THE POSTMISTRESS'S ROMANCE.

Bruce Herald, Volume XXX, Issue 3098, 12 September 1899, Page 6

THE POSTMISTRESS'S ROMANCE.

The blistering July day wa* drawing to fc close. It seemed to Lydia Spencer as if Canaan Corner* had never been so hot or so dreary before. She was postmistress and store >_ clerk at the Corners. Day after day for years she had sorted over the stage mails, tbe county papers and the letters. The day had bean a busy one in the store, aud to add to the confusion Lydia had recently bought a new set of boxes to take the place of tho dingy little port* holes wbich fer 25 years had done continuous service under differont postmasters A carpenter had worked that afternoon tearing away tbe old case and generally overhauling the pest office end of the store. Lydia was between 4-0 and 50. *' Nigh oa to 45. beeu two year older'n cay boy Jerry," old Mrs. Davidge said to her friend wheu Lydia's age was discussed. " But, law, sbe don't lock it, an' she don't act it. Them tow-headed girls never look ez old ez tbey really be." Tbe carpenter stopped hammering aod came* te where Ihe postmistress was fanning herself. He was sLuflbng awkwardly half a dozeu letters, yellow with age, and samewbat rat-eaten. " Si-e here, Lyddy, are the»e any geod ?" asked he, holding out the letters. " I found 'em behind the waiuscoting. 1 s'pose they're just trash what got brushed aside, an' no account whatever." The postmistress of Canaan Corners took the letters with but little shew of iaterest. People were always luuuiog to her with trifles, and asking bar unnecessary questJODS. Her mind was far away. farmer Hatch Be tliat day, as he mopped the sweat from hia furrowed face in tbe post-office said to her : ' Some folks don't know wViat bard work is Now.l'va bi-en workin'. Been pio nin' thai six-acre patch back o' my grainary, Lyddy, where you au my sister Ann usnd to play.. "Taint been piowed afore in 25 years." Tbe six-acre patch, Lydia Spencer had beea tninking tbat moruing,was much like her heart, m wbich the love aod bad been unfurrowed for 25 years. Twsuty-five years ! Yes. it had been just that long since she had seen John Rutterworth — since be gave her a lover's l«ek and then, cheerily assuring her that they would soon meet again, had gone to N»w York Their letters had been ear-west and full of feeling, anfi finally be wrote asking her if ahe would marry him, telling her tbat he h»d net been sue.cesa--1 ful in business as yet, bat that if she said " Yes" he would come back to Canaan Corners aud Ihey would go te Chicago. Bravely had she penned a favourable answer, and then she waited. Ah, the dying of a great hepe ! How tenaciously it clings to life ! How anxiously she awaited tidings from John Butter worth ! But none came. The summers came and weut. Twenty-five years ago. and sbe had b*en thinking of John Butterworth tbat dsy. "Looks ezif r&ts had chawed "• in sora», dent it ?" asked the Carpenter as Lydia stepped closer to tbe window to inspect tbe musty letters. Tbe very first one of the Int gave her senses a shock, " John Butterworth, Bull's H-rad Hotel, Bowery, N. V City." The red sun turned black. The Canaan Corneis po»t-->ffice began spinning around nnd bnbbieg up and down. A hurricane seemed lo catch ier snd dash her head against a distant cliff. " There, there, Miss Lyddy." said the big carpenter, fanning her with his straw hat*. " The heat's been too much for you, I guess." Trembling like n child, sbe once more lo*ked at the letter— her own letter of acceptance — plighting her troth for better or for norse, through evil and good report. It seemed te her as if her heart would burst in agony. She kuew now why John Butterwerth had neve? come back. She had appeared to him as unwilliug to share his fortunes. Lydia Spencer was a firm woman. In justice to herself she determined to make a a effort to reach John Butterworth with tbe belated letter. It had no postmark. Taking tha marker, she removed the figures " 94 " and substituted " 69 " ' Then, writing a note to the proprietor of the Bull's Hod Hotel. New York City, she told bim lo iorward the letter to Chicago. Nervvusly she let it fall into the gaping mouth ot the mailbag. The stage took it en its way that night. „ Two weeks later a grey haired mso — ose of Chicago's leading capitalists — waa oae morning opening his mail. He came to a yellowed envelope which bad been forwarded from New York. It bore several rubber stamp marks, and a Chicago post-office clerk had written nn it : '• Try 361. Dearborn-street." • '• Send Jack in," said John Butterworth to . li is head clerk " Jack, my boy," said the father in m low voice and nervously, "read this old letter, which ' has beeo twenty-five sears in reaching roc" I "Jack," continued the eldir after hie re* j ouest had been complied with. *•' you will have ' to postpone your vacation. I'm going to take cno at Canaan Corners, N Y. I never eapeefced ! to m»rry again after your dear mothers' death,) I my boy, but if the writer of that, letter is aliyel ' and willing you'll have a new mother inside of] i two weeks. 1 The Canaan Corners stage one evening a faw> days later carried a grey-haired stranger. " You'll find Lyddy at the post office," said tie driver. " She's pos tinis troes, and everyone knows Lyddy." Had she seen Dim coming ? Everything was still in the post office when John Butterworth entered. Looking through the glass case, hei saw a gelden-hairnd woman, ber f ice to the. table top. She *as resting her averted face 1 un her forearm and sobbing like a child. ( • 4 Lydia," said John Butterworth as he took her in his arms and raised her. "Lydia, ■- swtetheart, I didn't get the letter till thrc« days ago in Chicago. I'm so old and grey now I suppose you're serry I got it at all, eh ?" She looked ap quickly, smiling through he* tears. Hex blushing, radiant fnee didn't look aa tf abe waa mm.