Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 22, Number 61, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 April 1901 — Hetty, or Old Grudge. [ARTICLE]

Hetty, or Old Grudge.

By J. H. CONNELLY.

chapter xrv. It was hard for Hetty, when she anc. Vary nestled close before the tire that •veiling for their customary long sympathetic talk, and when, afterward, «hey retired to bed together, to restrain liereelf from telling the important step •he contemplated taking on the morrow. Hat the secret was. BOt wholly her own, and she feared to intrust it to the chances of the little old maid’s involuntary betrayal. The only person to whom •the could talk frankly about it was Dan’•y, whose co-operation was, to a certain extent, necessary in the plan John had tanned, and whose willingness to render •t was simply enthusiastic. •-> “Yon," she said to him, “want to get -town to the bend of the road, by the big walnut tree, real early in the morning wad wait there until John comes along in ISis cutter. The minute you see him, fire tvo shots, close together, just as you 4id to-day. That is all you have to do.” *iAnd what’ll you be doing?” “Running for dear life." Danny refleeted anti shook his head •dubiously. “Gals can’t run," he said contemptuously, “ ’cause they wear frocks. Mam'll ■catch you, sure, and I sort of don't want >to fill her full of shot 'thout I have to.” “Why, Danny! You awful boy! The -idea of anybody ever wanting you to do each a thing!” “Well,, didn’t T tell you I don’t like ■ to, my self? .But, say! I’ve got the idea of what you want. Laudanum, you Jtnow, puts people to sleep. Now, there’s at bottle of horse liniment in the barn, that's chock full of laudanum. Bill Taylor says he can smell it; and if we’d chunk that into mam ” -“Danny! Oh, you’ll surely get yourself hanged some day! If you don’t promise me that you will not do anything to mother, I’ll not run away at all. Why, how ■ do you know but that you might half kill ’.here, giving her things like that? And then, how would you feel, you wicked boy?"

"How I’d feel. Well, sorry. I s’pose. ®ut how do you s’pose John’ll feel if this scheme busts up? He’s just dead -me*, on getting you, though I’m* sure I ■don't see why, when he’s got the pick •«f the girls in the township.” ■“That will do now, Danny. You will -know more about such things when you to be older. All you have to do now is just what John says, and if things -don’t turn out right, it will not be your -•fault.” Danny did not dispute that proposition, but it was plain to be seen he took a .gloomy view of the probable outcome of .* job of mischief not personally engineered by himself, and-would have been quite •willing to assume the responsibility of ■xunning the elopement in ways that would have been a terror to parents and guardians. Very little sleep did Hetty Mulveil get that night; not because she was a featherheaded fool-girl, half-crazed by the deli--cious excitement of a prospective elopement, but by reason of her being a good, ,*emsible one, who realized that she was .about to take a very serious step—one, la all probability, irrevocable and weighted with all her life’s destiny. It is not necessary that an intelligent, reasoning maiden shall, under such circumstances, feel a distrust of her lover to- feet her gravely pondering upon what may be hidden behind the veil of the future. He is but one factor in the problem with which fate confronts her, though, it must be admitted, a very important one. The wis•est foresight is only good guessuiork; in every darkness danger lurks, and love alone, whatever the poets may say, will not lighten the obscurity of the next hour •f our existence. Fate never ceases •tempting and compelling us. Every moment of life is fraught with infinite potentialities, and according as we vivify those moments with earnestness of purpose and intensity of action, so we wake those latent forces into active being and give to their control the helm of our destiny. The girl got into a condition of nervous wakefulness, with thinking, hoping and fearing.

