THE TIMES, NEW BLOOM FIELD, PA. AUGUST 3. 1880.
A Woman's Hens.
188 OilEY, if you don't keep
lem hens out of my master's
ground they'll all be shot, fur such Is
hlg orders." ,' ,. i 1
Jacob llobbg, the gardener at Derrick
Ijangholm's elegant Country place, did
not give expression to his master's
wishes In as gentle a (one Its he might
have used had It been any one else
whose hens were troublesome, but
Eunice Grey what matter how he
apoke to hett
The woman leaned agalust the fence
which separated her miserable little
grounds from the flourUhlnir estate of
the rich man, and listened quietly to
the gardener's speech. Her face looked
paler than usual this Warm spring day.
Was It the heat or Some hitter recollec
tion which had driven all color 'from
cheek and Hp t Her eyes were red and
swollen, perhaps from weeping, but
more likely from too steady application
to fine sewing by candlelight. Hbe was
not a pretty woman, as seen in the
searching light of the early morning;
she was far too thin, pale, and sad look
ing for beauty; but she had been a very
jtretty girl before trouble robbed her of
her bloom and gay spirits. ' Even now
there was a nobility in the face and a
curve to the lips whl'jh saved her from
absolute plainness. In the times long
gone by, people had said there was no
atuile lovelier than that of Eunice Grey.
l?ut she had almost forgotten how to
-smile, her life had been bo bitter and
vhard since her mother died.
The house she lived in had once been
sthe property of her aunt, who, when
dying, had willed it to her. It was a
naiail, frame building, old and leaky,
and greatly out of repair, but Eunice did
not complain. She was only too thank
ful to own even this shelter, and she
had learned to bear the ills of life with a
jpatience born of despair. Shetook In
Hewing, and sometimes went out by the
day to do dressmaking, and lived quite
aloue, her only companions the hens
and a great black dog she had brought
-with her when she first came to Chilton
to live.
" I am sorry, Jacob, that the hens
:have done damage to your master's fruit
-and flowers," she said, but she did not
traise her eyes as Bhe spoke.
" Then why don't you keep 'em at
hoiue V" demanded Jacob crossly.
" I will try to after this;' but they
don't lay well when they are cooped
up."
u They won't lay at all when their
necks are wrung," said Jacob, turning
away, "and that'll be the end of 'em
if you let 'em run in these gardens of
master's."
Eunice went into her dilapidated
house, and took up her sewing again,
which she had dropped to answer
Jacob's call from the fence. , But she
had taken only a few stitches in the fine
cambric, when her hands fell idly in
her lap, and a strange look came on her
pale face.
" Even now he will not let me alone,"
she muttered. "And yet he should be
the one to suffer ; not I, who did no
wrong." ' "
She went to the sink in the kitchen,
and bathed her head, which ached' with
the painful thoughts which crowded on
her brain. Then again she took up the
cambric, which was to be fashioned Into
a garment for Isabella Church's wed
ding trousseau.
That night the hens were all cooped
p in a crazy affair of laths which
Eunice herself had manufactured. The
door was fastened with a stick run in
the ground, and if it had not been for
Bruno, there would have been no more
worm hunting In Derrick Langholm's
gardens. But the next morning the
shaggy Newfoundland, in his migra
tions about the yard, pushed the stick
away with his nose, and, the door flying
open, the hens flew out, and in ten
minutes' time were in their forbidden
haunts.
Eunice, busily sewing on Isabella
Church's trousseau, 1 knew nothing of
he escapade, until a shadow darkened
her doorway,' and a large, well-filled
sack was thrown roughly on the floor.
"You'll have to buy your eggs after
this," said Jacob Hobb'a loud voice,
"but then master's pistol has given you
a chance to have chicken stew for many
a day to come.''
A quiver passed over Eunice's lips,
and a dark red flush dyed her forehead
and lost . itself in . the ripples of her
abundaut brown hair, but she did not
speak or look up until the .man had
gone, wondering at her silence. .
Then she threw down her sewing,
.and opened the sack. .
One by one she drew out her twelve
Uarge, gray hens, and fine cock, all
bearing bloody marks on their, feathers.
AH had their necks, .wrung after being
shot. . .Jacob did not believe in half-way
ieasures.' v , . .; ,. , , .
" He shot jthem," she muttered ! . " he
could not even leave me my hens.'.'
For a few momenta she eat looking at
he fowls in Bilence. . Then sprang to
her feet with a fire In her eyes born of a
sudden determination.
She hurried Into her bedroom, and
caught a faded shawl from a nail, wrap
ping it around her head and shoulders.
Bhe was shivering, but not with cold.
A moment more and she was speeding
Up the broad oak avenue leading to the
elegant residence 6f hef enemy. She
had vowed never to step on his grounds,
never to look him in the face, but her
wrong made her forget all else.
