The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on December 28, 1898 · Page 3
Get access to this page with a Free Trial

The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, December 28, 1898
Page 3
Start Free Trial

UPPER DES MOINIS! ALGQNi, IOWA WEPN1S8PAY DECEMBER 28, 18B8, Shell CHAPTER II. "Now, Vi," snys Ruby a few evenings later, seeking her cousin's room, and speaking to her In a tone of confldeneej "t want you to do me n favor this even- Ing." "All right, dear," answers Vlole.t, colling up the long plaits of her flaxen hair with artistic precision. "How can 1 oblige you?" "Well, ns you know, the Ch,ampleys ft-T A *«m T\ A "RTTT V " 1 tnother ' s child, and ought not ciutaren UJJ/1OO UAIUY.1J I. to obey their parents; old, wrinkled, i IH' |omance from a New Year's Sermon.) LIVE THOMPSON sat in her low tin- cushioned seat in the little country church, paying strict attention to the New Year's sermon. It was her habit to pay strict attention to the regular Sun day sermon, but this inday being New Year day she was ery devoted in her attention. Her never wandere from the face of ie preacher, the face that had been |r Sunday study for thirty years. She is five years old when she began the The face had never grown any Ider to her. There were the same tle semi-circular wrinkles under the of the ear nearest her, -which she ad always seen, and the devious leases above the eyes continued al- iys of the same elevation, except they had grown inwards, tending the horizonta ripple above the bse, and deepening at that point. iThe sermon, to the mlud of Olive TAKE IT; IT IS GOOD. jmpson, was "more beautiful" on particular day than had ever been pre. Jow we see through a glass dark- It but then face to face," he said, mists of our present condition »d our view; stormy days have sent and sleet against our -windows $1, for the dimness of our glass, leannot see the sky." Jive Thompson's eyes filled with She remembered the "dust and o£ weary years. How the storm ^breathed upon the windows of her turning into frosted tablets what Irwise might have been avenues for ight. fake heart" the preacher went on, |Jng days are coming when the |ows will be open to the sky, and Ihall see face to face what has al- been, but which we could not for looking through a glass durlc- jjifew months later Olive Thompson I waking apple pies in the pan- The pantry window was up and gong of birds came in. Also there In the voice of Joseph, the hired who was coaxing the new calf to |k. "Take it," he was saying to inexperienced animal; "it is good." fjake it; it is good," Olive repeated Brself in the pantry, y'hat is good?" asked the old mother knitting in the warm feeble parents?" In tne morning she took h,er pan of suds and the polishing cloth and stood In a chair to wash the windows. She would begin in the kitchen, she thought, and go clear around to the parlor. She tried to pull out the old fashioned spring of the upper sash, but it would not yield. "Olive," said her mother, "Joseph had hotter help to waah the windows. He can stand on the ladder on the outside." "Joseph," she called at the door, "come in and pull the spring Cor Olive." And, "Joseph, polish the glass on the outside, it is too hard for Olive." Joseph was obedient. He had been "the hired man" for five years. No one would have known he was the hired man except the two women. He might have been the old lady's son and Olive's brother, so kind and true had he always been to these two. Olive stood on a chair on the Inside and Joseph on the ladder outside. The features o£ each were dim through the glass, and the two scrubbed away with soap and polish. What was left of smoke and frost yielded to double persuasion, and Joseph called from the outside: "Is it clear, Olive?" "Olive, scrutinizing closely, called back, pointing to the upper corner. "Just a little more rubbing right there." She did not notice that Joseph was looking into her eyes, and thinking to himself "how clear" they were. He rubbed away at the filmy place, and then called again: "tt isn't quite clear down in that corner." Olive polished away on her side catching Joseph's eye full of a light that shot right through the obscurity and made her remember the text of the New Year sermon—"Now we see through a glass darkly." Around the house went the two, Olive on the inside and Joseph on the outside, and only the last perlor window was left. The morning had sped away like a glint of sunshine from the