Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1872-05-10

remembrance forsook her, lost in a tide
of other thoughts. Half her childhood
had been passed in this meadow beside
the brook. There was the shallow where
she and Phil built the dam. Under that
bank he found the lark's nest which he
showed her and kept secret from all
the other girls. just then she had
caught her first trout. She remembered
how the hook got tangled in her curls,
and how Phil worked for half an hour
getting it out. She could feel his
fingers now, and see the bright boyish
face close to her own, and feel his
breath on her cheek. And on that
hummock-strangest memory of all
they had sat that evening when he asked
| her to marry him. Poor Phil She
had felt sorry about him sometimes of
late years. She wondered if he were
alive yet-if he had quite got over feel
:ng bad about her. sN5ut pshaw of
course he had. And thus the path,
pursued almost unconsciously, brought
her to the bank where people were
standing in silent attentive groups.
For moment Sylvia shrank back.
Then. perceiving that no one turned or
seemed to notice her presence, she ven-
tured to linger, even to press forward a
little, and soon, absorbed in what was
going on, she forgot all else. Directly
beneath where she stood lay the deep
pool in which Bayberry, losing for a
time it's happy, ripping murmurs, ran
with placid and noiseless force. The
| farther bank was soft with tufts of yell
low grass. There stood the choir, and
even as she gazed the leader raised his
hand and led the air of wild, sweet
hymn, full of that blended triumph and
pathos which distin guishes the Metho-
dist hymnal, and which seems caught
from those early days when, on lonely
hill-tops and Cornish moors, John Wes-
ley stood and poured his burning mes
sage into the ears of the common peo-
pie, who heard him gladly. Never under
gay English skies dill the strains ring
with gladder meaning than now beneath
the blue New England heavens, with
the distant solemn mountains looking
on, and the plash and jingle of Bayber-
ry Brook sounding each note like an
unseen accompaniment. One verse
no more-then hustle and stir took
place in the crowd below, and, slowly
emerging, two figures descended the
bank and passed into the water.
One was a gray-haired Elder; the
other young woman, with long, stream
ing hair and black garments. Step by
step they gained the center of the pool,
where the water was deepest, and,
standing waist-deep. paused, and turned
so as to face the people. Sylvia bent
forward. She heard the sacred formula
pronounced, saw the girls head with its
heavy tresses bend suddenly backward
and vanish beneath the swirling waves.
Another moment it rose again, and drip
ping and gasping the girl was led by the
Elder toward the shore, and assisted up
the bank by her friends, while wild
strain of welcome rang from the choir.
Another baptism followed, and another.
Then some unusual excitement shook
the audience as a tall mans figure came
forward leading young woman by the
hand Sylvia just caught sight of the
girls face as they passed: fair, modest
one, framed in light, braided hair; but
the Elder advanced, and placing him
self between the two, led them into the
brook. The words of conservation were
uttered, the dark head and the fair van
ished in turn beneath the water, and
the forms turned again toward the
bank, the young man holding up the
girl with strong arm. Her sweet, drip
ping face was quite unrutf1ed in express
sion. His-Sylvia gasped as she gazed
wore look of steadfast, honest peace,
which made the strong features abso-
lutely beautiful. 1t was Philip Thorpe,
the lover of her youth-no longer boy,
but man, every inch of him a man of
whom woman might well be proud.
And just then a gust of wind seized and
blew aside her veil, and Philips eyes,
as he slowly assembled the bank, met
hers, and he knew his lost loves facel
"How dreadful white Phil Thorpe
looks, don't he?' whispered somebody
near by in the crowd. wouldn't
wonder if he'd taken his death of chill"
''But Mary Allen DON'T" was the re-
ply. "She's just as pretty and calm as
if she hadn't been in the water at all.
No wonder Phil thinks such heap of
her. Elder Quinn he wanted them to
60 in separate, but Phil wouldn't hear
to it. She and mes going through life
together, and we're going to be baptized
together he said. The Elder couldn't
do nothing with him. l don't blame
him one mite, for my part
Sylvia heard no more. The burning
flush which had rushed into her face on
meeting PhiIs eyes gave place to death
like pal.or and feeling of sickly faint
ness. With desperate footsteps she
hurriei back across the meadow. feel
ing each moment as if she must sink.
The wild, sweet strain of the choir pur-
sued her
He will save you
He will save you
He will save you just now
Just now
He will save you just now."
Would uao Oh If He would