Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 September 1882 — “SHE WOULDN’T MARRY A FARMER.” [ARTICLE]

“SHE WOULDN’T MARRY A FARMER.”

The old house at Stonecrest was the most ancient mansion in the county. Its walls of dark gray stone were almost entirely covered with ivy and climbing rose-vines. Year after year Mr. Thornfeld threatened tocut the creepers down, but he failed to do it, until the roses were over the second-story windows, find the ivy clear to the roof. Perhaps they were spared because Mrs. Thornfeld loved them. And indeed they did give an air of beauty to the square, gray old house, which no one could fail to notice, and which resembled the pictures of ivy-grown English homesteads very strongly. When Edith Thornfeld, the Squire’s pretty niece, came down from the city tor a long visit, she chose for her room the corner one in the second story, the coolest room in the house, wide, light and airy, where the windows were nearly covered with vines, and every breeze sifted a shower of rose-leaves across her floor. Pretty E lith, proud as pretty, was Mr. Thornteld’s niece. Her father was a rich business man in the city, who knew tar more about stocks, bonds and mortgages than he edd about his only daughter. Her mother died when Edith was a babe, but kind Aunt Rachel, Mrs. Thornfeld, of Stbnecrest, had supplied her place as far as she could, and much of the girl’s lady-like bearing had been acquired from her. Edith often came down for a a long visit, and the old bouse was the brighter while she remained. Joining Stonecrest was another fine estate, belonging, at present, to young Robert Briton. A tine, wholesouled speoisien of a country Squire was he, not without good mental cultivation and intelligence, and any girl might be proud of his favor. Even Edith admitted that he was a splendid-looking fellow and good company, and she knew very well, the sly witch ! that no one was fairer in R >bert Briton’s eyes than she ! But when they rallied her upon the devotion of her cavalier, she declared that nothing upon earth would induce her to marry a farmer and live in the country ,ior good. To do her the justice, she let Belton him elf see the fact, plain enough. That is if he would have seen it ! But he refused to take the evidence of her manner ; perhaps, laid it to the score of maiden modesty and liked her ail the better for it. “ Well, I’m sorry for the poor fellow —he is nice, and if it wasn’t the way it is, I might—possibly—say yes,” said Edith, when she saw at last that she could not keep him from speaking much longer. “I dare say he’ll soon get over it and forget all about me when he mar ries some plump country girl who can take care of his pigs and chickens for him. ” And Edith laughed a gay little laugh, and then felt as if somehow things ■were not fixed up quite right in this world, and she didn’t know just how to straighten ’em. She tried no longer to keep him from speaking, “Just as well have it over and done with,” she said. He did speak one- evening when she bad been over to visit his sister, and he walked home with her. A few words, but right to the point “ I wish you wouldn’t,” said Edith, more fluiried than she had ever been in her life. “I’m very sorry, but indeed, Mr. Belton, I can’t "“Do you mean you can’t like me?” said Robert, turning a little white, but trying to smile. “ Oh, Ido like you very much I But not—not in—” “ In the only way I wish to be liked. Is that il ?”

“I’m afraid it is, Mr. Belton.” He was silent a moment? Then he s rd. huskily : “If any amount of waiting would alter it, I could be patient, at least I’d try, if I might have a hope—” and here his voice failed. •‘lt wouldn’t be of the least use,” said Edith. “I’m sorry, but I’d have to say the same a year—ten years—from now.” “ Then there’s no use,” said Belton, trying to be as brave as he could. “ It’s pretty hard on me harder than I thought it would be. But if I can’t bear it, I can go away, and not trouble yon anv more." “I wish you wouldn’t talk so,” said Edith. “It isn’t very manly, is it?” said the poor fellow. “Well, I won’t. Forgive me, Miss Edith. And good-by—l don’t suppose I shall come to your uncle’s any more.” They were just at the gate now, and Edith gave him her hand, saying, “Oh, yes, of course; 1 know you' will come. We would all be very sorry if you didn’t. And I hope vou don’t blame me?” “Not in the least. There’s no one to blame but myself. I’ll come if I can. If I find I can’t, why, I can’t, that’s all. Good-by, Miss Edith. God bless you, my dear ” He raised the small hand to his lips, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and was gone. Edith ran straight upstairs to her room, and took a good hearty cry—and then scolded herself for crying. “But I did feel awful sorry for him,” she said. “Though I’m sure he’ll get over it. and be back in a day or two.” But Robert Belton did not come again in a week or two. Uncle Thornfeld ra lied Edith about sending him away, I and, though she declared she had not done so, they all understood very well how the case lay, Edith met Belton in her rides sometimes, saw him at church and other places. He always bowed and spoke I pleasantly, but that was all. He kept clear away rom her. It was plain he did not mean “ to trouble her again.” “ I never saw sucha fool,” said Edith, to herself. “He doesn’t give one the least chance to reconsider. If one wanted to, which I don’t, I’m sure. ” But some way it provoked her dread- I fully, every time she met him, and he I kept so distant. Now and then she stole a glance at him in church, when he was sitting quite still, and his pale, sad face I touched her heart, though she wouldn’t have owned it for anything. “I never, never did see such a simpleton ! If f were a man, I’d be one, I would |”