Half-way up the avenue Hbe stopped
suddenly, her face turning an aishy hue,
her limbs trembling. Coming toward
her, whistling gaily, was a tall, ' hand
some man, of about thirty-seven years,
the look of a born aristocrat stamped on
his proud face. '
For one moment Eunice hesitated;
she felt sick and weak, and would have
turned aside and fied through the shrub
bery, but for a sudden recollection of
the past which stung her into courage.
And as Derrick Langholm came up, she
sprang directly In his path, facing him
with her haggard, white face and wild
eyes. ,".:'.';
He looked at her one instance in sur
prise, thinking he had encountered a
mad woman ; then the color faded from
his face, too, leaving it as pale as the
one on which he gazed, and he started
back with a hoarse cry
"Eunice I" f ' .
" Yes, It Is Eunice! Are you not glad
to meet her after a lapse of thirteen
years V" '
" Thirteen years I" he 1 repeated in a
dazed way. '
"It is a long time, is it notV You
can scarcely remember, probably, the
cruel wrong you did me, and yet you
are not content with that; you must
haunt me here."
" Eunice, I never knew"
She Interrupted him i
" You could not let me live In peace
in my little cottage even . now, you
killed my hens."
"Your hens I were they yours, Eu
nice V I never knew who owned them.
Jacob simply told me that he had given
the woman to whom they belonged
warnings without uumber. If I had
known"
" You want me to believe that you
would have spared them for the sake of
the past, Derrick Langholm, the past
which has taught me how base and false
men can be."
" Forgive me, Eunice," the man cried,
a ring of true emotion and repentance
in his voice. " I have long seen how
cruel and wicked I was ; but I believed
you happily married long ago, and the
whole thing forgotten."
"Married I Who would marry me!"
she said bitterly. ." The poorest laborer
in Baslldown would have thought' him
self too good for me. Forgotten I Could
I easily forget what blasted my life and
ruined my reputation I . And yet I was
innocent I innocent!"
. "Eunice, I never knew it was as bad
as that! ' I never imagined any one hut
your mother would know of it. Forgive
me, Eunice, forgive me now I"
"Never!" Bhe said, with trembling
voice. " Women never forgive such
wrongs."
Then not daring to trust herself to
say more, she turned from him and
walked rapidly away through the shrub,
bery.
' When she reached her cottage she
sank on the floor exhausted, pressing
her hand to her heart as if to stop ! Its
wild throbbing.
Sitting there, how vividly the past
came back to her, its events as fresh in
her mind as if thirteen hours instead of
years had elapsed since their occurrence.
Her widowed mother had idolized her,
and strained every' nerve to give her an
education that would fit her for
teacher. . They were poor, but respected
by every one, and It was not a matter
of wonder to Eunice that Derrick Lang.
holm, the handsome son of a rich father.
should express himself willing to marry
her. She was only seventeen, and
believed implicitly in his vows of love
and spurious promises, heeding not her
indulgent mother's warnings that it
was not safe to trust a stranger so fully.
For Derrick had come to Baslldown
only for a summer's sport in hunting
and but little was known of him save
that his parents were wealthy.
At last the infatuated girl consented
to an elopement which her lover urged
was necessary in order that they should
marry, for their union would be violent
ly . opposed by his parents and her
mother.
But once away from Baslldown, once
in the great city in which she had never
before been, Eunice found out that her
lover was unworthy her trust, for while
professing to love her devotedly, and
promising to be true to her forever, he
declared their marriage to be an impossi
bility. He was poor, he said, and his
father would disinherit blm if at twen
ty-four he committed such a 1 grave
offence as marrying a girl beneath him
in station and without a penny.
., After a long explanation the young
wan left the hotel parlor for an , instant
on an errand, and when he returned the
bird had flown. He had not dreamed
that she would attempt to leave him,
but supposing that she had started to
return home again, and that it would be
useless to pnrsue her or try to win her
back, he went to bis father's house, and
from that day until the one on which
he met her In the oak avenue of his
estate at Chilton, he had not met her
or known whether she was alive or
dead.
But, on leaving her lover, Eunioe did
not return at once to Baslldown. Had
she done so, the would have saved her
self much misery, for her story, told
after an absence of only twenty-four
hours from the town, would have been
believed. But she was ashamed to
return, knowing well that her mother
and friends were aware of her flight
with Derrick Langholm ; so she staid
in the city, working in a dressmaker's
establishment, until three mouths had
passed. Then she wrote to her mother,
aud the answer she received was a sum
mons from ail attending physician to
that Indulgent mother's death-bed.
