Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1864-06-11

king, her dog and cat were to my gcod aunt.
This how. drawn at a 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 animosity had vanished.
''Won't you sit down an take bit O. din
ner with an old womans" she asked, when
they came back to the kitchen.
Indeed will if you will let me; private
ly, Mrs. Sinclair, and his face assumed
confidential expression,-'1 hoped you'd ask
me, because I've heard everywhere of your
wonderful butter, and want to taste It.
"Oh. bless your soul, my butter amt moth
in, TO brag of When you go home though,
YOU remind me, an I'll send along ball ont
to Miss Jones. Your aunt she's alters talkin'
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 powers.
And so, suppose, she forgot her "warning,"
but not so l. There was not one OF all those
summer afternoons when Philip and l sat
reading together on the porch, not an hour
of all those remembered hours when we went
floating down the river, when L for one mo-
ment forgot Neither did l forget my moth
er's story of her beautiful young sister,
"Lucy, aged eighteen" the headstone SAID,
whose heart a noble lover had held and treas
o.,
from the city and stole the prize, and after
ward trampied upon it. l remembered it all,
and said to myself many times in the day
that it was only for a little while-only for
those summer days, and then Twas 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 wood
bine was crimson, and away down the west
the day 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 moment, LOU"
And turned, startled little at the quick,
peremptory tone.
"Your servant, Sir" and made 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 tomorrow,
Lou ?"
"Back where? 2" Of course l 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 a very pleasant summer"
said, carelessly enough. And then no one
spoke, and it was very still, only l could hear
the rushing of the brook in the glen.
"Is that all you have to say to me before |
90, Lou ?" he asked.
81 never bid my friends good-by. 1t isn't
pleasant. OF course l wish you delightful
Journey" replied, coolly. al don't recol-
lect that I've anything more to say"
III Il 90 ~ nd
he pulled handful of crimson leaves, and
flung them, a shower of flame, upon my
black habit. 'Lou you must know it
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.
iLou, how provoking you are But why
don't you go On?
"sBut love has never known a law
Beyond his own sweet will
Because mine is eOmmon-sense, and yours
is poetry. The latter in wretchedly out of
place in this everyday life of ours, but COM
mon sense, fortunately, is coin current the
world over"
"And do common sense and poetry never
90 together, | wonder? But seriously, Lou,
you must listen to me-"
"And seriously, Philip, this is folly. You
will blush for it tomorrow. Besides, beg
ging your pardon, the old play of the city
lover and rustic lassie is becoming stale. If
you please we will not have it acted over
again at my expense"
"Stop, Lou" and he spoke sternly this
time, "this is too much for man to bear
Can't you be in earnest?"
" am in earnest"
"Tell me, them" and he took step near
err me, speaking fercely. His black figure
shut out all the glowing sky "Tell me child,
do you love meg"
"No."
He stood still an instant, then his hand
touched mine, and then l was straining my
eyes through the darkness where he was dis
appearing through the trees. | went in and
closed the door behind me. had done my
duty, thought.
And next morning, of all that bright hap
py summer there remained only handful of
red leaves, broken off, and drying upon the
floor of the porch.
AndI? OF course l was very miserable.
l never stopped to think; only sometimes in
the night, up in my little room, with the stars
looking at me through the dormer window
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 i
thought, He has gone, and he was more to
me than all the world" / said "Isn't il
nearly time to begin housekeeping mother ?"
81 was thinking of that last night "It's
past the middle of the month";" and mother
threw searching glance across to my face.
"Saul among the prophets" her countenance
said. l have never been notable-the con.
trary rather. / cared more for my books.
Then why not begin to-day ?" asked, ad-
ding enthusiastically, 81 like house-clean-
ingp
Mother looked incredulous, and more than
incredulous looked Amt Hepzie when she
came in, two hours afterward, and found the
parlor carpet up, the books down, and half
the chairs inverted, their sword-like legs
bristling at each other in the most belligerent
manner.
"Mercy to me, Loizy, eff you amt a clean
in house " and aunty raised both hands in
CONSERVATION.
Certainly; and why not, aunty ?"
"Why not, indeed Pretty time for you to
be askin' that question; but better late'n no
time"
My want of domesticity had been great
trial to nay affectionate kin, and to none
greater than to Aunt Hepzie.
"'Spose you knew't Philip Farley had gone
off this morning" and aunty excavated
seat for herself among the books in the great
chair.
Il knew he was intending to go soon,"
replied, unconcernedly, as l mounted table
and began taking down curtains