the very next night, when she was talking to little Lyons, at Mrs. Wishwell’s social, or rather, listening to him talk, she looked at his little, neat figure, and his little nice mustache, and his little white hands, and began to compare him with a big, strong, manly fellow likelike Rob Belton, for instance! and became so disgusted that she fairly ran away and left little Lyons terribly astonished and affronted at her rudeness. One day, at the dinner table, Uncle Thornfeld gave them the news that IVbert Belton was going to Australia. His sister felt dreadfully, he said, but Rob wouldn’t give it up. Uncle said also, that for his part he couldn’t see any sense in a likely young fellow, with plenty of good land, and everything ready to his hand, rushing off with such haste to a wild country like Australia. “Unless,” said he, “unless there’s a woman in the case. If there is, there’s no knowing what a man will do. And it’s my opinion she’ll have something to answer for.” This with a glance at Edith, who turned very red, and did not offer a single word. But she took to walking out often. If she did so in the nope of meeting Belton, she missed it. He was busy arranging his affairs indoors, and had no time for walking. One morning Edith, sitting at her window, saw him coming up the road, with his long, free stride straight to the gate. He opened it—he came inside — he came straight to the house, too! Edith drawn back so she could not be seen, heard him pass under her window, and waited to be called. Waited half an hour, and then heard him going away, and never once was called at all ! Her face was red, and her eyes flashed, but she was only pretty and sparkling when she went down to dinner.

“Belton called this morning,” said Uncle Thornfeld. “Did he?” observed Edith, indifferently. “ Yes. He goes away Monday. He wants me to .attend to a small business matter concerning some land, while he is gone.” “Well, you’ll do it, I suppose,” said aunty. “Oh, yes. He’ll call again to-morrow, to leave me some papers, and I’ll help the boy all I can. He’s a good fellow. And it strikes me he seems to be very unhappy. ” “That’s a pity, isn’t it?” remarked Miss Edith, coolly. “1 think it is. I don’t know a man who deserves better than Belton. I dare say he’ll get killed out there among the natives, and never get back any more.” Which philosophical observation on uncle’s part, Miss Edith did not answer at all, and nobody knew her thoughts. “To-morrow” was Saturday. Belton w’as going away Monday. If anybody meant to do anything for him, it must be done promptly, that was all, and no shirking! The next morning Edith took pains’ to sit at her window again. By and by she saw Belton coming. But he wouldn’t ask for her, not even to say good-by! It couldn’t hurt him to do that much, anyhow. He came in, turned at the corner of the house, and was passing on to the door, when a fresh voice above him said “ Good morning ! ” He looked up. Edith, as sweet and blooming as the roses which were all around her, was leaning out of the window toward him. But he couldn't know that she was thinking what a tine, noble, handsome face he was turning up to her. Instantly his hat was lifted. “Good morning, Miss Thornfeld. I hope you are well.” “Quite well, thanks. 1 hear you are going away, Mr. Belton.” “Yes. Igo Monday.” “ And without a good-by to your friends ? ” “I don’t suppose anyone cares much about saying good-by to me.” “ Perhaps not. You don’t deserve it, running off so wildly.” “ I dare say I don’t. Miss Thornfeld.” “Of course you don’t! However, some of them might have a word tv say to you.” • ‘ I’d be very glad to hear it, then, I know.” Well, I shall be down at the Three Oaks at 1 this afternoon. If you choose to come, I have something to say. If you don’t choose, go to Australia or any other place, for all I care, Rob Belton ! ” The pretty head disappeared in an instant, the window went down among the roses with a bang ! And Robert Belton walked into the house to see Mr. Thornfeld, feeling very queer ! At four that afternoon, a slim figure in buff cambric, with a white lawn hat on its pretty braids, tripped through the bit of meadow-woodland, down to the Three Oaks. A taller figure rose to meet her as she appeared. “Ah. You did come, then?” said EdiUjgp “ Certainly. Sit down Miss Thornfeld,” making room on the rustic seat for her.

Ehth sat down, and sat silent. Her usual flow of words seemed to have deserted her. “ Did youwish to tell me something?” said Belton, at last, very gently. “Yes—no—perhaps. Tell me something, Mr. Belton ! Why do yon rush off so, and make everybody miserable?” “ I must go. And I don’t know of any one who is miserable ?” “Not your sister ?” “ Well, yes. But there are times in a man’s life when even a sister, though a good, kind one, can’t quite satisfy him.” A little silence. Edith broke it, i desperately, “ Mr. Belton, would you go if I am sorry I once pained you. 1 am very sorry, indeed. ” “ You were kind enough to say so. I don’t blame you. And I believe vou. But, you see, it don’t cure—it don’t help much. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but it’s quite true that pity won’t mend matters.” “My goodness, what would then?” cried Edith, losing all patience. “ Can’t yon see anything. Bob Belton? Don’t you know 1 don’t want you to go ?” Her face was red, her eyes full of tears, her mouth fluttering like a roseleaf, as she spoke. Belton was amazed. “Miss Edith! You don’t—do you?—What is it you mean ? Do you ask me to stay ?” “ Of course I do ! You might see that much !” “ What for, then ?” he asked, quickly. “ Oh, nothing ! You needn’t stay ! Go if you like, I don’t care ! I can live without you!” She sprung up to fly, but Belton just gathered her into his arms. “But I can’t live without you!” he cried. “ I’ll stay if you’ll come and live with me ! Say quick, Edith ! Yes or no?” “ Yes—no—l don’t care !” panted Edith, very red and embarrassed. But Belton gathered her meaning, and instead of being the miserable fellow he came there, was as happy as a King. So was Edith, though she wouldn’t have owned it for the world. She is happy yet, though she did marry a farmer, and lives in the country over half of each year. And that trip to Australia has , never been made, nor do I suppose it ever will be.— lndiana Farmer.