A week later she was alone, with the
terrible consciousness that her fully had
hastened the termination of the disease
from which her mother had long suffer
ed. And no one credited the story of
the wrong done her by Derrick Lang
holm. They, her fellow-townspeople,
believed the worst, and treated her ac
cordingly. Her old friends shunned her,
and even the children In the streets
looked at her curiously as She passed by,
as one over whom there hung a strange
cloud. She lived thus for six years, but
it was a great relief to her when her
aunt died and left her the cottage at
Chilton, to which she went at once
with Bruno, her faithful dog friend.
She did not know, until Bhe had taken
possession of the place, that her nearest
neighbor was the man whose selfishness
had ruined her life. She thought she
hated him, and despised herself for the
strange thrill which passed through her
heart whenever she caught a glimpse of
him riding past her humble cottage.
She had often wondered that he had
never married, but when a rumor reach
ed her that Isabella Church, the daugh
ter of a country magnate, was to be his
bride in the autumn, she burst into a
frenzy of tears and sobs. Love is hard
to kill, and poor 'Eunice, though she
knew it not, still, woman-like, loved the
man who had been the cause of all her
suffering.
The day following that strange meet
ing in the avenue, Jacob Hobbs brought
to the cottage a dozen hens which his
master had sent to make good the loss
his pistol had caused. Sorely puzzled as
Jacob had been to understand his mas.
ter'B changable conduct, he was still
more mystified by the strange behavior
of Eunice, who positively and very
emphatically refused to receive the
fowls, and bade him carry them back to
his master without delay.
Then Mr.' Langholm himself came,
thinking it best to patch up a truce with
this woman whom he now knew he
had injured far more than he had lm
aglned ; but Eunice saw him coming,
and shut and bolted her door in bis
face.
The spring drifted into summer, and
in July, Derrick Langholm went to the
city to visit a medical friend to whom
he was much attached. He visited the
hospitals, and through his own careless
uess and imprudence, caught a disease
which came near costing him his life.
He was not aware of the infection until
after his return to Chilton, when he was
taken ill with that dread disease, the
smallpox.
The servants left the infected house
like rats a burning building, and not
one of the rich man's boasted friends
would venture near his bedside. Only
the doctor was by him, and a nurse
could not be found in all the town wil
ling to risk her life or good looks by
undertaking the case.
Dr. Hammond drove to a neighboring
town, and made a thorough search for a
nurse there, but without Buccess. He
returned to Chilton, thinking he would
have to telegraph to the city for help
but when he entered the palatial rest
denoe of the sick man, he found his
patient In. cool, clean bed, his head
bound up in ice cloths, and a sad-eyed
woman fanning him gently.
"Eunice Grey! you are the only
woman in Chilton who has a heart,'
cried the enthusiastic little doctor.
" I am the only woman in Chilton
who has nothing to lose by nursing
small-pox patient," she said quietly.
You have your life," said the doc
tor. ,
But she made no answer to this re
mark, only bent bo low over the sick
man that her face was not seen.
Derrick Langholm came very close
to that r,lver over ; which we all must
pass sooner or later ; but to the joy ; of
his nurse he did not die, was not even
pitted, thanks to her unwavering care
and vigilance. '
The doctor told him that he owed bis
life to Eunice, and Derrick smiled
strangely in reply,
P rom that time he followed the move
mentg of his quiet nurse with thought
ful eyes, and was fretful and Impatient
If she left him alone at all. She never
made the slightest allusion to the naat.
and neither did he. In fact, she never
spoke to him at all when it could be
avoided. i
When' he was nearly well, and the
house was thoroughly disinfected, gome
of the servants came hack, and then
Eunioe prepared to go.
She put on her shawl and bonnet, and
went to the library where Derrick sat
in an easy chair.
"Are you going out, Eunice!1" he
asked, as she entered the room. " I
cau't bear to spare you even for half an
hour."
" I am going to my own home," she
answered. " I am needed here no longer.
Good-by." . , .
She was about to leave the room,
when be called her back.
" Eunice, come here to me."
" I want no thanks ; I have only done
my duty," she said, pausing at the
door.
" I am not going to thank you."
And he rose from his chair, and went
close to her, taking her hand In his.
She turned ghastly pale, and bent her
gaze on the carpet at ' her feet. What
could he be about to say '
" Eunice, I once did you a cruel
wrong ; I never knew how great it was
until a little while ago when you told
me of your sufferings. Will you let me
atone for it as far as I can ?"
"There can be no atonement," she
Bald bitterly.
" Not complete, perhaps," he answer
ed sadly. " But let me do what I can
to make you forget the past, Eunice."
How can I forget it? What can
you do to bury It ?" she asked. ,
" I can make you my wife, Eunice."
"Your wife!" she repeated hoarsely.
' But Isabella Church is"
" Is to marry my friend, Dr. Blake
of the city," he Interrupted. "I visit
her often on his account, and this
rumor has connected our names; but
you are the only woman I care to marry,
Eunice."
