From Farm to Fortune, or, Only a Farmer's Daughter — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

2 MY QUEEN. until they were almost black, and the un- gainly sunbonnet could not begin to cover her hair, which was long and silky and a rich, ripe chestnut. ate Turning her back upon the Poor Farm, which always offended her, Marion sud- denly gave vent to her-mood in a most ex- traordinary manner. Posing on the very crest of the hill with her shoulders thrown back haughtily, she be- gan singing a quaint air which was full of solemn melody, and as she sang her eyes glistened and her cheeks grew even redder, for Marion loved the sound of her beauti- ful voice—she knew well that she was a magnificent singer, and might readily be for- given for glorying in her superb natural en- aowments. “And to think it should all "s wasted here!” she muttered as she finished. There was a scornful wave of her hand as she indicated the inoffensive country. She pulled on her sunbonnet with a sud- den jerk. “What could she do?” She asked the question hopelessly, and the very trees ‘seemed to mock her with their rustling whis- pers. | She cota do Pm: She was only a farmer’s daughter! She must bake, roast and boil, weed the garden, tend the chickens, and last but not least, she must marry some stupid farmer and live exactly the life that her mother had lived before her. ““T won’t do it!” she cried, angrily, when she had reached this point in her thoughts. “T’ll never submit to it! Never! Never! I will make a name somehow, somewhere, some time! Do you hear me, you glorious old sun?. I will do it! . I swear it!” With a sudden impulse she lifted her hand above her head. The setting sun threw a shaft of light directly across her path which clothed her in a shining radiance as her vow was registered. The sky was darkening when Marion drew her sunbonnet on again and started slowly down the hill toward her father’s pas- ture. She let down the bars at the entrance to the pasture lot easily with her strong, white Lands. There were five of the patient crea- the matter with ye, anyway?” ‘ture lot as Marion hurried to the bars driv- of boys came abreast of her, and one—a fine, | ~almost stopping short as he did’ so. tures awaiting her coming. The sixth had | strayed a little, so she strolled about, call- ing to it, through the straggling brush ang birches. Suddenly there came the nnmistaleabiale patter of bare feet along the road; Marion | listened a moment and then went on ve her search. 4 “Move faster, there, Bert Jackson! What’s | The words were shouted in a brutal voice 1 which Marion knew only too well to belong | to Matt Jenkins, the keeper of the Poor | Farm, ; | “T am moving as fast as I can,” answered a boyish voice, “but my arm aches so badly — that I can hardly walk, Mr. Jenkins.” | “As if an ache in your armi hindered you © from walkin’ fast!’ roared Matt Jenkins © again. “Faster, I say, or I'll put the whip on ye!” | There was no reply, only the hurried | tramp of bare feet in the road, but there. was a light crackle in the bushes of the pas- ing the truant cow before her. A group of nearly a dozen lads from the Poor Farm were shuffling down the road. They had been working about on various farms through the day, and now were — “rounded up” like so many cattle by Matt Jenkins, their keeper, and were being hurried home under the constant goad of voice anc lash, the latter a cart whip of ugly dimen | sions. : Just as Marion reached the bars the squad d manly looking chap of seventeen OF eighteen—glanced quickly in her direction, “Hi, there! Laggin’ ag’in, air ye, Bert Jackson!” roared the keeper again. “There Take that fer yer stubbornness in not doin BS. Ltell per Vee - The long lash circled through the air and came down with a hiss that made Marion’s blood run cold—-but only for a minute. — The next instant she had darted straight out into the road, and as the vicious whip was raised for a sccond cut at the poor youth she sprang at Matt Jenkins with the fury 0 a panther—snatching the whip from I hi Eomicbooks.corr