The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1865-11-24

that If ] had been that girl, / never,
never
There the folly Of my thoughts
burst upon me; 1 laughed aloud.
Silly, silly girl l cared nothing for
that ds k, sad stranger; and he had
not even looked at me.
Not then; but / could not say tho
same thing afterwards. There came
time when, lift my eyes when |
would, | saw his bent upon me. Not
an impertinent stare: quiet. earnest
look, rs though he was trying to read
me through. He used to listen when
spoke to others, though he very
seldom conversed with me; and once
L fancied, changed my seat under
some pretense to have me where he
could sec me better At last, as |
sat sewing at home one day, near
the window, lifted my eyes, and saw
him coming up the garden path.
We talked that day, Shy people
can only really converse en- tete.a tete.
And when he went away, knew
him and liked him.
The first time l ever say him smile
was when he looked back at the door
to say a last word or two.
1t was a very sweet smile, brimful
of kindness.
L was just eighteen, he nearly thir-
ty. ! fell in love with him the soon.
er for that. Yes, the secret out. A
Few OF those visits, half a dozen of
those long quiet chats, and loved
fondly. | believe he loved me. I
could not help thinking so. Not that
he ever said anything, bat looks and
tones are better signs than words
sometimes. | was young and mex
pericnccd; I trusted to them perhaps
more than | should. never told
any one my secret, but nursed it i'm
Joyful silence. When Thursdays
came, | knew | should sec him, and
the sky seemed brighter than that on
were days of earthly hope and ioy
to me; and whenever at home in the
still evening, and grandpa asleep in
his easy chair, l heard him com.
ing up the garden path with that well
known step with the littlehalt it had
not quite lost yet, my heart began
to beat and my cheek to flush.
Oh, loved him so! Words can
not tell how well / loved him.
So, in those lonely days at home,
when l had little to do but think. /
built castles in the air, womanly cas-
ties, with his face in every scene, and
almost without knowing it / was
waiting for Him to ask me to be his
wife.
was quite my own mistress: old
grandpa would never say to me nav,
and he loved Andrew almost as well
as did, and grandpa always humored
me.
The happiest memories of my life
are of that choir in the dim old
church. Some day / may be old and
blind and deaf TO outward things,
but | shall always be able to see that
organ. The olive face and dusltv
Spanish eyes, bent over the music.
and the golden sunshine falling over
the sweet picture through the narrow
window, over head and furnishing
the glimmeling organ and waves oI
jet black hair. l shall always, until
earthly music is drowned by that OF
Heaven, hear Andrew Hudson play,
ing as he played in those happy
hours.
One Thursday, I went earlier than
usual to find only the clerk in th,
church mailing down new carpets on
the aisles. as | paused to look al
them, he put his hand in lis pocket
"a letter for YOU" he said. ant
stretching coward me a little missiv,
white ana spotlcss, with one drop o
green wax in its midst.
We girls had a sentimental habi
Of writing notes, and this was moth
ing new. | took it carelessly in m,
hand and showed in TO my pocket K
read when 1 got home. / had seer
a form l knew moving among th,
gravestones in the churchyard, an,
could think of nothing else.
just then the clerk, Ginging ava,
q bit Of old carpet, called me.
"See, Miss S0phy what crack
They'll be sorry they don't heed m
about this floor, sometime"
There, just at the foot of the stair
leading to the gallery, where th
singers sat, IVES indeed a crack, wild
: and deep, leaving four inches be
tween the floor and the lower ste
at the corner
"lhe floor is settling Miss" sal
he. "The church is getting old, yo
see; reckon t. will last my tim,
though" and he hammered away Il
/, riously, making such racket ths
l neither of us heard any one ar
preaching until voice cried:
"Ah! new carpets. The churc
will be smart next Sunday"
D 1t was Andrew Hudson. He stoo
looking down upon us with his grei
= eye.
: "Not before we need EN- Sir" sat
u Timothy. "But what's tie use
a carpets with floors like these wearir
c EN- on? beg pardon-want to pa
C sir ?"
Andrew gave me look. It sa
d "Come," ] felt my cheek hushing
o | longed him TO say he loved me, al
J yet the fancy that he may yet be Q
; ing to speak now frightened me.
~ ~ have a note l ought TO read, >
&c said, taking ltfrom my pocket.
u ''No matter, let the note alor
read it at home. Come sit wi
w me in the rallnru until thn u.