The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1877-04-30
JOHN SMITH.

really so it is often hard to determine.
That every eve makes its own beauty Is
truth as we'll as proverb.
She suited me, that small, dark, Grim
son-lipped creature, as 1.-The as a gazelle
and almost as shy. ! saw in the glance
she gave US that she hesitated between
advancing aud running away when she
alities got the better OF her basntulness,
and she turned and came toward us.
"Miss Earle" said Ralph Hay, "Mr.
Smith. John, this is Cousin Edwina."
She,bowed, so did l, and SO my love
came into my liie. 1t was the supreme
moment of my existence, though l was
not conscious of it then. 1 knew that
had met girl l liked, that the day
was very bright, and the pleasant coun-
try place pleasanter than it had ever
| seemed before. can see 1t now-the
long green lane that ended in a group OF
tall, dark pollards, the cottage roof be-
over all a sweet, pink-tinted,' sunset
sky, and near by the Tiny tinkle OF the
running stream, the girl, in her white
dress, with cluster OF scarlet flowers
in her small hand, walking between us.
| had come to Ferndale on visit.
Such holiday as my business permitted
me should spend there, and it was on
my way from the railway station to my
friends house that met Edwina. Sue
was mis- cousin, as he had said, and she
helped to care lor the children, OF whom
there were half-dozen. She could
churn and milk and bake, and she had
read all Scotps novels, and many others
besides. She was bright and quick
when not under the cloud OF shyness,
and she believed what her mother anu
the clergyman had taught her to believe
| concerning morals and theology.
She was not brilliant woman, she
was not a society belle. Most men
would have rated her only "nice little
thing" l presume. Whatever she was,
she crept into my heart somehow and
stayed there. One day | knew that L
loved her, and that If she did not love
me l should be very unhappy.
We had gone out upon the river for
water-lilies. There was a littIe quiet
nook, quite overarched by tree branches,
The boat. She drew the great, white,
floating beauties toward hef by their
long stems, and, breaking them off, laid
them in the basket she had brought.
There was no other boat on the river,
There was no one on the shore. A little
wav farther on lay the shadow of cOyS
cred bridge, and farther still the ruins
of a mill; but no one crossed the bridge,
and the mill WAS deserted. We had
never been SO entirely alone before.
The long lily-stems had entangled my
oars. drew them out and laid them in
the boat. We only drffted slowly now.
Everything was very still. A sense of
peace such as l had never felt before
settled down upon me. Her hand, so
white, and small, and fine, rested on the
boats edge. To save my life l could
not have resisted the impulse had to
touch it. One moment l laid my palm
upon it: the next L held it tast and
close. She did not take it away. Her
shy eyes sought the water, but the hand
remained in mine. And SO We sat quite
silent until the sun set. Then l kissed
her, We rowed back to our starting
point in the twilight. The children were
on the grass watching tor us, and l had
no chance of speaking to her alone that
night, but l felt that she was mine. To
any but neartless firt acts are as bind
| ing as words, and love-kiss Is a vow
not lightly TO be broken.
l went up % my room happy man. !
lost myself in slumber only TO dream OF
Edwina; and l remember that in my
fancy we were walking hand in hand in
some pleasant place where flowers
grew, and birds sang, and waters rip
Died, when rough hand shook me by
The shoulder, and voice at my ear
cried:
John! 1 say, old fellow, wake up .
Here's "a telegram. Steady, now. Pm
afraid It's bad news"
At these words 1 arose from my bed
with a sudden chill of terror upon me,
snatched the paper from my friends
hand and read the brief contents.
They brought bad news indeed. MY
beloved father lay at deaths door, and
| was hidden TO hasten if would see
him alive.
l looked at my friend with eyes from
which l could not banish the sudden
hood OF tears. He had read the message
also, and only touched me on the shoui.
der. He was big, kindly, well-meaning
) fellow, who generally bungled over eV.
erything, and had liked him very much
: ever since those school days when he
was always getting me into difficulties.
"Don't take it too hard, John," he
said. "While there's life there's hope
Just arrange your bag, and Pll harness
the horse, and We'll get to the station in
4. time for the O'Clock train.
After that we said little more, though
even in my agitation could not forget
as l drove away that a light shone in the
window of Edwina's room. l think the
messenger had Waked ner, and that, un.
seen by me, she watched my departure
My father died before reached home
and our house was a house OF mourning
for many days. Sucn grief banishes all
, lighter thought, and many cares and
anxieJies followed our loss.
, at last, however, l became calm
enough to write to Edwina. Our under
stood engagement was not enough. ]
offered my self to her in plain and earn
est terms. had no DOUBT as TO the an
swer. Her kiss had given me assurance
OF her love.
dispatched the letter and waited fol
a reply. 1t came soon, but not In tht
regular way.
, One morning my friend Ralph Hay
walked into my Office, fresh from mis-
early journey by tbs train. He spoke to
me bluntlN but kindly OF my loss; gave
me some OF those bits of Scriptural com.
, fort which most good people produce GU
such occasions; and as he rose to depart
tossed me little note.
} From a lady," he said, and nodded,
and went away chuckling.
1 put the note upon the desk before
me, and looked at it Lenderly. Her first
J letler-hers! 1t was a neat little hand
; John smith, ESQ" was prettily -four.
Iiehpd The uaner WAS finp the mnnn.