"You love me!" she murmured
brokenly.
" I love you as you deserve to beloved,
Eunice. You have been an angel of
goodness to me. Forget and forgive,
dearest. Raise your eyes, that I may
read in them that you will be my dear
wife."
For an instant she hesitated, then did
as he desired. In those large brown
eyes there was now no sadness, no
despair ; they were as brilliant and joy
ous as of old.
And Derrick Langholm caught their
owner to his heart in a burst of love and
happiness. To ber his atonement was
complete.
A Puzzled Young Fellow.
A family living in Nashville has a
parrot noted for its wonderful powers of
imitating the human voice. The family
also has a daughter whose especial duty
is the care of the parrot. The young
lady has a young man, a recent addition
to Nashville society. The young man
called at the house of his lady love one
evening and pulled the door-bell. The
parrot, Bitting in an up stairs window,
heard the jingle of the bell and called
out, " Go to the window I " The young
man was startled. He looked at all the
windows below and found them closed.
He pulled the, bell-knob again. "Next
door!" shouted the parrot in a voice not
unlike the young lady's. The young
man looked up and down the street in a
puzzled sort of way as if it had suddenly
dawned upon his mind . that be had
made a mistake in the house. Conclud
ing that he bad not, he again rang the
bell. "Go to the house!" cried Poll
from his perch in the upper window,
" What house?" exclaimed the young
man, angrily. "The workhouse!
shrieked the parrot. The young man
left in rapid transit time.
His Indian Wife.
There are few instances of devotion
that prove the existence of love in
higher degree than that given by Kit
Carson's Indian wife to her brave and
manly lover. While mining in the
West he married an Indian girl, with
whom be lived very happily. Wben he
was taken ill, a long way . from borne,
word was sent to his wife, who mounted
a fleet mustang pony and traveled hun
dredsof. miles to reach him. Night
and day she continued her journey,
resting only for a few hours on the open
prairie, flying on her wonderful little
steed as soon an she could get up; ber
forces anew.. She forded rivers, she
scaled rocky passes, and waded through
morasses, and finally arrived just alive,
to find ber huabaud better. Bat the
exposure and exertion killed her.' She
was seized with pneumonia and died
within a brief space In her husband's
arms. The shock killed Kit Carson, the
tugged miner ; be broke a blood vessel,
and both are buried In one grave.
JUSSER & ALLEN
i t,
CENTRAL STORE
NEWPORT, TENN'A.
. No efTerthe publle '
A RAKE AND ELEOANT ASSORTMENT OH
DRESSGOODS
Consisting sf all shades suitable for the season
BLACK ALPACCA8
- v
AND
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A SPECIALITY.
BLEACHED AND UNBLEACHED
MUSLINS,
!::..;
AT VARIOU8 PRICES. , ,
AN ENDLESS SELECTION OF PRINTS!
We sell and do keep a good quality of
SUGARS, COFFEES & SYRUPS.
And everything under the head 6t
GROCERIES 1
Machine Needles and oil for all makes of
iuaomnes.
To be convinced that our goods are
CHEAP AS THE CHEAPEST,
IS TO CALL AND EXAMINE STOCK.
9V No trouble to show goods.
Don't forget the
CENTRAL STORE,
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is
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SELLERS Hi CO., Proprietors, Pittsburgh, Pa.
Send for circulars. 40 ly.
NOTICE!
THE undersigned would respectfully call the '
attention of the citizens of Perry county
tbat he has a large and well selected stock of
HARDWARE,
GROCERIES,
DRUGS.
WINES & LIQUORS,
. . IRON.
NAILS,
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SHAFTS.
POLES ft BOWS.
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WIRE,
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ALSO.
Paints, Oils, Glass, Plaster,
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SOLE, CALF, KIP and UPPER LEATHER,
FISH. SALT, SUGARS, SYRUPS, TEA8. SPICES.
TOBACCO, CIGARS, aud SMITH COAL.
Jobs Lucas & Co'., ' " '
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(ready lor use.)
The best Is the CHEAPEST..
And a large variety of goods not mentioned,
all of which were bought at the Lowest Cash
Prices, and he oilers the same to his Patrons at
the Very Lowest Prices for Cash or approved
trade. His motto Low prices, and Fair dealings
to all. Go and see blm. .
Respectfully,
8.M.BHCLER.
. Liverpool, Perry Co. Pa.
POTJTZ'S
HORSE AND CATTLE POWDERS
Will MM or n.HMi
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71- ""a U SITS 6j.?1Uciiu.
. iAU K, rotm, ProiwIvtoT.
, . BaXTUtUJUK, Hi.
For Sale by 8. & Smith, New BtoomBeM
Perry County, Pa, . 4 1 j
TIB
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Life