From Farm to Fortune, or, Only a Farmer's Daughter — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

8 MY QUEEN. father and mother refuse to protect her it is high time for some one else to interfere. Dollie does not love Silas Johnson and she shall never marry him, for in spite of you both I will find some way to prevent it.” CHAPTER IV. THE ABDUCTION OF DOLLIE, Joshua Marlowe’s tanned and bearded face grew pale at his daughter’s words. They rang in his ears for hours after she uttered them. He was not an altogether bad man at heart, but he was narrow-minded and ignorant. First of all, he loved his farm; wife and children came after. This deal with Silas had been his own se- cret. If the marriage was not consummated it would become public property. But what was a man to do with a daugh- ter like Marion? It was a proposition which would have puzzled a wiser man than Solomon. Martha Marlowe had always been an obe- dient wife. It did not occur to the old far- mer that Marion might have inherited her obstinacy in some degree from her father. The day following the tragic scene in the kitchen Marion spent in close companionship with Dollie, but still the girl’s manner bat- fled and pained her. “Are you sick, Dollie, or worried?” she asked, over and over, but each time there came the same reply. Her sister declared _ that she was perfectly happy. Marion watched her as she went about her daily work. She moved like one in a dream, always smiling, but appealing. “Poor Dollie! whispered, as she tucked her into bed and went out into the air to think a little. It was a clear moonlight night, and Marion walked farther than she thought, finding her- self again on the brow of the hill where she had registered her vow during the glow of sunset. The distant roar of the express came slowly to her ears, gradually erowing, louder and louder until with a piercing shriek it prepared to slow down at the little station. Marion strained her eyes, but not even the Poor little sister!’’ Marion > light was visible. For some reason or other the blast of the whistle had made her shudder. As the train puffed away she felt curiously depressed. The air seemed more sultry; it was almost choking her. After the last rumble of the wheels had died away the silence was more intense than ever. ; The very landscape itself seemed wrapped in slumber, but the view from the hill was growing more attractive to her eyes, for even the Poor Farm’s ugliness was mellowed by the moonlight. Suddenly Marion’s sharp eyes detected a moving form. Some one was coming across the fields from the direction of the Poor Farm, but avoiding the-open spots on the way in a suspicious manner. “One of the boys has run away!” ex- claimed Marion, in dismay. “Poor fellow! He’ll be caught and soundly whipped to- morrow!” | | She watched with eager eyes as the poor boy hurried from lot to lot, keeping as close as possible in the shadow of the trees, but as the moments passed there was no scund from the Poor Farm. ; “Tt’s Bert Jackson!” whispered Marion as the boy came nearer. “Poor Bert! His broken arm is well again, they say! I won- der if he has been flogged that he is run- ning away from his prison!” ) She ran down the hill as swiftly, as sh could. } “Bert! Bert!’ she called softly. “It is only I, Marion! What’s the matter, Bert? Has anything serious happened?” The boy came out of the shadow cautiously and joined her before he answered. “A great deal has happened,” he said, bit- terly; “but I can’t talk about it. boiling with rage! I’m running away, Ma- rion.” . “Of course,” said Marion, simply, “I knew that when I saw you, but where can you go, Bert? ‘Tisn’t safe to risk the station, and besides, there’s no train now ‘til to-morrow morning.” | “T know it,” answered Bert quickly, “I’m going to walk to Haysville. It’s only five miles, and there’s a train from there to New bP I’m just York at four in the MORNE oe enon