to their own homes, but Dorothy only stayed alone and waited. One morning her mother was unable to rise 01 to speak, She had had a paralytic attack. If Ufe had been weary before, it was u„r-,. iiow. The monotony of the bouse uasilr.-adful. Mrs. Dean gradually recovered, but her doom wassealed, and the doctor sald she would have seizures again and agaiu tiü the end- a forlón prospect for the taitlifiil daughter, who attended to her with üiinmrmuring devotion. Whaiever happens time goes on, and so t camcaboutone rich autumnal day, when the maples were aflame, and the oaks wore a royal inantle, and tlie last flowers bloomed in the garden, that Harry Morgan carne lióme. Dorothv gazed at him io admiration. lle had been liandsoine, in her eyes, when lie went away; now he was princely. The indescribable air of the city ïiune over Mm, and he had gallfed irnmensely by the cullure which travel and mingüng with men imparl. Dorothy was very proud ol her lover, as he went to church with her on Hc'could stay but a little -while.for business was absorbing, and Harry was ing rich. Before he left, he pressed lier to name the day wlicu EheyshouTa be nurried. 'I will have a home all ready tor wy dove to fohl hor wlnga in," lic talo. Dorotby1! cheeka grew pale. "Ilarrv, we mail walt," was all the answer she could mak e hiin. "1 caunot k-ave niv nutlier." "Your Aunt A gnus pan take your moiher to her hou-e, Dora. It you love meyou will come when I neel you. Doctor Ik ton says your nother may linger for ymrs, Dorothy; ani I to be gacriflced to an oyerstraimd Idea of duly f" In vain ihe tncd to explain tliat uobody but herself would Imve patienoe for all the linie offices whioh her mother'a belpleaauu rendered neooaiary. Be would notbe conviuced, and wlien tliev aeparated, il was, on his part, witli the air of olie who had reciived jast cause for ollense. Three yeara mure went gjowly by; corretpoadence between the lovers had grown lufrequent, ainoe, tu all of Harry'a appeali Dorothy had mi ly one answer to inake. One nlght the stage-drlvur, etopped and said : "Reckon you've lieard the nnvs, Dorothy; Harry Morgan'a inarried. lliiu and her's coiniii up to ipeud nt'xt Sunday at his fathers's.", Pride, tliat chain-armor womèn wear to hlde aehinif hearts, made üorothy queenly as she tepped iuto the church jioreh, aud met her oíd lover,wth a slip ofa fair-hairei slender thing on his arm. Ttiere was ëiil about the bride; herdresa was fa&hfoiiable, lier movements rracoful, but her btMtaiid even with a grcat pan aeknowledfed to his own soul that she could not compare with tliat tnpei'b woman who congratulated them both, without a qnaver In her voioe, and trien, from the organ allery, led the Te Deunt as abe nerer had betore. Six months later Afrs. Dean died. Auut Agues cauie to help üorothy put the old place in order, and tlien having found a tenant for it the two ladies, to ttie amazement of the villaje, set out for a long trip to Nebraska, to see Chapin, who was doing splendidly, to California, and back toÑew York. She saw the wonders of the continent, and feasted her fimishcd soul oh the best music she could hear. Whcn at last shecame home, it to live a life of ease, such as she had never dreamed of in old times. A strong woman did the woei., and Dorothy, with books and pictures, and a grand ptaao, livcd in the way whieh was iOOgenlal to her. Sumuiers and winters Hed, and the long ras? waved over her iiothei's grave, Dorotliy'seyes were black and bright, her cheeks wcre still sotily tinted, but her halr was white as suow. "The stage, no loner diivcn by Euop.li Pond, who was gathered to his fatlier's, umbered up to the door one chili nijrht atu in Kovember, 1879 A tall, grayïaired gentleman alighted, Uiting out a stnall, golden-haired mite of a girl. He apped at the familiar side-porch door of Doi-othy Deau's, and she bade him to enter. "Dorothy," he said, "Tve come back. My wife is dead. Of all our children. thla one, little Ether, only is left. I have brought her to you, for" if she stays in the ¦ty she will die." It all endcd in the usual way. They dressed the church in eedar md holly, and a florist from New York sent aagn lucen t Jacqueminot roses and ovely Marshal Xeils, when, at Chritnias, ttirty years after their iirst parting, Harry md Dorothy were married. And everybody wiatwd thm a merry Christmas, and people from far and near carne totaste the bride's cake, and look al ier 8ilver-gray dress, and pity pale little ïthel, vho nestled up to lier step-mollier is if now she were perfectly happy. Tl.e rector and his wife feared it woul-1 not turn outwell; aud indeed whether the lovers, narricd so late, will be happy as thev would have been had lic remaiued as stronjr, md patiënt aud sUadfart as she did, isa ]iieii(in still to be solved, 'l'liey are a loble-looklng couple, and the husband eems as if he could haidly lavish love enough on the wife who waitcd for him so ong.

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Subjects
Ann Arbor Courier
Old News