The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1864-07-21

ulore concise IMAM SuaVe.' WI nat ulu lie
want to come to the back door for?" she
thou ght. ... .....-
'And mine is Farley. said the young
man; 81 think you used to know my mother,
Mrs Sinclair; and hope you'll let me come
and see you sometimes for old acquaintance
sake" --.-.
'I'd be very glad to see you, I'm sure, :"
said aunty little less stiffly-the chivaIr0us
bearing of the visitor was not lost upon the
hostess.
my aunt sent over this basket of roots
from her garden. Perhaps you will allow me
to set them for you in your border" he said
'Oh I'm much obleeged Won't you just
come in and sit down minute? ?"
And the young man crossed the kitchen,
finging his broad-brimmed straw hat upon
the white table, tossing back his curls, and
then Selling upon the doing cat:
Wake up here, puss, and see your
friends" be said, holding the astonished
quadruped at arms-length by the nape Of the
neck and, by-the-by Mrs. Sinclair, how is
your dog Beppo? heard that some young
rapscullon had broken the old fellows leg
for him.
EYES, indeed said Aunt Hepzie, and
she went on to detail the abuses of her IA
yorite
What the heel was to Achilles, what tn
joint of the harness was to the Israelits
king, her dog and cat were to my goo
aunt. This bow, drawn at d venture, had
sent his shaft to the vulnerable point; and
by the time Beppo'S leg had been bandaged
by the visitor, Aunt Hepzie's luminosity had
vanished
'Won't you sit down an take bit O. din
ner with an old woman ?" she asked, when
they came back to the kitchen.
''Indeed l will if you let me; privately,
Mrs. Sinclair, and his face assumed a
confidential expression, Ill hoped you'd ask
me, because I've heard everywhere OF your
wonderful butter, and want to taste it,
ooh, bless your soul, my butter amt moth
ing to brag of! When you go home though
you remind me, an I'll send along a ball
ont to Miss Jones. Your aunt she's alters
talking about my butter"
AND so Aunt Hepzie, fairly conquered by
good nature, laid down her arms, and was
no more to be ranked among belligerent
i powers. And SO, | suppose, she forgot her
warning" but not so l. There was not one
of all those summer afternoons when Phillip
and sat reading together on the porch, not
ali hour or all those remember ed hours when
we went floating down the river, when | for
one moment forgot. Neither did forget my
mothers story of her beautiful young sister /:
Lucy, aged eighteen" the headstone said
whose heart noble lover had held and treas
ured until, one day, there came a gay sutton
from the city and stole the prize, and after
wards trampled upon it. Remembered 1t all.
said to myself many times in the day that
it was only for little while-only for those
summer days, and then l was sure things
could easily be made to fall back into the
old line again.
1t was May when Aunt Hepzie came to
tea. 1t was September when Philip and |
stood, one evening upon the porch The
woodbine was crimson, and away down the
west the Cay was burning itself out behind
golden bars. We had been riding up on the
hills to see the sun set.
Goodnight" said, my hand upon the
latch Of the door.
''Stop a moment, Lou"
And i turned, startled little at the quick
peremptory tone.
''Your servant, Sir" and l made a mock
obeisance.
), Philip stood pulling the leaves from the
vine, and his face was very white. think
mine was white too, when he said
do you know I'm going back to NOR
row, Lou
Back where?" OF course knew, but
had lies plenty in my right hand that night.
''Home. Back to New York, and God
knows where then--into the army perhaps, "
speaking quickly.
''Well it has been very pleasant sum
mer," | said carelessly enough. And then
no one spoke and it was very still, only |
heard the rushing of the brook in the glen.
: / lis that all you have to say to me before
[ go, Lou ?" he asked.
Il never bid my friends good-by. 1t isn't
pleasant. OF course wish you delightful
Journey" l replied, coolly. 81 don't recol-
lect that Eve anything more to say"
} ''Well, | have then, to say to you" And
f he pulled handful Of crimson leaves, and
flung them, sho ser of flame, upon my
black habit. Lou =? you must know it
t will not bid you good-by for long. You
must tell me when | am to come back and
claim my wife"
'''And rich and poor mate ill., "
| hummed from ballad we had read that
very day.
Lou, how provoking you are But why
don't you go on?
4 But love has never known "a law,
Beyond his own sweet will
a Because mine is common-sense, and
ours is poetry. The latter is wretchedly
: out of place in this everyday life Of ours,
but common sense fortunately, is coin cur
rent the world over
''And do common sense and poetry never
t go together, wonder? But seriously, Lou,
you must listen to me-"
"And seriously, Phillip, this is folly. You
| will blush for it tomorrow. Besides, beg
inc your paldou, the old play Of the city
lover and rustic lasse is becoming stale. II
you please we will not have 1t acted over
again at my expense"
s.Stop Lou" and he spoke sternly this
time, '.this is too much for a man to bear
, Can't you be in earnest?
81 am in earnest"
"Tell me, then, and he took step nearer
me, speaking fercely. Ills black figure shut
out all the glowing sky. Tell me child do
you love me?"
ssNo"
i He stood still an instant, then his hand
touched mine and then was straining my
ewes through the darkness where he wa s
disappearing through the trees. | went IN
and closed the door behind me. ] had done
my duty, 1 thought
i And next morning, of all that bright hap
py summere, there remained only handful
Of red leaves, broken off, and drying upon
the floor of the porch.
AndI? Of course l was very miserable
| never.stopped to think ;only sometimes in
the night, up in my little room, with the
stars looking at me through the dormer win
dow-daytimes there were things enough
to keep off thought.
The morning Philip went away we sat at
breakfast and heard the whistle Of the train.
Something hard came into my throat. /
thought, ''He has gone, and he was more
to me than all the world" l said Isn't it