•“Come!” she said to herself at length. “1 shall positively get no sleep at all. .and will look like an owl to-morrow, if I •don't drive John and marrying and all that clean out of my head. I wonder if counting the elock-ticks would put me to sleep? It does some people. I’ve heard. One. two. three, four— How strangetl.v Bond they are! Everything sounds loud•er at night, I suppose. 1 wonder if Mary Elder knows that she snores—just a little bit? One, two, three— I won der if I snore? And if I do, what will John say if he ever finds it out? Pshaw! Why can't I stop thinking about John? One, two— Oh! Twelve o’clock! Well, If this isn’t the longest night! I wonder if John is lying awake, too? There •It is again! ‘John!’ ‘John!’ Always John. I wonder what makes the light of so many colors? Every time the fire flares up there is a little ribbon, of the •color of gold, under the door; and the moonlight on the wall is ns white nnd cold as the snow; and the light in John's eyes is blue. Bother John’s eyes! I wish I could go to sleep. How can a body ■leep when there are noises? I don't believe there ever were so many •noises about this house before. Let me couat. There’s the clock makes three kinds; ticking, a wheezy whiz when it’s going to strike and striking. Then there are the crickets. I don’t believe they make that noise with their hind legs, whatever the natural history book may <aay. And that mouse is gnawing away again. Of course, Danny has forgotten to set the trap. To-morrow night, I’ll—>flo, I won't—l’ll he away with John. There It Is! John again. Everything comes 'round to John. Oh, this won't do •t. all. One, two, three, four, five! Good gracious! What a crack that was! I wonder why timber snaps so in cold weather. John said he had got all the dm her out for i new house, and we •would live at hia mother's until it la put

up. I wonder if she will like me. If she doesn ’ t L I shall be awfu Ily lonesome when John is not about. One, two, three, four, five, six ” So she fought the night through until the clock struck four, when she thought she might venture to get up without astonishing the family too profoundly. Her dressing had been carefully planned beforehand. The gown would, of course, have to be the ordinary every-day brown merino. A better one, such as she would have liked to wear when going anywhere with John, would certainly provoke her mother's vigilant suspicions. But the old lady, luckily, would not see with what care she had dressed underneath, to secure comfort on the tong, cold drive before her. Her warmly wadded, fur-trim-med cloak, cherry-tinted knitted hood, white woolen “muffler,” thick mittens and fur-liued overshoes she rolled in a tight bundle and hid in a dark corner of the summer kitchen, ilear the back door. All those preparations had been made before Mrs. Mulveil even noticed that her daughter was moving about the house. Then Hetty busied herself getting breakfast. Soon the tempting odors of hot coffee and frying ham tickled Danny's nose, up in the loft, and for once he came tumbling downstairs in a hurry, without having to lie rolled out of bed or even called—an almost unprecedented thing. And so eager was he to get off with .his gun—“squirrel hunting,” he said, but with a sly wink at Hetty—that he would hardly wait to snatch a hasty breakfast.

The hired man came in. He was going to take a load of grain to the mill that morning and could not get an early breakfast at home, because his wife was sick. Hetty sat him down at the table and began dipping the buckwheat batter from its crock 'to the smoking griddle for cakes. By the time he was through eating, Mary Elder and Mrs. Mulveil were up. The latter felicitated herself upon seeing the hired man before he started. She fancied that she had felt some premonitory twinges of rheumatism and wanted him to be sure to get for her, from the miller, a bottle of black-snake oil. He said he would not forget and went away. Hetty put upon the table a tall pile of goldenbrown buckwheat cakes, and the three women sat down. The meal was little more than half over, when the girl’s sharp ears caught the sound of two gunshots, close together, at a distance, but clear. Neither of the others noticed them. “There!” she exclaimed. “I have forgotten again to set water on for the dishes,” and, rising from the table Which was in the kitchen, took up the kettle to place it upon the stove. It was empty—as she had taken care it should be. She turned to the water pail; it, too, was empty. Taking it up, as if going to the well, she passed out of the back door, which she closed behind her. Her mother and Mary were deep in discussion of the advisability of “turning” a certain blue cashmere that had alreadyseen much service. But, after some minutes, the old woman exclaimed petulantly: “Why don’t that girl come and finish her breakfast? Hetty! Hetty!” There was no response. At that precise moment Hetty was already two hundred yards away from the house, with her bundle in her arms, flying down the lane as if an angry bull had been behind her. After a time, Mrs. Mulveil broke forth again: “Her coffee is getting cold and them buckwheats will be like leather. Hetty! Hetty!” Getting no reply, she arose, went to the back door, looked out and repeated her call, loudly, but in vain. By that time Hetty was in John Cameron's cutter,’ out of sight, beyond the bend in the road, doing the best she could with nervous fingers and her lover’s rather awkward help, to bundle herself up comfortably in the warm wraps she had not dared to wait to put on until now.

