The Bedford gazette. [volume] (Bedford, Pa.) 1805-current, 1867-07-26
Che gedfora Gazette,
AT THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICE.
BY Amy Randolph.


Miss Lucy Taylor put one little taper
finger meditatively up to her blue vein
ed temple and affected TO think deeply
on the subject.
Care for you, Carl? N-no, 1 don't
think / do-that is, Uery muchn
Carl Wicklow bit his moustached lip
with unavailing wrath and vexation,
as the arch blue sparkle of the lovely
eyes met his! What bright, coquet-
tish specimen of the female butterfly
she was, that gold-haired blonde, with
her long eyelashes and coral lips and
skin like rose-shadowed wax? Carl
Wicklow could feel the invisible chains
tightening around his heart, even while
the frey impulses of masculine pride
urged him to snap them in sunder, and
assert himself heart-Whole.
'Lucyp
We'll, Mr.. Wicklowp
(The question short, sharp and i'm
perative the answer demure in the
highest degree.)
'WW you listen to me seriously, for
just half-a.minute?'
Presently, Carl. I've forgotten all
about my poor, dear, little Canary
Carl bit his lip again.
'Oh, hang your Canaryn
That's just what Pm going to do
up among the climbing roses in the
porch, where pussy can't by any posi-
bility get at him.
Lucy, l am in no mood to be trified
with
That's almost pity, isn't it, nOw?'
responded Miss Taylor. For, to tell
you the truth, never felt more inclin-
ed to tease and trifie in the whole course
of my life.'
Miss Taylor said Carl, gravely and
sternly. i WW be listened top
And l won't listen so therep
In her pretty, girlish spirit of def
ance, mingled with rising spirit of
anger, Lucy Taylor futtered through
the wide open door, where the ripping
tides of the June sunshine crowned her
with misty gold, as she passed-and
disappeared.
Carl Wicklowstood looking after her,
with brow that had blanched to dull,
deadly whiteness, for single moment.
Then he, too, turned away and walked
silently down the little path among the
velvet-green meadows, where tiny
rivulet ran gurgling all the way by his
side in voiceless refrain, which he,
in the bitterness of his soul, interpreted
into the mocking words of the ballad
"Beware trust her not
She is foong thee!"
Oh, Carl Wicklow! Carl Wicklow
what Ounce you were in the great
mystery of girls heart!
Isn't Mr.. Wicklow to be here to-
night?'
Lucy Taylor asked the question care
lessly, as she stood before the mirror
twisting a spray of spicy honeysuckle
among her bright curls, with half-a-
dozen village girls chattering around
her, as only village girls can'chatter.
Mr.. Wicklow! Why, didn't you
know? Haven't you heard?'
Heard what?
She stopped, with the honeysuckle
trembling strangely in her hand.
He went away yesterday morning.
But he Will be back Surely he will
be back p
Not that l know of. He told DIR
Marcy that he probably never should
return
The color that mOmentarily died a.
way from Lucy's cheek came back in 6
great tide of carnation; she fastened
the honeysuckles in with hand that
never faltered.
Come, girls are you ready" she said
| lightly. 4 have promised myself fol
the two first dances, and hear the mus
icalready.'
And no one saw how tightly sht
pressed her hand over her breast, t.
check the dull, bitter aching of its re
cesses. Poor Lucy! the consciousness
that it was her own fault made it NJ
easier to bear.