Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1873-12-06
JACKSON, TENNESSEE, SATURDAY, DECEMBER g. 1873.

! anu o. the ldDlC lies l4c Llttl4s Dul lllC
] letters remain untouched, for he is
\ solving a question that must be an
swered before he leaves that room.
From his pocket he takes a tiny
| white glove; very small il looks across
| his broad palm. He lives over the
| hours of the previous evening; is
I again in the parlors surrounded by
the youth and beauty among which
he has so frequently mingled during
| the winter; IS once more at the side
of pretty Sophie Claiming, turning
her music sheet, dancing with her,
holding her bouquet (his gift, and
now he forgets the throng around
them and is talking of "gOing away"
his year IS completed, and in her faith
er's house he spends his last week, a
guest. 1t may be emotion which
causes the belle to bend her head,
certainly her little glOyed hand trem-
bles over his arm, her voice lowers as
she laments his departure: "It will be
terribly lonely, and she will miss him
awfully. Oh, she does not believe in
remcmbrances or pTOmises-'Out of
sight, out of mind" So she seems
extremely pensive during the remain
der of the evening, and he Is just say
ing, sophie, when some one. claims
her for a waltz, and Roger realizes
how far he has gone. That night he
spies the tiny glove on the stairs, and
can he do no more than pick it up?
He wipes his heated brow, and in so
doing notices the name in the corner
of hiE handkerchief; his own name,
and he recOllects il is exactly rear
since that small parcel was slipped
into his hand. How like Margaret the
neat hemming and delicate marking
Somehow these two sOuyenOirs went in
to different pockets, and all that night
in visions he Witnessed a most con-
fused conflict between white hand
kerchiefs and sOiled gloves. Proba-
bly, with the daWning of light the
former would have won the victory,
if in going down to breakfast Roger
had not seen Sophie appearing pret- |
tier than ever in the midst of her |
company, and so i'll her fathers study !
he sat dreaming as other men have |
dreamp, swayed merely for the mo- |
ment by a subtle influence which /
some trivial incident shall dispel.
There was conversation in the ad- |
joining parlOr, and he heard his name. /
Could that voice be Sophie's? those
words hers?
go he's Just as foolish as the rest!
Why, my dear, like Mr.. Ford well |
enough, and papa thinks he's perfec- /
tion. l might possibly spend the end |
of my days with him, providing he'd |
let me do as I pleased, if it were not |
for an ancient mother and yeritable |
old maid of a sister that he's got to /
take care of; and they'd be eYerlast- |
ingly hanging around, for he adores |
them. OF course, he's in love with |
me, and actually thought I meant |
what 1 said last night. Yes, I've had
my fun!'
What a laugh had followed the |
heartless words! the laugh which |
Roger had thought so musical.
1t was sufficient; for the first and
last time in his life he despied him |
self. From the letters at his side he
selected the one that had never failed |
to come through all the weeks of that
year-a quiet, happy letter telling of
the welcome awaiting him-and o
how full of true love it wasl Would
Margaret have spoken so of his moth
er aud sister? No!
Very long seemed the journey
home. 1t was home where Margaret
was, AID he would 90 to her.
Once more the fire burns brightly
in the little sitting-room; the clock
which has chimed the flight of so
many lonely hours is covered with
scarlet bitter-sweet berries. How
beautiful they are against the black
marblel
There stands the low rocker, and
the light of the study lamp falls on
the same worn work basket. The
is no longer vacant, while
On Roger rests no shadow, for in his
heart there reigns the sunshine of
love.
lie tells all to Margaret, even max
ing her smile over the battle of hand
kerchiefs and gloves.
True Margaret! for though she has
heard of Rogers attentions to Law
yer Channing's daughter, she has
trusted him; and looking down in her
face-plain to every one else-he
thinks it glorious tonight.
Now she says:
Roger, before VIII comes III, I've
a surprise for you. Poor old Mrs.
Hart has gone to her last home; I've
taken her room and fitted up my larg-
er one for your mother and my moth
er, for your sister and mine. Since
your fathers death they've been alone,
and soon as you can go for them TO-
morrow I'll spare you, dcar,l 1 want
them here. 1t has given me sweet
Joy to do this for you. Henceforth
thy people shall be my people, thy
God my God"
Well for us, my reader, if with Ro-
ger Ford we have learned this lesson: |
that the truest proof of love is not in
dying, but i'll living and doing for the /
dear Onel