“Where are we.going, John?” she asked anxiously. “To the turnpike, first. There our track will be lost. Then, if they chase us, they will not know whether we have struck out for Noblestpwn, Canonsburg or Washington, and, as they will hardly be likely to think we have started off in this way for Pittsburg, we will get an everlasting start on them while they are puzzling.” When Mrs. Mulveil had repeated her call two or three times, she noticed the door of the summer kitchen open, observed the water pail dropped in the snow near by, and suspicion flashed, with the suddenuess of an explosion, into her mind. Without a word she wheeled, and darted into Hetty ! s bedroom. From there, a howl of angry dismay quickly proclaimed that she had made a discovery. Hetty's warm wraps, as well ns the girl herself were missing, and the old woman shrewdly guessed the truth. “Hetty has run away with that John Cameron!” she shrieked, rushing back tc the kitchen. Mary Elder, leisurely enjoying her buckwheat cakes and honey, was almost paralyzed by amazement, and could only weakly gasp: “Oh, no, Mrs. Mulveil! You don’t think so?” “Don’t I? Well, I do! And, wliat’s more, I know she has. I’d lay my life on it!” “Why, she never even hinted to me that she had thought of suqh a thing. I should think she would have told me." “Oh.no! Not she! Of course not! She was smart enough for keeping her mouth to herself, and with him putting her up to it. And to think I didn’t see anything out of the way with her! . I might have known there was some deviltry in her getting up so mortal early this morning. But she needn’t think she is going to get away so mighty easy. Danny! Hi, Danny!” “Danny's gone to shoot squirrels.”

“So he has: and I’d forgot it. This trouble drove it out \>f my head. I’ll have to ride the mare. Consarn the boy! No day would do him to go hunting but this day, of all the days in the year!” “Why, Mrs. Mulveil, Danny goes hunting every day!” ■ / “Yah! So he does. Well, I’ll g<S do sonic hunting myself. I'm ready, now.” Mrs. Mulveil had not wasted a minute in her talking, for she was a woman of action: and while her tongue ran on, she had been busily preparing herself to pursue the lovers. Fully dressed now for the road, it took her but a few minutes to saddle the bay mare and promptly she set out at a gallop for Cousin Simeon's. His kinship and constabulary authority, she seemed to think, would make him her most effective ally in this emergency, but how much stronger her confidence would have been had she known that his energies would be inspired by an infinitely more powerful feeling—that of ferocious jealousy. Simeon and Rufus were both at the sawmill, puttiug in a new log-car, when she reined up at the door, with a loud, impatient—“HiT there!”

In a few vigorous words she told iter startling news; Hetty had run away with John Cameron! Rufus did most of the audible swearing. but Simeon's face was hard set and white with a passion deeper than words could vent. The constable hated his successful rival, as a Cameron; as a man who had defied his authority and whipped him; as his superior in every manly grace and attribute; and finally as the winner of the fair prize upon which he had fixed his heart’s desire. Yes; he was the right man to enlist for the pursuit of the lovers. He still had that warrant in his possession and now it would be worth while taking all probable risks to effect its service. It Was as a fugitive from justice that he would hunt John Cameron down; not as a lover eloping with his sweetheart. Of course, under existing circumstances, the young fellow would be certain to resist arrest. At least, it was to be hoped he would. And if he did? Well, a constable in the discharge of his duty could legally take such extreme measures to enforce his authority and uphold the dignity of the law as would never be sanctioned in an ordinary citizen interfering, however properly, in another's love affair. The idea by Rufus during their ride to church was by no means a bad one. It must not be supposed that Simeon permitted himself to put into audible words anything of these thoughts turbulently rolling through his mind. He was much too cautious for that. “We’ll do all we can for you, to bring Hetty back,” he said to Mrs. Mulveil, and that was all. While Rufus hurriedly hitched a team to the two-horse sleigh, l>ut ifiPEhe robes and secured a bottle of rum for consumption en route, Simeon, in the tool room of the mill, gave his exclusive attention to the careful loading of his revolver, which was one of the old “pepper-box” kind, but a sufficiently deadly weapon at close quarters. Within half an hour, the pursuers started, and when she had seen them off, Mrs. Mill veil jugged away home in a much more contented and hopeful frame of mind. She had sent Murder to hunt down Love.

