Weekly Calaveras chronicle., 1866-08-18
RECOMPENSE.
"Is that Oldtown church yonder, if

''Is that Oldtown church yonder, if
you please, Sir?"
A girl spoke to me. [ turned and
looked at her. There are women of six
teed and children of sixteen. This one
was child. She wore the scantiest of
cotton dresses, belted at the waist, a
pair of leather boots and white apron.
In her hand she carried sun-bonnet,
and her hair, cropped close like boy S
curled in black rings about her head.
The face was babys face in sweetness
and in innocence, the little brown hands
the hands of toll No young lady this,
yet there was nothing coarse and vul gar
about her unless it were those hands.
That is Oldtown church, my DEAR I
said. Are you going there p
Yes, Sir, to see the wedding. Are
you?'
l was, more fool I, though I did not
say so to this child. The bride for whom
the bells we're ringing was to be mine
once, would have been but for the acct
dent which had crippled me and chang
ed her heart. She had done nothing
openly treacherous, but [ saw the truth
and set her free She took her freedom
gladly, and we were two. She had quite
forgotten me, no doubt. | believed then
[ never could forget her.
| knew exactly how she would look
in snowy silk and lace and coronet OF
pearls | had dreamed of her in bridal
robes so often.
| nodded to the little thing beside me
trudging over the meadow path with
the tall grass almost to her waist, and
looking at me wistfully.
4 never saw wedding she said
Mop ~
NO, Sir Grandfather said I might
come. He didn't care himself. It's a
long walk too from the tavern, and he's
very old .... ..
Does your grandfather keep the tav-
ern p | asked.
mo, Sir-I wish he did = said the
child He has only his fiddle, and
people half the time don't care for tunes.
What else can he do thong Tonight
there's a dance, and he's to play for
them. That's why we stopped
A poor fiddler's untaught grandchild
as poor as decent poverty could be
yet her presence somehow cheered me.
Half child, half woman, and all child at
heart Innocent, and beautiful, and
kindly. I encouraged her to linger by
my side | said to her:
4 will show you place where you
can see the bride we'll 1t is in the
gallery. Will you like that 2
Il don't know she said. Il haven't
often been to church. We pray togeth-
err in lonely places, grandfather and I.
Will you be there, Sir?'
Yes
4 know | should like it,
Come with me then,' | said, and she
followed me.
l had meant to hide myself in the
gallery, and see my lost love quite I'M
seen. This companionship had not
been in my role at all But I liked it,
No friend, no relation, not my own
sister would I have beside me; but this
elfsh thing was too innocent to fear.
led the way up the dark old stairs, and
toward spot quite sheltered from gen.
eral view. Then I sat down and she
stood leaning over the balustrade
The church was full Of bonnets. Here
and there only a masculine head. The
minister was in his seat reading, in a
position taken for effect. He was a
handsome man. and knew it perfectly
well.
Girls whispered and giggled, matrons
famed themselves, and men yawned.-
Soon the soft roll of carriages on the
gravel. path was heard, and the bridal
party entered. saw her at last. Aletta.
is that the bride p half sobbed the
girls voice at my side. is it real la
dy? She looks like wax. Oh, how pref
ty, how beautiful Look look!
She touched me with her little brown
hand, and looked at ME, her eyes spark
ling:
"Did you ever see her before p she
asked. is she like that in everyday
clothes? Oh, how pretty! how pretty 7
Men have no right to weep. I put
my head down upon the cushion of the
pew and hid my eyes. l felt the child
-.o.r oloce heSide me