Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1867-02-08

and strained to me, and then | say
what | had done when [ answered
"sllence gives consent" for he kisset
| me.
But | kept back the bitter thoughts
and only thought "it is better SO"
Then Robert asked father and moth
er If he might be a son to them; ant
he pleased their eyes and they blessed
US both, and fathers voice shook Us
when he said:
"Mat, [ guess mother and [ shall
miss you, but we must not keep you
here always when you can get finer
quarters"
And | sat and prayed God to lei
me die and end it all-since it had all
gone wrong. The city folks went
back to their homes, and Gilbert
went back with them. | met him halt
way coming to say good bye, and he
sad, Robert has told me, Mat; he
will be a true honest husband"
And | said, "Yes-thank you" and
we both forgot to say good bye.
Robert was to come with the New
\ ear, and we were to be married.
His letters came often, and he some
times spoke of Gilbert, and then it
was so hard to answer them, so that
the wickednesS in my heart should
never be known. One day the Will
lard carriage went by, and the neigh
bors said it was going to Gilbert's
wedding in the city. That night how
| Uried to turn him out of my heart
and forget the past! All night my
eyes never closed, and in the morning
my face was white and haggard but
mother never knew-she thought me
ailing and she told me | must get
back my roses before Robert should
come When the New Year came,
Robert and stood up, and my lying
lips said over the holy words, and
there was nothing left but to make the
best Of my bargain.
We went away to the city, and faith
er and mother threw an old shoe after
us, "fOr luck, they said, and at that
we tried to laugh, but it choked us.
| never loved my country home as |
did when took my good bye look at
/ it, with father and mother standing in
the door looking after US, shading their
eyes with their hands.
In my new home [ sometimes met
Gilbert and Mary; and she seemed
so light hearted and merry, but |
fancied Gilbert seemed growing old
fast, and his eyes had lost some of
their golden sparkle.
/ Ten years went by, and Robert was
kind, and | loved him as much as |
might have loved an elder brother :;
but had not forgotten Gilbert nor
the old times. Sometimes | found
him Watching me with something in
his face could not understand, only
it was look of loss; and | would be
kinder to him, so he should never miss
the whole love | could not give him.
And then Robert was sick. and
grew weaker and weaker, and the
doctor said he must leave the CITY
and 90 where he could get a breath
of freSher air and a bit Of warmer
sunshine.
We went to FIorida-to St. Au-
gustine.
How soft and warm the air was
| but it seemed to stifle him. We would
stay all day in the house with the cur
tains drawn close to keep out the
scorching air, and only after the sun
had dipped down into the sea would
we leave our rooms and go out into
the sweet scented air. There was a
stone wall, shaped like half moon
and on it we took our walk, and a
gay crowd passed up and down, while
the band played until midnight. The
stones of the wall were worn smooth
with the daShing Of the waves against
them for more than three hundred
: years.
| don't know which was the gayest
/; the bright feathered birds, or the
bowers they swung in. Robert lovet
the great magnolia blossoms, and
would put one i'll dish, and the room
would be so sweet with only one.
But the air seemed to shorten hi
: breath and clog up his life, and ont
day he called me and said:
l "Matty, you will be lonesome whel
| go"
And never loved him as | did whel
l he lay there so wasted, and | though
l of the great wrong [ had done him
l and got down on my knees and crie'
: out,
"Oh Robert don't say that-didn
we come here so you could live? Go,
u won't leave me alone" And a grea
: light came into his face, and he put hi
> weak hand on my head and said
= "Matty, | didn't know had though
sometimes that you didn't care for m
{ as | did for you"
u This hurt me and [ said, "Rober
the world will be so dark if you al
q gone"
He shut his eyes so YEARLY, an
=; just whispered, "God will light it u
g Natty," and these were the last WORD
J. he ever spoke.
is He died that night, and his eye
n followed me eagerly and lovingly, bl
II he could not speak. And in tt
morning they told me | must bun
u him before the sun went down.
How | hated them for this way c
hurrying people into their graves
N So he sleeps in the old buryiI
q; ground where the moss has crept ov'
lie the graves covered with quaint Spa