CHAPTER XV. A light snow had fallen during the night, and on the comparatively littletraveled country road the lovers first took there was no difficulty in following the track of John's cutter. But on the turnpike it was quickly lost among the multiplicity of others. Only from the direction it took in emerging from the road—turning towards the left—it appeared that they had gone to Washington. But, after driving half an hour, the pursuers met a man coming from Washington, who said that he had seen no cutter with a man and a girl in it on the road -that day. They went back to where the trail entered upon the pike, and, by more careful and acute observation than they had employed before, found now that John had cunningly driven a few hundred yards toward Washington, and then retraced his course and gone itt the direction of Canonsburg. He had evidently calculated upon the possibility of what had occurred and his trick had cost his pursuers nearly an hour and a half of valuable time. The consciousness of having been so easily outwitted still further enraged Simeon Mulveil, and he lashed his horses into a gallop. , The fortunate accident of meeting a man who knew Cameron and had recognized him, with a girl, in a cutter, on the road to Pittsburg, saved the constable from a vain chase to Canonsburg, and enabled him, though still far in the rear, to gain ground steadily in the pursuit from that time on.

John Cameron, confident of having baffled his possible pursuers and dreaming naught of the danger now following swiftly, was wildly happy in possession of the greatest joy and triumph of his life. Hetty, nestled close under his artSfi, so bundled up that only her sparkling the blossomy roundness of her cheeks and the tip of her little nose appeared amid her mutilings, in submission to his insistanee uncovered her lips “just for a moment;” nnd the moment was so long that the big black horse felt the neglected reins lying loosqly upon his hack, and intoxicated by exultutgm in his own vigor and the inspiriting freshness of the morning breeze, took the bit between his teeth and galloped madly away with the speed of the wind, his bells sounding a paean of rejoicing. That was on the country turnpike; there was no such good going on the Pittsburg road. It had been badly cut up by heavy teaming during a recent thaw, and the snowfall of the preceding night had only partly concealed nnd not tilled the deep ruts nnd holes in the frozen ground. Added to that, when the sun was Well up, the snow was softened just enough to “ball” constantly under the black horse’s feet and worry him. Consequently, the travel was slower thnn John had anticipated, and it was the middle of the afternoon when he found himself descend* ing the long, steep sidehill above Temperftnceville and saw Pittsburg, across the Monongahela river, before him. But that did not trouble him. Anybody in pursuit would have had the same difficulties to encounter, and he had a good enough start to free him from anxiety about the result of a chase. Besides, his goal was in sight; the victory practically won, '

The little ferryboat—propelled by bbne power—had been laid up for the season, and since then all crossing of the river was upon the ice. So thick and strong was this natural bridge that enormous wagons laden, with coal, and each drawn by four huge horses, had crossed it in almost a continuous procession between the mines bf Coal Hill and the city, day after day for weeks, without causing its glassy floor to even crack; but it was no longer so secure. Successive snowfalls had “made it rotten,” and rivermeu affirmed that the swift current of the stream had “cut it away on the under side,” so that now, though still perfectly safe for pedestrians, only rather venturesome persons drove horses upon it. Those who did drive across followed a curving course almost like a great letter S, that led from the ferry landing on the South Pittsburg side to the citywharf near “the Point,” that way having been carefully picked out by sounding where the ice was yet thickest and strongest. (To be continued.)