Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 165, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 July 1913 — CHOSE HIS WIFE BLINDLY [ARTICLE]

CHOSE HIS WIFE BLINDLY

Daring Bcot Remembered Girls' Facet but Not Names, and Tbok a Chance With Happy Result. I saw him staring disconsolately into the window of a qigar store, broad-shouldered, red-faced and sandyhaired, and instinctively I recognized a brother Scot Some whim Impelled me to speak to him. At first, I am i sure, he Imagined I was one of the many city sharks he had read of, but a few sentences put him at his ease. He was dilEdent at first, and it was only after Borne coaxing that I extracted the simple Btory of his life before and after he had come to America. Ten years ago he had left his native village in Ayrshire to go to Canada, and he had prospered to such-an extent that he bethought himself of a wife. His fancy turned to the old country and he determined to ask a girl to come out to the new land and share his lonely farmhouse. When he came, however, to making his choice, he was in a quandary. He had left home shortly after his school days, and the memory of his childish playmates was somewhat faded and dim. He could plainly see two girls; one strong armed, red haired and rosy cheeked, fit mate for a farmer; the other slim, dark and showing promise of early delicacy. One' was Mary Johnston, the other Christina Davldßon, but he was doubtful in his mind as to which was which. At school he had never called them by any other name than their nicknames of Roosty-pow and Toosdy-heid, from the red hair of the one, and the tangled curls of the other. Finally he arrived at a conclusion and wrote home to Mary Johnston offering her the shelter of his strong arms and inclosing a substantial draft for her expenses. The boat was to cotne in next morning, Sunday, and be left me early, bidding me good night, with a sly but slnoere clasp of his great, hard hand. On Sunday, drawn by some idle curiosity, I wandered down to the dock. What would be the greeting of this Scot —schooled to conceal emotion? He was the first person I saw there and he met me with an anxious, silent smile. The boat was moored and Its sides were lined with faces full

of hope and wistful wonder. He scanned them all one by one, and bit his lip nervously. Slowly, and then fast, the passengers began to disembark. The young farmer’s face was flushed and he swayed from one foot to the other. Suddenly I heard him give a low groan of anguish, and, clutching my arm in a grasp the pressure of which he did not realize, he whispered in a tone I never want to hear again: “It waa the lther one I was thinking o’.” Then he walked to the gangway, where a slim, delicate girl with & frightened face was stepping off, bent over her, kissed her and took her slender suit case from her hand. They passed me, her face aglo\# with joy; his the battleground of a great struggle, but one on which the aftercalm of peace had descended.— Robert W. Sneddon, in the Bellman.