Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1875-08-23

lark, singing at heavens gate. Itcould
only chip its little lay and build its
nest, with no thought beyond straw.
worm, and the mate that was to come.
Nat never spoke of the past, and Ruth
dared not, for she grew to feel that he
did ''regret it, bitterly, though too gen
erous for word Of reproach or CON-
plant.
''I'll make 1T up 70 him when we are
married and he will learn to love the
farm when he has little lads and lasses
of his own to work for" she often said
to herself, as she watched her lover sit
among them, after his days work, lis
tening to their gossip with a pathetic
sort of patience, or pleading WEAKNESS
there was no need to feign, lie on the
old settee lost in thought that made his
face shine like one who talked with an
gels.
So the year rolled round and May
came again. Uncle Dan was satisfied /;
Aunt Becky's preparations were COM
pleted, and Ruth had not changed her
mind"
''Settle about the weddin' as soon as
you like, my girl, and I'll see that it is
a merry one," said the old man coming
in as Ruth blew the horn from the back
porch one night at sunset
"Nat must decide that. Where is
he, uncle p asked the girl looking out
upon the quiet landscape, touched with
springs tenderest green.
"Down in the medder ploughin' 1t
is toughish bit, and he'll be late, /
reckon for he took long noon-spell,
and | give him piece of my mind about
it, so I'll venture to say he won't touch
bit of vlctuals till the last furrow is
laid" answered Uncle Dan, plodding
away to wash his hands at the horse
trough.
may, Uncle, it is his birthday, and
surely he had a right to little rest, for
he works like a slave, to please us,
though he is far from we'll, | am think
ing" And, waiting for no reply, Ruth
hurried in, filed tankard with cider,
and tripped away to bring her lover
home, singing as she went; for Nat
loved to hear her voice.
Down the green lane toward the riv-
er the happy singer stopped, thinking
in what sweet words she could give the
old mans message. But the song died
on her lips and the smiling eyes grew
mistful suddenly, for, passing by the
willow trees. she saw the patient oxen
standing in the field alone.
''Nat is hunting violets for me" she
thought, with a throb of pleasure for
she was jealous Of viewless rival and
valued every token of fidelity her lover
gave her.
But as she drew nearer Ruth frowned !;
for Nat lay beside the river, evidently
quite fOrgetful of supper, sermon and
sweetheart. No, not of the latter; for
little nosegay of violets lay ready near
the paper on which he seemed to be
writing song or sonnet to accompany
the gift.
Seeing this, the frown faded, as the
girl stole noiselessly across the grass,
to peep over his shoulder, with a soft
rebuke for his imprudence and delay.
Alas for Ruth One glance at the
placid face pillowed on his arm, told
her that this birthday was Mats last,
for the violets were less white than the
cheek they touched and Deaths hand
had written "Finis" to both life and lay.
With bitter cry, she gathered the
weary head into her arms, fearing she
had come too late to say goodbye. But
the eyes that opened we're so tranquil
and the pale lips that answered wore
such happy smile she felt that tears
would mar his peace, and hushed her
sobs, to listen as he whispered broken
ly, with glance that Frightened as it
turned from the wide field where his
last hard days work lay finished, to
the quiet river, whose lullaby was sooth-
ing him to sleep.
''Tell Uncle did hot stop till the
job was done, nor break my promise ;
for the year is over now, and it was 50
sweet to write again. | forgot to go
home till it was too late"
ooh Nat, not too late. You shall
work no more but write all day. with
out care. We have been too hard up
on you, and you too patient with our
blindness. Dear Nat. forgive us, and
come home to live happier year than
this has been," cried Ruth, trying with
tenderness to keep the delicate spirit
that was escaping from her hold, like
the butterfly that died among her roses
with broken wings.
But Nat had no desire to stay. for be
was going home to feel hunger, thirst
and weariuess no more, 10 find love
Ruth could not give. and to change
earth's prose to Heavens immortal pO-
etry. Yet be fingered on the threshold
70 look back and whisper gently: cit
is better 50, sweetheart. There was no
nlaee for me here and 1 was hOmesick