1
f wnderd At mldniifht in th mmvud
Tlie snieU of damp grans was In my noatrlU;
i I heard my heart throb in the awful silence.
' As a headlong diver, iIiiiikdi? in the orran,
rteua dimly Klimmuring through the green
clnrknotui
The BwiiiKii'K hutjjcs jul.natlri altove him;
Bwi Uio Hllmy ke-l.i of diligent vphmoIb,
With liiiliblinic wuke of ghostly fouui in fur
row h.
And a dull uliine of Kails Hwollcii ly trmpcMtM;
HtfH lill-H -yf.il motiHtfrn l--riii pitst him.
And wrti ks and drowned nun coiinUtntly
f-irikintr.
While t lie muffled knt-ll of thoHiirf Ih tolling;
Sins I liiiird t lie kiu! lapnof tin-mill htrc-aiu,
lKiwii. down, ijnii kly my -irit l . i nded
To tin; r-id-n-r of di-jul on n and wonifru.
In an uncurl lily k jhiIi liral t wililit
Tln-i;i.-t ' l'i iiri:n :it v.iui visih!o
Flecked with whitu clouds of motionless
dairies.
Tim frn'.'cy r'ti of the lic:idHtoricn protruded
I 'in.onifi.1 lalily rrom tlm low ceiling.-, of tlio
Tort iioiirt olK iuru damp cavern.
(Suddenly frovi I -n thousand cyclers hockcts
A mild lvt awful plan-of li-lil flowed MiM'ly,
I.iKliI iiK t In- M reels of t hat Imikv olent city.
A hori'il alilc fit y, nlrnne e;:ilcs wore silwnys
With low priirtil tencmcnta for (Jod'a jioor
Hiilt-;
A flieap ri-Mirt for desolate iik in winter.
The nciijliliorliood was orderly a lid quiet.
An from eaeh cofiin w indow a skull wa.srin
iiiim In idle inoekery at life's foolihh satire.
Tin re was a wonderful anie:ies in otimie
Worn ly rich ladies and their pour servants.
And no I. ills (iroeiiti d to i iiili.il I a .m 1 hus
!: nils.
riido hy side lay the sciidt drift and (he
mi it,
The In. lid and lier rejected lover.
Tin; prodigal i: ml his unrelenting father.
Noises there were of feet in sad Il o essinn,
A ii'l I'l'-am- of ye-, w il h em-ions sadm -1
Veriiii; int t he d..rk t hey mxiii or lalu must
tenant.
Sty soul, fioved hy an irre-ist ihle immil-e.
Like the I !ii.-l ledow ii hef. re t In: cast wind.
Went I hroii'.;h many anonymous avenues.
I heard a sound of deep erietual thunder.
Like life's flood t ido t iirolil.1114 in monotonous
I'lll- i s,
ITjion iJm- short; t hat has no road or harlior.
Was it a realty, or was it a vi-i.ui merely
1 baw underground as my sj.iril ilent endefl
inlo
The land of t he i:m!e and the gopher?
John .lames I nalK iti ' i mica riol is Journal.
ELI-AXOIt IN LOVE.
She Iii-lil in lit-r liaml tlio letter. Should
phe s !nl it? Tli.it moment was one of
those wistfully critical epochs of exis
tence iijm!1 which may swincj, as njxjn :v
liiii-rc, the floor of iVstiny.
Kh-aiior Armstrong stool in tloul.t.
Why? It was a little tiling, just a friend
ly letter to ,1,-ick II- nshaw fint in Texas.
What matter? Why should sue hesitate?
Eleanor could not tell. Still she lin
pereil. litr!y T.iescient of that Kwiiijjiuij
lor ff ih tiny.
She ha 1 written hi nanir across tin?
envclotx-: s'nonH she complete the ad
dress and let it jro? Hers was a quick,
positive nature, ";iven to the obedience
of impnls. It was vexing to bo so puz
zled over so slight a tiling.
An accident, if such it was, decided
tin que.-; io :i. A calier wr.3 ;tuniuuc-d.