pan of water in the chair. Olive had watched this broken bit of radiance, as it played on the ceiling above the table with the album and pictorial Bible on it. It was like a halo above the precious spot. She moved her chair up to the window with a little sigh. Joseph moved his ladder up to the same window on the opposite side. "Let it down from the top, Olive," he said. "I can't," Olive called back, "it sticks." Joseph was on her side in a moment. aim their vision, it was all clear. "But now face to face," thought Olive. The old mother passing by tho parlor, smiled, and spoke not u word. From the kitchen she called: "Are the windows all clean, daughter?" "All clean, mother," came the answer, and Olive Thompson recalled the words of the sermon, "Take heart; spring days are coining when the windows will be open to the sky; and we shall see face to face what has always been." In ihe silk she is using, and till she has fully accomplished thnt intricate feat she Ignores tho fact even that she has been spoken to; then, turning upon him with keen eyes, which look almost piercingly dart.-, in the lamp-light, she says (tttletty— "1 beg your pardon." Ted Champley feels taken back; hla remark—which savors In his own mlud slightly of the sentimental, and Indeed «», whitet shell, istmtfci weft the tefif disused content* of the drawer A dreary slng'Sonfc air. mite down at the piano and corrtnlences to" Wede la* borlouaty «na in ft verjr Jneofiaiiloal way thttmgh its twelve variations, it is a piece that requires fcrttttet attd very quick playing to render it even bearable—4s Shell had neter had patience to read it Quite through until this evenlnfc her pertdfraanee i* any* thing bUt a brilliant btte. sen. by, everything, I suppose," Olive Verfld, etlll listening with one ear |b'a,t Joseph was saying. u doesn't seera good now, bossy; lit is good, take it." live," said her mother, "it is time ash the windows. The frost is K and they look dingy." know it," Olive said, "1 will do jnjorrpw." live Thompson obeyed her mother , n lit* !„„„ VnUlt nnrl from 1'6* life-long habit, and from uriaciDle. Wap she not re her "IS IT CLEAR, OLIVE?" His fingers Juet touched hers as they pulled on the spring together, art something which was not^nlike a glint of sunshine passed through the two The spring slipped back and Joseph on the outside again. Joseph low- the window to bring it within easy reach of the woman-on the other aide Strange he hadn't thought of before. Standing straight up When Autumn dies at last upon her throne Amid the ruin of a regal state, Boreas' clarion trumpets sound her fate, And Winter knows the realm thenceforth his own; ailing his minions in the " —**'• /oni And making them through his own greatnese great, He journeys forth to his possession! straight, The winds' wild music aye before hinJ blown. A lock of frost he fastens on the land, And makes the air with keenest cold to sting; The waters lie 'neath fetters from his hand; And while his white snows toss and whirl and fling, Robed royally and crowned for all command He proudly cries, "Behold me: I am King!" —William Francis Barnard. Kre. By Mary N. Prescott. Christmas eve the wide world over, And Christmas chimes are sounding; Christmas trees their buds discover, With Christmas gifts abounding. The moonbeams on the snow-drift! shed Strike out a sudden splendor; And all the heavenly fields are spread With starlight bright, yet tender. The window-panes are white with frost, In tracery of flowers, Bringing again the summers lost To bloom through Christmas hours. O, happy night, whose blessed days Across the ages shine, Lighting the darkness of our days With promises divine! nre coming in this evening for some music, and I want you to prevent Shell from putting herself forward In any way and talking to them. She has h n strange blunt way with stran- ,•8 that I am always afraid of her doing or saying something outrageous." "I'm sure you needn't be," responds Vi. looking rather astonished. "She was well named 'Pearl,' for she hides herself In her shell as persistently as her- namesake. He who finds out her true value will have to be a very persistent man." "Oh, she Is a good deal sharper than you think," says Ruby, with n little sneer; "and at tho same time she Is so extremely odd that I never feel safe as to what she might say! I actually heard her confiding to the rector's wife the other day that our stair-carpet had been turned four limes." "Well, and