Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 273, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 November 1913 — The Farm Hand [ARTICLE]

The Farm Hand

“I don’t see, lanthe, why you persist in going to the country every season,” said Mrs. Montague, frowning slightly. ‘ lanthe, a tall, graceful glri of 20, smiled wisely. “I think you have • faint Idea Why I go,” she answered. Mrs. Montague flushed a little and looked uncomfortable. “Well, I know I’m fond of Mr. Dean, and'lf you knew him I’m sure you’d like him, too. No one can blame me if I want to see my only child comfortably settled. Some timq, sooner or later, I shall have to give up my little girl, and I had rather give her to him than to anyone else. He’s a man everyone likes and trusts, somehow.” lanthe slipped her arm about her mother’s neck very tenderly. “I know you think only of my good, mamma dear,” she murmured. “But you won’t have to give me up for—oh, a long time yet, I hope.” “Mrs. Norcross will be so disappointed, lanthe,” said Mrs. Montague after a moment of silence. “She has set her heart upon your coming with me." '**l don’t want to visit Mrs. Norcross, mother —I might go if-Mr. Dean wasn’t such a frequent jailer at her home. And Ido want to go down to Mrs. Kingsley’s again. Mts. Montague saw that It was useless to" say anything more, so she quietly changed the subject, but phere was something strangely like a twinkle in her eye which her daughter did not notice. The girl was already making plans as to her summer in the little country village. The following week found lanthe Montague at the Kingsleys’. Mrs. Kingsley had been an old schoolmate of her mother, and for the past. two summers the girl had spent a few weeks at her home. Her chief reason for going was that she did not want to meet the man whose good qualities her mother was always exploiting. It was the hay-making season and the Kingsleys had several farm hands. Two of them lanthe remembered seeing the previous summer, but the third a tall, fine-looking young man, with a highly Intellectual face, was a stranger. lanthe looked at him frequently in astonishment. At the end of a month she began to fear that she was thinking of him more than she should, and when “two months had elapsed she was obliged to confess to herself that she was really beginning to care for James Clifford. "I don’t know why I ever came to this place,” she told herself, in disgust, throwing down the book on the grass. “I wish I’d listened to mother. It' would have been better to have gone with her and met Mr. -Dean and —no, it wouldn’t, either. There’s no one like James Clifford, even if he works on a farm. But I mustn’t think of him any more. Mother would be so disappointed in me, and I owe her so much.” > Just then a step sounded behind her, and turning quickly she beheld the object of her thoughts. "I have something to Bay to you, Miss Montague,” he said, seating himself beside her on the settee. “Miss Kingsley has told me that you think of returning home to<morrow.” “Yes,” she answered briefly. This was an unheard-of-liberty for him, to sit beside of her, and she tried to look displeased, but she made a miserable failure of it "You must have seen that; I love you, lanthe,” he hegan boldly, just as If he had been her equal. "If you can only care for me a little I shall be' the happiest man on earth.” rapidly. She must not listen to him, she told herself. It would break her mother’s heart if she should promise to marry James Clifford. Still he was a noble man, and she loved —yes, she loved him with her whole heart. "Are you angry, lanthe?” he asked when she did not speak. “I understand —you don’t care for me and lanthe looked up shyly. "I haven’t said —I didn’t —care,” she faltered. "Is it —possible that you care for a poor man?” he asked, reaching over snd taking one of the small hands in his own. "It makes no difference to me—whether you are rich or poor,” she answered softly. "I’ve something to confess, lanthe,” he said after a moment. There was an anxious look on his face. "I’m not what you thought me,” he went on; "I’ve deceived you, but say you’ll forgive me— —” "I don't understand,” Interposed the |lrl In bewilderment. "I’m not a farmhand—my* name Is James Clifford—Dean, the man you Sldn’t want to meet, he went on. I learned from Mrs. Norcross that you were coming here and It was not dlfftcult for me to guess why you didn’t lare to visit her with your mother. As Frank Kingsley and I used to be good friends at college, I came here, and pretended to be one of the farmhands. I was curious to see the girl who didn’t want to see me. And fctxm the moment I saw - you, lanthe, | have loved you. You’ll forgive me (or the deception, won’t you, dear?” ke pleaded. / lanthe looked into his face with a rmfle. “There’s really nothing for me to forgive," she murmured happily*— Pdaoifta Campbell. __