She descf-ud -d to the ilrawirr.j room, and
the letter went to the lox. irathered up
with the rest of her mail by the hand of
the maid.
"It was destiny," said Eleanor to her
self in an afterthought.
After all nothing could come of it.
She was under no obligation to Jack
Renshaw, nor to any other man, in fact.
Then she wondered idly if she ever
should care for any of them one more
than another for Eleanor Armstrong,
while no lieanty, had grace and sparkle,
and a subtle personal magnetism which
drew aliout her plenty of admirers.
She favored them all by turns. Last
summer it was Lew Hunter. She went
boating with him tip in lovely Chocoma,
where they summered, played tennis and
climbed country roads and hills.
"He was so strong and good natnred,
and made such a go.xl alpen-stock," she
coolly explained to her aunt. Miss Jane
JVIears, who was her careful chaperon.
This year, last past, it was Jack Ren
phaw, at the same place, Chocorua
"dear old dreamy town," Eleanor said,
"I could never tire of it. Jack did not
dance, cared nothing for tennis, and had
no experience with oars; but he read
poetry lieautifully, and could tell her
charming old idyls as they walked by
the river.
lie interested her in a way that others
did not: and yet he had such a dreadfully
intense earnestness about him that he
positively frightened her sometimes, she
said.
Now the summer was gone, Jack was
in Texas, and Eleanor was in her city
home with only Aunt Jane and memory.
Yes, there was always Fred Kensel. He
Jived in a handsome house up in the
equare, with a stylish mother and sisters.
He was the oldest friend of all, and was
always at hand, sometimes more than
Eleanor wished. For in the last year
their frank, unrestrained good fellow
ship had in some way taken on a color
too strong for ordinary friendship, and
Eleanor often found herself uncomforta
ble and ill at ease when Fred was near.
She would declare the air was close she
must have the window open and where
was Aunt Jane? Or if they were on the
street she complained of his pace: why
did he lag bo? Couldn't he walk up like
any other man? Poor Fred unwittingly
felt the 6mart of many thorns that
winter.
But about Jack Renshaw; Eleanor
cared nothing for him she knew she
didn't. He was a pleasant summer
friend, nothing more. He had light
hair; she wouldn't marry a blonde, any
way. Then he was too serious, too
"preachy. She wasn't going to marry
a guideboard. Besides he was all of ten
years older than she might as well be
her grandfather. No, Jack Renshaw,
for anything but a friend, was out of the
question. Lew Hunter was more to her
wind, and secretly to herself, 6he owned
that Mr. Jerome Arthur, the tenor at St.
.Paul's, was nearer to her taste than
either. But Mr. Jerome Arthur was as
yet only a vague possibility. She had
Tlins tshe reasoned.
So the days went bya and the letter
and Jack went almost ut of mind. Oc
casionally a remark or tone of voice, or
a marked passage in Home favorite book
they had read, would recall him. Then
memory would utir, and she would idly
wonder if he g jt her letter, and when
and how he would write. But the spec
ulation was one of indifference. It
troubled her not. The issiuo was all too
vague as yet.
Lew Hunter was around occasionally;
she began to meet .and sing duets with
Jerome Arthur at the houses of friends,
while Fred Kensel was in constant
attendance for lectures, concerts and
drives. Therefore, if Miss Eleanor's
time did not Hy, it at lc:ist did not drag;
and she pent very few hours either in
ennui or in serious reflection.
Miss Jane Mears was sometimes anx
ious for the future of her niece, and took
occasion to remind her of tin ultimate
necessity of a choice and a judicious set
tlement in life. Whereupon the spirited
girl, with laughing audacity, averred
that Aunt Jane herself was to be con
gratulated upon her own merciful preser
vation from such a climax! That good
lady received the lively sallies of her
niece with the good humored toleration
of a mother cat under the attack of a
frolicsome kitten.
"Hut, Eleanor, my dear," sho would
purr, "you know you cannot always go
011 in this way; you really must make a
choice."
"M 'ko a choice how shall I do it,
auntie? Advertise for scaled proposals
and award the contract to the highest
bidder, or put the candidates in a bag
and rafllo for them?"