If she did, llurc was no harm In It." declares Violet, who is far more attached to Shell than to the brilliant Ruby. "Of course you don't care, because It is not your own "home—you are only staying here," retorts Rnby bitterly— "but for my own port I think there is no need that our poverty should bo exposed to strangers. If shp gets Into conversation with either of the Champley's, I shouldn't, in the least wonder at her telling them that our dinner Is always badly cooked because we can't afford a new kitchen range." "I don't think she would," laughed Violet. "She is quite capable of It—she Is so eccentric. What other girl would insist upon being called 'Shell,' when she has such a pretty name? Nothing could be sweeter than Pearl; and yet if one dares to call her by her right name she (lies into one of her tantrums." "She Is of a practical turn ot.mlnd," laughs VI; "she thinks Pearl too fanciful a name for a workaday mortal. I wonder what Induced aunt to name you three girls after precious stones?" "I really can't say," returns Ruby rather coldly; "perhaps the same reason that Induced your mother to name you Violet." "Oh, I was called Violet because my surname is Flower!" explains VI, a shadow stealing over her face as her thoughts fly back to her lost mother. It used to be a joke of papa's that even when I married I should not cease o be a flower." "You are a flower of which I should bo uncommonly afraid if you were not engaged," laughs Ruby. Afraid—why?" asks Violet, opening wide her blue eyes. Because you are so terribly pretty," answers Ruby truthfully. Violet knows full well that sho IB pretty—her mirror tells her so, morn- ng, noon and night—yet sho likes to tear it again, even if only from Ruby. So she waxes amiable, and gives hoi- cousin a faithful promise that any show of forwardness on Shell's part shall be Instantly suppressed. As Violet foresaw, however, there Is little cause to fear any attempt at familiarity on Shell's part. The girl has gleaned from Ruby's constant allusions to the Champleys since their return home tliat her elder sister contemplates with hopeful confidence tho possibility of becoming mistress of Champley House. So disgusted doos Shell feel at her sister's scarcely concealed scheme that she firmly resolves to adopt a line of conduct so totally at variance to that of Ruby that even the most obtuse man on earth must see at least that she has no desire to steal from him his freedom. Eveo when she hears tiiat Ted Champley, the boy with whom sho used to go blackberrylng and nutting, la coming down with Robert, she makes was made In Twelve Huudred Miles of JCorul Reef The great barrier reef which fringaa the coast of Australia north of Brisbane, In the direction of Torres straits, must always rank among the wondera pf the world. For 1,200 miles the coral animalcules have raised a solid protection against the rage of the ocean swell at a distance varying front to 150 miles front the shore, leaving n comparatively safe and calm Innet passage, suitable for navigation by the largest steamers on their voyage north and east. Sundry channels penetrate and whole Meets iu»w «*•»- — - . . Tn<! p n u nn his the reei ai imci-v^ia, aun wuuiu u Olive on her chair an d Joseph ^ on his JJ schooners are regularly ladder, the two looked into Bother 3 9 de asd nothing ^^ l3byi . ilUU iulet a .-Lonuo« Standard. somewhat sentimental tone—cannot be repeat ' hi face of that stolid air of Indifference on Shell's part; so he changes his former conversation for another. "You seem to have become wonderfully Industrious since 1 saw you last," he says, glancing anything but admiringly at the pretty garland of flowers that Is growing under her white lingers. "Yes; I am very fond of work. When you saw mo last 1 was a child; and children nre so stupid—they never think of anything but, play," returns Shell scornfully, pursuing her occupation as though her living depended upon It. "Upon my word," laughs Ted. "It is my belief that a good many children are wiser than their elders—so observant, you know,-and all that, kind of thing. 