Litchfield enquirer., 1872-04-04

tents climbed up to the crest to take . parting look at q spectacle which custom had not been able to rob of its, enchant- ment. There, at my feet, and extending miles and miles away, lay the camps of the Grand Army, with its camp-6res re- hected luridly against the sky. Thousands of lights were twinkling in every direction, some nestling in the valley, some like fire flies beating their wings and palpitating among the trees, and others stretching in parallel lines and curves like the street, lamps of city. Somewhere, far of, a band was playing. at intervals it seemed; and now and then, nearer to, 8 silvery strain from a bugle shot sharply up through the night, and seemed to lose it. self like rocket among the starr, ,-the patient untroubled stars. Suddenly hand was laid upon my arm.
 '1'd like to say word to you" said Bladburn
 With little start of surprise I made room for him on the fallen tree where I was seated.
 'I mayn't get another chance" he said. ''You and the boys have been very kind to me, kinder than I deserve; but sometimes I've fancied that my not say ing anything about myself had given you the idea that all was not right in my past. I want to say that came down to Virginia with clean record"
 ''We never doubted it in our hearts, Bladburn."
 "If didn't write home," he continued, ther kith nor kin. When I said the old folks were dead, said it. Am I boring you? If I thought was-''
 GSNn P1o1hur,, ho1,o ORkaY, rwnr*o1 you to talk to me about yourself, not from idle curiosity, trust, but because I liked you that rainy night when you came to camp, and have gone on liking you ever since. This isn't too much to say, when heaven only knows how soon I may be past saying it or you listening to it.
 ''That's 1t, said Bladburn, hurriedly, "thats why want to talk with you. I've fancy that sha'n't come out of our first battle"
 The words gave me queer start, for I had been trying several days to shake off a similar presentment concerning him,-a foolish presentiment that grew out of 8 dream.
 ''In case anything of that kind turns up," he continued, ''I'd like you to have my Latin grammar here,-you've seen me reading it. You might stick it away in 8 bookcase, for the sake of old times. It goes against me to think of it falling in to rough hands or being kicked about the camp and trampled under foot.''
 He was drumming softly with his fn- gers on the volume in the bosom of his blouse.
 '1 didn't count to speak of this to a living soul, he went on, motioning me not to answer him; ''but something took hold of me tonight and made me follow you up here. Perhaps if told you all, you would be the more willing to look af- ter the little book in case it goes ill with me. When the war broke out I was teach ing school down in Maine, in the same village where my father was schoolmaster before me. The old man when he died left me quite alone. lived pretty much by myself, having no interests outside of ta-~ a.t--iot ooLeel, -l-:elx .ceme1 in a manner my personal property. Eight years ago last spring Q new pupil was brought to the school, slight slip of a girl, with a sad kind of face and quiet ways. Perhaps it wass ssbecause she wasn't very strong, and perhaps because she wasn't used over we'll by those who had charge of her, or perhaps it was because my life was lonely, that my heart warmed to the child. It all seems like 8 dream now, since that April morning when little Mary stood in front of my desk with her pretty eyes looking down bashfully and her soft hair falling over her face. One day l look up, and six years have gone by,-as they go by in dreams among the scholars is tall girl of sixteen, with serious womanly eyes which can not trust myself to look upon. The old life has come to an end. The child has be- come woman and can teach her master now. So help me heaven, didn't know that loved her until that day!
 "Long after the children had gone home sat in the school-room with my face resting on my hands. There was her desk. the afternoon shadows falling across 1t. It never looked empty and cheerless be- fore. l went and stood by the little chair, as had stood hundreds of times. On the desk was pile of books, ready to be taken away, and among the rest 8 small Latin grammar which we had stud jed together. What little despairs and triumphs and happy hours were associ- ated with it! l took it up curiously, as if 1t were some precious dead thing, and turned over the pages, and could hardly see them. Turning the pages, idly so, I 
 written with ink, in the familiar girlish John,' through which she had drawn two nasty pencil lines-I wish she hadn't drawn those inesp added Baldburn, un- der his breath. ........-,.
 He was silent for minute or two, look ing off towards the camps, where the light were fading out one by one
 ho1 y,o &o rro orl 1o~o I was twice her age, an awkward unso- cial man, that would have bighted her youth. I was as wrong as wrong can be. the grammar in my desk and the secret in meet her in the village, and kept away be. Then she came to me, and sat down at my feet penitsntly, just as she used to do when she was child, and asked what she had done to anger me; and then, Heaven forgive me told her all, and asked her if she could say with her lips the words she had written, and she nest led in my arms all trembling like bird and said them over and over again.
 ''When Mary's family heard of our en- gagement, there was trouble. They look ed higher for Mary than middle-aged schoo1master. No blame to them. They forbade me the house, her uncles but we met in the village and at the neighbors' houses, and I was happy knowing that she loved me. Matters were in this state when the war came on. I had 8 strong call to look after the old flag, and hung my head that day when the company rais- ed in our village marched by the school house to the railroad station but I couldn't tear myself away. About this time the minister's son, who had been away to college, came to the village. He met Mary here and there, and they be- came great friends. He was likely fell low, near her own age, and it was natu- ral they should like one another. Some times I winced at seeing him make free of the home from which was shut out; then I would open the grammar at the leaf where Dear John was written up in the corner, and my trouble was gone. Mary was sorrowfu1 and pale these days, and I think her people were worrying her.