"Don't be absurd, child," responded
Miss Jane; "you know what I mean, of
course. I .-unafraid jou will go through
the entire pasture and then take up with
a crooked slick."
"Well, 1 haven't seen any quite
straight enough to suit ine yet."
"Well, we'll, my dear, I only talk to
you for your own good. I have been
afraid yon nii-ssed it when you didn't
take up with .losiah Hawkins."
" 'Josiah Hawkins" and 'missed it,'
indeed!" retorted Eleanor. "What did I
miss but an antiquated old pig with
dyspepsia and squeaky shoes. I trust I
am not reduced to quite To low an ebb.'"
"No, no, child: don't lly in a passion
so; it isn't ladylike. I am only afraid
you will never doany better, that is all."
"'Do any better!' I should think I
could hard'y do worse than marry a
man for whom I hadn't a spark of
love!" and the girl's eyes Hashed.
"Well, tin re, there," soothed the se
rein maternal cat, "don't let's talk any
more about u."
"No. but you mustn't begin it, and
please dou't scold me auv more, dear,"
! s.uccnmbcd Eleanor, with a kittenish
! embrace. And so the dialogue would
end. And the autumn days went by.
November came 011. and no letter from
Jack. Eleanor began to think about it.
Sometimes she watched, half uncon
sciously, for the postman, with a little
stiugof disappointment when he went
by. Yet her intimacy with Mr. Jerome
Arthur grew apace, and she was quite
fascinated by his tender tones and dark,
punsionate eyes.
December no letter. Eleanor's feel
irj7 of mere question of the cause passed
into the stage of positive pique. Her
pride was touched. Not even to write
to her, to leave anj-letter of hers unan
swered, when any other man would have
written two. Well, if Jack Renshaw
had a remote idea of her wearing the wil
low for him he had not read his p's and
q's correctly, that was all.
So she sang more and sweeter duets
with Jerome Arthur, smiled more gra
ciously on Lew Hunter, and completely
dazzled poor Fred Kensel with her affa
bility. On the whole she was rather
glad he did not write so she solilo
quized for inasmuch as she cared noth
ing for Jack, and never could, a corre
spondence would be 6tupid and only lead
to trouble.
Of course he cared for her that is,
well, of course he did! Then, in proof
of that fact her mind reverted to the
night last summer when they parted at
the gate of the old farmhouse where she
stopped. They had taken their last walk
hy the river. They had then sought the
top of the "ledges" to watch the sun set.
Finalby, in the twilight they had wan
dered back to say goodby at the gate.
Jack was going tomorrow and she a
week later. Their conversation was
broken and intermittent as they came
down the grassy road.
"Perhaps this may be our last walk
forever," spoke his low, earnest voice.
"Should you care if it were, Eleanor?"
"Oh, don't be so solemn," exclaimed
flie. "Of course we shall have more
dozens next summer."
He detained her gently by the arm.
"But would you care if we never did.
I asked you?"
"Jack Renshaw," facing him audaci
ously, "did j-ou ever see an owl? You
positively make me think of one 6omo
times." His face paled a little, nis mouth had
a firmer look as he walked in silence by
her side to the gate. Hesitating a mo
ment while she coquetted with her para
sol and shifted some wild flowers un
easily from one hand into the other:
"Goodby, Eleanor," very gravely.
'Goodby, Jack," vivaciously.
"Is that all can you say nothing else?"
"Why. what should Isay?"6he laugh
ed. "Say that you care a little for onr
summer ended if you do," taking her
hand.
"But what if I don't?" withdrawing
that member.
He looked at her challenging face a
moment, seriously.
"Goodby," he said, and turned and
walked away. Eleanor tripped lightly
over the threshold up to her room, flung
off her hat, immediately sat down, and
yes, true to the inexplicably contra
dictions of girlhood, cried.
