The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1878-01-02


like horse all day, to help both he
parents and her brother. She is goinl
home tomorrow and he, fear, canno
afford the expense of the journey. TIL
parents live now in Scotland"
"Could We not help him ?" I said
bashfully.
My friend smiled. Both brother ant
sister spent Christmas at home.
Ny good fortune threw me a goot
deal after this with my friends cover
ness. Must I say from that Christina!
Eve I was never heart whole?
The following Easter we were en-
gagged, and before the Christmas Eve
which followed we were married. What
an aim and a hope my life has now &C
quired!
We have little suburban home, and
I leave my wife every morning to pursue
my editorial labors, and return every
evening, forgetting my work and my
worries, knowing that the sweetest hear
and the fairest face I have ever known
await me in my modest but happy home
never heard;again from the author o.
the manuscript which had 80 much in
terested me and, truth to tell. hao
never thought Of her since that Christ
mas Eve. Two or three years have
passed since then, and we have two
babies.
Their notheris always playing with
them. ShaS often puts her delicate,
slender white hands under my baby
girls foot, and the baby makes believe
to stand on it. What picture it is il
is like q rosebud laid on q white
camelia.
As 1 walked up and down the room
reading scratchy, sorawly manuscript,
and fumbling over it in desperation, TO,
the tiresome person who had sent it had
by some ingenious carelessness mnlcted
it of its last page, my thoughts flew fal
and wide, and, by some association
cannot attempt to explain, the pretty
manuscript from the youthful write,
who had sent me no more was recalled
to me
Unconsciously the manuscript I held
faded from my mind, and the other was
present with me. I wondered what had
become of her-had she written any
more ?--where and how was she?
Every moment 1 became more and
more possessed with the memory. ]
was 80 happy myselfthat I felt for all
who seemed to have care and struggle
in their lives, 1 looked out the address to
which I had written before, and wrote
to the unknown few lines. ! said that
time had passed, that the youthful in
experience which had prevented the
paper she had sent from being accepted
must now be corrected, and that Ishould
be glad and willing to see anything else
she had written, if she had written any
thing since then.
Within few days I had an answer.
The writing was in feigned hand, quite
unlike the round, hesitating, girlish
hand I remembered. The words were,
however, as sweet and innocent as the
first had been. The note ran as follows:
"Jt is 80 good of you to remember
me, but do not write any more. am
so happy. I have dear, good, noble
husband. [Oh, these womanly exaggera.
tions, I thought, as I sat in my editorial
chairl. And such darling babies I
wrote, for wanted to help my dear
ones, but they have been better helped
by others than could ever have hoped
to help them. God has given them a
better friend than l could be. If you
seek to know me, you shall do 30. II
when you go home you see a woman
with a rose in her hand, hold out yours.
You will know me-"
smiled al the romantic fervor of this
reply, and faint desire arose that my
wife and the writer of the letter should
know each other, and then I went on
with my supplying avocations.
As won't home, I confess looked
about for a woman with rose in her
hand, but. as might naturally be sup
posed. neither in cabs nor omnibuses
did such an appnrition manifest itself.
As entered my own door [ gave an
impatient shrug at the idea of having
been the subject of foolish jest. But
whom did 1 see standing within. the
threshold of nv home? My darling,
with her fair, child-like face and bright
hair love, and joy, and youth crowuing
her with n triple crown, and in her hand
was rosel
"Dear husband" she said, as I kissed
her, II think loved you from the mo-
ment I had your kind, inlulgent,
thoughtful note. I had written that
absurd little story for l sadly wanted a
little money to pay for Gerald's return
home at Christmas, to be with papa and
mamma. and I had foolish notion /
could write."
"And you were disappointed, my
pet. What q savage must have
seemed |"
emo; I felt how foolish I had been,
ane I cried heartily. but thought Won
good and kind all the same. And Ger
aid got home, too. and we had happy
Christmas after all. "
I kissed her.
"But are you never going to write a
story for my magazine again ?"
II do not know" she said, archly.
"Meanwhile, you can write ours, if you
like"