The Wyandot pioneer. (Upper Sandusky, Ohio) 1853-1868, 1868-04-16
}, THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL Is, 1868.

when the great lakes were near at
hand, and to spend the summers
heated months upon them.
The train sped on. The night
was dark, the breeze blew the long
trains of sparks back upon the path
Of the flying engine, as though the
stars had fallen earthward. It was
q delicious rest to watch them, ly
ing back upon the cushioned seat,
with more Of a child's contert than
l had known for years.
At midnight, for had just look
ed at my watch, while the passen-
gers were as general thing asleep
while no one more than /, I YER
lily believe, had any dread ofsuch a
calamity-while the cars were whirl-
ing faster than before over the iron
track-while the sparks were blown
in longer train of gold, while be-
tween them peeped the silver stars
from the moonless sky-came a
crash, horrible shiver of the train,
as though wood and iron were
breathing, sensate things, and had
been stricken with mortal blow.
Then knew nothing beyond start
ing to nay feet, until found myself
amidst shreds of wood and splinters
OF iron, with one poor wounded
wretch beneath me and another ly
ing on my breast.
I was not injured, strangely too,
but others were, to death. When l
regained my scattered senses 1 en-
deavored to help these sufferers
as best I might. We who were un-
hurt toiled together for hours, and
at last all was done that could be.
Then, for the place had been grow
ing strangely familiar to me, I turn
ed to one near me.
"What place is this p I asked.
| He answered-"I is called Hop
burn, I Think
I knew it before he spoke.
My old, old home. ] had never
intended to return to it, but was
here, despite Of myself. Yonder
those dark shadows told me of Elm
Grove; beyond them lay the low
roof of the dwelling of the old car
yer; beyond, Miss Mobiles brick
house, esteemed so splendid by the
envious dwellers of the frame cot
tages of the place. Ten years had
passed since turned my back upon
them. Were any I knew living and
still there? Was she-Olive-un-
der that star which hung in the dark
night sky, as it seemed, just over
her old dwelling?
Nay, she was the light of some
happy home-she who had wrong
ed me so-had cast me off for some
fancied fault without a word of ex-
PLANTATION. Yet I loved her. I
knew now that 1 loved her still.
"Is there any way of leaving this
place at once p I asked the man
who had answered my former ques
ton, an employee of the company.
"Guess you're in hurry, sir p
he asked, Yankee fashion.
II am.''
"Well now, there can't be another
train till morning; but there's a
good tavern yonder. That was the
landlord who offered to take in some
of the wounded. You might stop
there. If it's friends you're thinking
of, they'd not hear about the smash
up before they saw you, likely
nodded and turned away, but
not to seek the shelter OF the Gold
en- Bee.
1 went to Elm Grove, and there
sat until the dawn broke thin in the
early night. I looked for the let
ters had carved ten years before.
Deep in bark and moss 1 found
their faint ghosts. None other
would have known what they were
but 1. Heaven knows why I again
drew out my knife and began touch
ing and re-touching the work of
long age, until it stood bright and
clear. o and E linked by a true
love knot, gilded by a slanting beam
of the rising sun, that made its way
through the foliage to fall upon the
spot.
I stood back to look at my work,
an artist habit that had grown upon
me in my studio, and my shoulder
brushed something at once too firm
and too yielding to be anything but
a human form, and turning, saw
at my side, looking at my carving.
as she had looked so many years
before, Olive Olney, OF her ghost!
I gave. a cry, and we stood face
to face. .-..-..-
;, She spoke first. ''Grant Ellis is
it you? p -
II know," I answered, "that it is
Olive Olney, Have years stood
still for you ?''
"They have flown for you," she
half sobbed. II knew you, carving
with your back to me. I should
not know you now. How you have
altered. Is it time or grief, Grant
Ellis p ... -.-
My cheek flushed hotly.
She who had broken my heart
had no right to speak thus to me.
1 lifted my hat. H..
was turning away with bow a
stranger might have given. She
caught my arm. .a.... 81.
''Stop!" she said, 81 have some
thing to say to. you. 1 have long
ed to say it for five years. The
past is dead. Our youth has fol-
lowed our childhood. I am no
more the Olive Olney than you are
the same Grant Ellis. A man and
woman we speak to each other.
Remember that-remember that I
know it. Yet listen. The Olive
Olney of that time was not the
false thing you must think her. She
thought herself much wronged, and
so wronged you. She knows the
| trI,th SLa lar lzrou-x, L fa.