She remembered it now with a smile
half of incredulity, half of self con
tempt. Why did she cry? True agaic
to the inexplicabilities of girlhood she
did not know.
she had received a letter from Jack in
Texas, purely friendly, but the closing
paragraph of which was this, "May I ex
pect an answer, and may I hope that you
do regret, just a littlo, the ending of our
summer idyl!" So Eleanor had written
her reply warily eschewing the subject
of "regret," however, and that was the
letter to wTneh she had received no re
ply. The winter d iys wore on. From in
difference to curiosity, from curiosity to
pique, and now from pique to anxiety
and fitful depression her feeling had
passed. From a careless dream of se
curity in his regard she had awakened
I to doubt an 1 uneasy question. Had he
j never cared himself for their summer
; idyl? Of course she didn't, she stoutly
j maintained to i.eielf, but someway iue
I growing conviction ,f ids Hdiff? rerce
i was extremely un welcome to her.
If thetruih mu-t bo told, her anxiety
wore on Miss Eleanor, and she even
moped a li; tie, dismally sometimes, at
twilight in her room, and pretended she
had a headache when Fred called. She
dropped by .! r.; - .4 out of the duets .'id
petul.n.'.lv f li-' l.Lti' l il bored her to sing.
Her friends and Mr. Jerome Arthur im
plored, but she was obdurate. Neither
passionate fiances nor tender tones bad
power to move her more. Then she
snubbed Lew Uuntcr.'.ud privately voted
him st npid.
Miss Mi-ars noticed c::')ricious:iess of
app -t ite, and was auxiou.-.ly solicitous.
Did Eleanor sle-j, v.-i il nights? Had shea j
pain in her i le? A dizzy h 1 1 i? Was her
tongue coated? An 1 wouldn't sh' have
on a porous plaster or wouldn't she take
some tonic bitter ? To all of which her
niece object. -.1 with laughing contempt.
"What do yoitt iiak about going to
Chocorua .-1 - i : i this saiuiuior?" inquired
Miss Mears of her niece unit morning tie:
following June. They were sitting at
breakfast, an 1 Eleanor was dallying wit it
her co .Tee spoon.
"Oh, t'.:.;t stupid litll" town. no. Any
place bat tl:"p" was 1 i;. quick re-poii.-..-.
'Why," :-..i 1 her aivif, i:t mild sur
prise, I thought you lik'-d it. so much
I ist year. I ::m suret'i" far;:! hous 'was
cool, the vegetables fiv.-'i, an 1 you know
you thought the river t-cenery was de
lightful." At incut ion of tin river rcc-nery Elea
nor was co.Msci.jus of a pang at h"r heart
like p.tin; sh,. a;: ;v.viv I carelessly:
"One tires of tilings sometimes. I .should
lik a chaiige."
Tiiat vening as she took down her
long hair in her aunt's room, before re
tiring, shy said suddenly, and with a
little nervous flutter, "Yes, let's go to
Chocorua, auniie; you know you like it,
and the Xeu.-.els are. going, and it's as
good as any plae-e, after all."
-Mi. ;s Jane .Mears received the proposi
tion witho it surprise, having had twen
ty ye;:-:.' experience with tic fluctuating
inclinations of her niece, ijo it was ar
ranged. A mouth later found them settled.
Th'.re we!-" nuMTous gay young peo
ple, Fred Kensel, his sister and Jerome
Arthur among the rest, and Eleanor
walked and drove and sought out her
old haunts by tlie river. Out there was
.a lack, a haunting memory, and a wist
ful pe.iu which h,T heart sought in vain
to ignore.
One night a merry half dozen of them
were playing tennis in the field near the
farm houso which was the temporary
home of their choice, when a carriage
passing, the driver raised his hat and
drew up.
"Jack Renshaw!" exclaimed two or
three, recognizing and running toward
him, rackets in hand.
Eleanor i'el t as if stunned, but, being
possessed of too much tact and pride to
allow herself to seem disconcerted, she
approached with the others and offered
her hand. lie leaned from the carriage
in greeting them all, and Eleanor felt,
when he took her hand, that his eyes
were seeking her own. But she could
scarcely look up. Her old fearless con
fidence was gone, and she blushed half
angrily at her disadvantage.