1 really don't think you would class all children together again as bo- Ing "stupid," If you only knew those little kids of Robert's; they are awful little sharpers." "I suppose their father takes quite an Interest In them?" remarks Shell In. a bored tone. Her companion stares at. her for some moments in amazement, then breaks Into it rather mocking laugh. "Well, yes—-Robert does tnko a decided Interest In Bob and Meg. Seeing thtit they are his own children, perhaps It Is not to bo wondered at." "No, of course—that would account, for It,' responds Shell cuitatly, and ignoring the ring of sarcasm In Ted's voice. "I don't see how any one could help liking them—poor little beggars!" continues the young man bluntly, and in a voice that speaks volumes of wonder at his companion's heartlessness. Shell breaks into rather an affected little laugh. "Dear me, 1 she says womlerlngly— "have I shocked you? If so, you must please forgive me; for I don't like children." Ted makes no remark for a few moments, but sits watching her with keen scrutinizing eyes, expecting' ov-y Instant that some relent! g dimple round her lln« would bello her words; but no—Shell works on In serene unconsciousness, with her well-poised head a little on one side, and all her attention apparently llxed ui>on . her work. "Is there anything under the sun that you do like?" asks Ted at last, in a tone of desperation. "Oh, yes, several things,' answers Shell briskly. "Let mo see"—reflectively-—"I like work, and reading, and I am awfully fond of gooseberry-tart." Ted bursts Into such a hearty peal of .laughter that Ruby—who Is engaged in singing a trio with VI and Robert Champley—give utterance to a falsa note. Shell, after a futile effort to con- trol'her trembling lips, Joins In his merriment. "No; but, seriously," he says, when they have both done laughing, "you must have, I know, a few artistic tastes. I remember you used to play some very Jolly pieces, so you must be fond of music." Shell shakes her head In a despondent manner. "No," she answers carelessly, "[ have. no talent for anything In particular. Of course I ploy u little and I sketch a little; but i do nothing well enough for It to bo pleasing to anybody but myself." "How do you know that If you never give your friends the chance of Judging?" asks Ted, still trying to strike some spark of emotion out of tills Btolld maiden. "Oh, they are quite at liberty to CHAPTKft Itt. Edward Champley, who has taken up hla stand beside tho piano In expectation of a musical treat, does hla best to look chcet-fut. tinder the infito tloii; but his most determined **• «ta at politeness cannot prevent gleam of hope stealing Into h at the end of each variation. m> once he ventures on a rapturous "Thnhks!"—it 1 8 when, to hla horror, ho eeea n, minor key arrangement of the air looming up before him; but Shell only glances up for a momenti and aays quietly— "Oh. I haven't halt finished yet!" Whereupon her victim offers an apology and smiles a sickly untile, as ha vainly tries to count how many more pages there nre to get through. And, whilst Edward Is enduring hla solf-'.ufllcted martyrdom at one end of tho room, bis brother Robert Is being flattered, petted and a llttlo bit lectured at the other end by Ruby. "It was really too bad of you to atop away from Champloy House so long!" sho says reproachfully. Robert Champloy looks at her for a few moments before making any answer. Unfortunately for Ruby's scheme, ho Is a man who generally stops to think before he speaks, evon on trivial subjects. "1 shouldn't have como back now If It hadn't boon for tho children," ho says at length, with a sigh. Ruby catches the echo of that sigh and Is all sympathy. "No one knows better than I how very painful your return homo must have been to you," she remarks, In a low and almost faltering tone, whilst her white eyelids veil her eyes In seemingly siul retrospect. Again ho looks at her; then somewhat coldly gives utterance to the one word, "Thanks!" as If she had made him a speech which, though distasteful, must bo responded to In some way or other. "I hope you found tho dear children all that you pictured them?" pursues Ruby softly. "Yes—oh, yes; they are merry llttlo crickets, and scorn Just about as happy as tho day IR long!" answers Mr. Champley, whilst a softening smllo relaxes his somewhat stern mouth. "It is a terrlblo charge for you," observes Ruby, her tone and looks full ot tho most profound pity. "How so?" asks her companion, In evident surprise. Ruby t'oolH somewhat taken aback. "Oh, it always seems to mo such un impossible thing for a man to know about children's wants or ways!" she replies, with a little head-shake. Robert Champley gives a slight laugh. "1 assure you, both Bob and Meg hnvo neither of thorn any scruples about expressing their wants," ho says gaily; "and, as