CHAPTER III.

A POOR WIFE’S DETERMINATION.

It was almost train time when Marion left her father and mother, now radiantly happy in the little farmhouse kitchen. As she walked briskly along the rough, frozen road to the station the young girl’s face was fairly glowing with pleasure. She had saved her sister Dollie, and now she had saved the old home. She could hardly believe it seemed possible that she was still Marion Marlowe.

“Just a simple little country girl,” she whispered to herself. “Why, only a few months ago I was driving the cows down this very road and wearing a calico dress and a gingham sunbonnet.” She looked down at her neat cloth dress and her soft fur collar and muff, and a smile of content crossed her beautiful features.

“It has been a hard struggle, but I am sure it is nearly over now!” she sighed. “Oh, I shall win fame and fortune yet, I feel sure that I shall! All it needs is the three Ps—‘patience, pluck and perseverance.’”

She was just passing the gate of an old red farmhouse now, and her eyes wandered a little curiously over the familiar premises.

“Silas Johnson’s farm,” she said, aloud. “Oh, I wonder if he is kind to the poor, unfortunate girl that he married!”

Almost as if in answer, a young girl came running down the path. Marion recognized her at once. It was Sallie Green, her old playmate.

“Oh, Marion! Marion! How do you do!” cried Sallie. “I knew you in a minute in spite of your lookin’ so stylish!”

Marion put her arms around the girl and kissed her tenderly.

Sallie was pale and thin, and even homelier than ever.

“Oh, Marion! This life is awful!” she said, as soon as she could speak. “It is killing me to live with Sile! You have no idea how cross he is, now that he’s got me where he can boss me!”

“But don’t let him ‘boss’ you!” said the young girl, quickly. “Have some will of your own, Sallie, and make him respect it!”

“Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” sobbed Sallie, dolefully. “He’d kill me, I believe, he’s so almighty spiteful! He wasn’t so bad at first, but it’s awful now. Why, sometimes, Marion, I believe he just hates me!”

“It’s dreadful!” said Marion; “but I don’t see how you can help it. You were weak and foolish enough to marry him, and now you’ll have to suffer forever unless you can summon up the courage to rise above it.”

“I’ll run away, that’s what I’ll do,” said Sallie, sullenly. “I’ll run away like Dollie did and go to the city.”

“Hush!” said Marion, sharply. “You must not say that, Sallie! Dollie did not run away of her own free will. She was hypnotized and abducted by the fellow Lawson! Oh, you have no idea what a terrible experience she had; but I rescued her, and now she has a position. She is to be typewriter in a lawyer’s office.”

Poor Sallie Johnson looked at her in perfect bewilderment.

“Couldn’t I do that?” she asked, rather stupidly.

“It requires a great deal of practice,” said Marion, kindly. “I am afraid you would not have time to learn, even if you had a machine; but I must hurry, Sallie, it is time I was at the station.”

Sallie’s eyes were full of tears as Marion kissed her.

“I’ll run away some day, you can be sure of it, Marion,” she repeated. “I jest hate Silas Johnson, and I won’t stand him much longer! I’ll either kill myself or run away to the city.”

“Don’t! Don’t!” was all that Marion had time to say. “Try to bear it, Sallie. Perhaps things will get better.”

There was a distant shriek of an engine whistle, and Marion fled down the street. It was the last train to the city, and she had to catch it or remain in Hickorytown until another day.

Just as she reached the little station a burly form confronted her, and the coarse voice of Matt Jenkins, the keeper of the Hickorytown Poor Farm, growled a word of greeting.

“Been up to visit the old folks, I s’pose,” he said, sneeringly. “Waal, it’s well you came now, fer they won’t be long at the homestead. They’ll be a boardin’ with me at the Poor Farm in a week or so.”

“Are you sure?” asked Marion, coldly, as she turned away from him.

“Waal, five hundred-dollar bills don’t grow on bushes,” he said, sneeringly, “an’ if Sile Johnson don’t get his money, he’ll turn ’em out the first day of Janooary.”

“Silas Johnson is a brute!” said Marion, sharply.

“’Tain’t sweetened his nature any tew marry Sal,” said Matt Jenkins, coarsely, “fer, with all her shortcomin’s, he’d ruther hev married Dollie.”

Marion turned her back on him without a word. The train was approaching, she could see the headlight in the distance.

“Bert Jackson got killed—s’pose yew heerd of it,” said Jenkins, in her ear. “I reckin he got tew smart with them cable cars—thet’s usually the end of country boys and gals thet think they’re smart enough tew git on in the city.”

“Bert was the smartest boy that the Poor Farm ever held,” said Marion, suddenly, turning square around. “I helped him to run away from the Poor Farm that night, and I only wish that I could help them all to get away from your cruel treatment, Matt Jenkins.”

“Bert wouldn’t hev been killed if he’d stayed at the farm,” was the answer; “fer I ain’t so good ter my boys—I only half kill ’em.”

Marion sprang aboard of the train almost before it stopped, and as she took her seat she was shaking with laughter.

“Wouldn’t he be mad if he knew the truth,” she was thinking. “Why, if Matt Jenkins knew that Bert was alive and in a good position, I believe he’d be so mad that he would chew nails for a fortnight.”

A ripple of laughter flowed from Marion’s lips. She was so amused at her thoughts that she entirely forgot her surroundings.

“By Jove! But that’s a pretty girl!” said a low voice just behind her. Marion sobered instantly, but did not turn around. She knew that the gentleman who had spoken did not intend that she should hear him.