Jack Renshaw recognized, too, the
difference, and a something intuitive di
rected his reply to the general impor
tunity whether he would not be with
them before the season was over.
"Yes, certainly, I think I shall," was
his reply as he drew his reins and drove
on.
He had told them that a telegram
brought him from Texas a month ago to
the bedside of his mother, who was crit
ically ill, and whose only son he was.
Her home was in an adjoining town.
She was now convalescent, and he was
to return south in September.
That night Eleanor pleaded weariness
and retired early to her room. But she
could not sleep. She did not try. With
out a light, and in her flowing wrapper,
she sat long, dreaming in the wide west
window; dreaming of all things, of last j
smumer and of the dull, gray future.
But through every vision there moved
one central figure. All else revolved
about that. One face haunted her memory-,
one voice thrilled her heart.
She rose at last and nervously paced
the floor. Why should she think of Jack
Renshaw? Why could she not shut him
out of mind? She Eleanor Armstrong
who always had sailed on the crest of
the wave, to find herself now chopping
dismally in the trough. It was too ex
asperating. Yet again and again the same vision
haunted her memory, and ever and ever,
against her will, the same questions
forced an answer. Why could she not
forget him? How well he looked! Why
had she never noticed his fine expression?
What ease and self possession were his!
Why had she been so blind before? And
so, and so she vexed herself as the night
hours wore away.
Within a week Jack was back at Cho
corua, a guest at The Elms, the village
inn. Eleanor saw him constantly, was
obliged to do so, since he was a general
favorite, although not given to games.
His attitude toward her was perplex
ing. Politely indifferent, he neither
shunned nor sought her. Eleanor was,
as always, gay. But her gayety was fit
ful; now bordering on extravagance, as
when she dashed after a hay cart with
Fred; now relapsing almost to sobriety.
as w
ra; :s
O:
she sought t V
kitchen to as.'ort
Willi
Id Aunt Ei!
nice.
' the arrival of
the daily stage she Jt;,d the Kensel girls
proposed walking up to the village post
ofliee for letters. They were joined on
the way by Fred, and at The Elms by
re-enforcements, including Mr. Jerome.
Arthur and Jack. At the postolHee de
livery Kitty K-riisel volunteered to call
for letters for the company.
"Mr. Jerome Arthur, one; Miss Grace
E. Morris, two three! more than your
share, Grace Morris; Miss Persis G. A.
Pratt, two and a card; MLss Catharine
Kensel that's me one; Miss Eleanor
Armstrong, card and letter oh, see!
and a dead letter, too!"
"A 'dead letter? Oh, lot's see!" cried
all the girls, huddling together.
Jack Renshaw stood at Eleanor's right,
looking quietly on.
Behold her rosy chock doth palo.
And palsied prow her lily hands;
6he daro not rend tho mystic veil
ran on the giddy girl who had delivered
the letter.
Eleanor flushed and wrenched the en
velope in laughing contempt.
"See if I dare not!" she exclaimed.
The inclosed letter fell to the floor,
with the addressed side conspicuously
uppermost. Jack stooped and restored
it to her, inevitably reading the super
scription as he did so. Eleanor at that
moment read it also.
"J. H. Renshaw" nothing less, noth
ing more. In amazement and confusion
she raised her e3'es to his, which were
eagerly regarding her The lightning of
recognition flashed between them.
There it was, her own letter of a 3-ear
ago sent to the dead letter office on ac
count of an unfinished address. She re
membered it all. She had written his
name, nottnng more, that clay when she
was hesitating to send the letter. A call
er had interrupted and made her forget.
Then the maid had mailed it as it was.
So Jack had never heard from her,
and she had never heard from Jack
again.
Eleanor hastily thrust the letter in her
pocket and hurried from the office, fol
lowed by the chattering company, whose
attention was, already caught by another
matter.
Jack soon took his place by her side
on the homeward way. Neither spoke
until they came to where the old path
led out from the main road and through
the meadow along the riven
The shadows were long and cool, and
the golden sunset light swept down the
depths of the quiet -water like a reflected
sky.