you know, I am very fortunate lit my old housekeeper, Mrs. Tolley—sho is a perfect mother to the whole lot of us. Tho babies have a treasure of a nurse, too—a sensible middle-aged woman; HO on the whole I dare say we shall rub along very well." "I don't believe in any servants being treasures," remarks Ruby skeptically; "and, besides, your children must be too old now to be loft entirely to the charge of servants." "Do you think HO?" asks Mr. Champley in a pondering tone. "That Is what I have been rather afraid of myself. Bob Is Just seven, and poor llttlo Meg flvo." (To be Continued.) A ,| $? NEVER OIVE8 UP ITS DEAD. up her sensible little mind to be civil to him—nothing more. So, as tho evening wears away, both brothers, after ineffectual attempts to hit on a congenial topic of conversation, come to the conclusion that tiie younger daughter of the house la either somewhat deficient In intellect or has developed such an alarming spirit of contradiction that she is decidedly a young woman to be avoided. Ruby's amiable manner and social sympathy Bland .out in startling contrast to Shell's almost rough brusquo- ness of manner, Violet too does her utmost to render the evening a pleasant one for the brothers, whilst Mrs. WHdeu bacKu them both up, as far as her natural want of energy will uUovv. "Do you remember those Jolly times \ve used to have out bluckberrylng, aad what particularly delicious blackberry- jam your cook used to make?" asks the younger brother, tuklng u seat boulde Shell toward the end of the evening. Edward Champley is a true Englishman, and, although three times already he has abandoned that seat In despair, ho IB still unwilling to acknowledge himself beaten. She does not reply for a moment; she la s* she act «f vl'MiiH out u knot judge for themselves if they like, only nobody wants to hoar mo play twice!" answers Shell, in a tone pf friendly warning. "Will you let mo hear you play once?" asks Ted eagerly. "Oh, certainly, if you wish; only won't it bo rather cruel infliction for everybody else?" says Shell naively. "No, I am sure It won't," answers her companion, In a voice of such utter confidence that puckers of amusement gather around Shell's llpa after the most wicked fashion, Great IB Ruby's consternation and annoyance when she leaves the piano to see Shell down on her HsieeB beside the music-stand, turning over the loose music in the drawer. "Surely you are not going to play?" Bhe exclaims, in a tone of mingled disapproval and annoyance, for Ruby's music IB her one strong point, and she hates to be cast Into the shade by her younger slater. As u rule, Shell Is wont to hide her light under a bushel, and it IB provoking, to any the least, that she should depart front her course on the present occasion, "Oh, yes, I am going to play— I been uuliod!" respond* Shell iuuai ly. With u Hhrug of usual I.ulto Mupurlor Keep* it* Victim* In tlia IJeptlM or II* Wulvra, From the Minneapolis Tribune; Lake Superior never gives up Its dead, Whoever encounters terrible disaster—happily Infrequent In the toiirlBt SOUHOII— and goes down In the angry, beautiful blue wateru, never comeu up again. Front those curliest days when thii daring French voyagers In their trim , birch bark canoes skirted the picturesque shores of this noble but relentless lake down to this present moment, those who have met their deaths In mid-Superior still Ho ut the Htone-paved bottom. U may bo that, HP very; cold la the water, some of their bodies may have been preserved through tha centuries. Sometimea, not far from shore, the bodies of people who have been wrecked from fishing smacks or from pleasure boats overtaken by a cruel squall have been recovered, but only after the most heroic efforts with drag net or by the diver. Once on 'a trip down tho lakea I met a clergyman who, as we paaned a point of land some miles before entering the narrowing of the lake at the Sou, pointed out the place where the Ill-fated Algoma went down on the reef some eight years ago, and as he looked hs aald slowly, "I was at the funeral of one'man who went dowa with her, and the only reason his body la not a* the bottom today with the other 38 that were lost i» because It Vfta caught In the timbers of the vessel aad could not sink."

What members have found on this page

Get access to

  • The largest online newspaper archive
  • 11,200+ newspapers from the 1700s–2000s
  • Millions of additional pages added every month

Try it free