"Eleanor," said Jack, pausing at the
turn, "I think I see how it all was; I
think I understand. Do I not?"
Her heart beat thick and fast. She
would not trust herself to speak; she
only looked away to the sky.
"Shall we walk by the river tonight?"
he continued, "and would you care now,
as I would, not a little, but with all my
soul and for all my life, if we never had
walked together again?"
Eleanor lifted her eyes to his with a
look which nswered his fondest hope,
' " v
as they tunn i ana went aown tno river
path.
"lint reai'ty, Jack, you do make me
think of a l owl sometimes you look so
very solcMii and wise!" she said, with a
Hash of lier old audacity, as they came
again in the twilight down to the farm
house gate Elmira Telegram.
The ladies of the South Park cir
cle will gave a box social attheHap-
tist ij;irriuiuire. .Holiday eveiiuio-,
Mav 11. Ladies are expected to
1 hriiiir a box contniiiinir lunch for
two, with the Indie s name enclosed
The oentlemcii will have the oppor
tunity of pnyiiiig twenty-live cents
for a box reg-ardless- of the shape or
suze of the same. Kirht reserved to
withhold names) until boxes are
purchased. The South Park band
will furnish good music for the oc
casion. Come one and all. d2t
New Millinery Store.
Mrs. C. M. Graves, dressmaking-
and millinery. New igoods, new
prices, latest styles. Store No. 110
t?outn oru st. 1'iaiismouiii, eu. im
Pansiest
Yes! In bloom, of the most
p-org;eous colors, They will con
tinue to bloom all summer, too, and
can be selected at Moore's Green
House for from 40 to 50 cents per
dozen. dtf
A restore, stricken, 'and give you
a luxuriant jjfrowth of hair, to keep
its color natural as in youth, and to
remove dandruff, use only Hall's
All watches, clocks and jewelry
left for repairs at C. II. Jaquette's
Neville block, Sixth street, will re
ceive prompt attention. All work
guaranteed and done in a workman
like manner, tf
in
- Scbirt
III. NH A
in
The Wa.hingtton Ayenue
GROCERS
-l.VD-
Provision Merchants.
Headquarters for
FLOUR AND FEED,
We pay no rent and sell for CASEL
You don'tjpaj any bills for dead boat
when you buy of this firm.
The beet SOFT COAL always on
Hand.
DON'T FORGET
AT THE
5 OOZRZCsTEilRS 5
Opposite Richey Bros Lumber office
4.
Time Table
GOING WKST GOINC
So l 3 :."; a. m No 2
' 3 5 : ir I. 1" " 4
" 5 9 :Li5 a. in " 8
7 n -15 a. Hi. " H
.CST
wij iu
a. m
7 JJip. m.
. 9 :45 aTm.
.10:14 a.m.
. ..8 :30 a. m.
" 9, C :'J5 p,m. " 12....
11 5 :25 . in. " 20...
" 19 11 :03 a. in.
Tx. PETERSEN
THE LEADING
GROCERS
HAVE THE MOST
COMPLETE
STOCK IN THE CITY.
EVERYTHING - FREEH - AND - IN -
ATTENTION FAKJIEH9
We want your Poultry, Ks, But
ter and your farm produce of all
kinds, we will pa3' you the highest
cash price as we are buyinir lor a
lira in Lincoln.
R. PETERSEN,
THE LEADING GROCERS
Plattsmouth - - Nebraska.
The Citizens
BANK ;
PLA.TT8MOUTH - NKBRAJJKA.
0yltal suck paid In 0
Authorized Capital, $100,000.
orrxczas . i
f&ANK CAKRCTH. JQ8. A. CONNOK
Pr"lnt- Vlco-PresMeoi
W. B. cusnisw. Casnier.
Jfrank Carruth J. a. Cotnor. X. R. Outhir.MB
w'Johno'.HnryBcBk,JohBO'Kei
W. D. Mrrri&m. Wm. fVetanemp, W.
H. Ciuhlnt.
TRANSACTS GENERAL BAKIING BUS1NES
city uretle.