The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1879-09-11

knew that he had forsaken meme,
the child that had worshipped him from
the cradle. And I meant to die as
soon as could; but in the meantime, il
it killed me itself to hide it, they
should never know I cared. Yet was
not angry; in some way, some strange
way, it was Paul who was angry, who
would not speak to me, would not
glance at me, would not come near
me, said sharp and bitter, almost in
solent. things in my presence, and
seemed to try to hurt me all he could.
1t was not, in his manner, as if he had
found some one still dearer to him than
l, but as if he hated me, l thought, for
just existing now. All, we'll, It broke
my heart! And as l gathered those
roses that morning l remembered that
we had been going to make grand
mammals pot-pourri together. But
l gathered them with my back turned
to that garden across the high box
hedge, and the dew on those roses was
salt. John, the old house-servant Che
has been dead and gone this many a
Year,, came Juggling out the big Chel-
sea jar-the same jar, Rosamond. 1t
has never had a nick. l wonder if you
can say as much for il after half a
century! John left it, with the spice
boxes and the dish of salt, on the
marble step, to be handy for me, and l
began to shred the roses into it. And
as l scattered the velvet petals, it
swept over me in a surge that just so
the days of my life had gone, and l,
too, was a withered flower; and as l
knelt before the jar, all at once my
arms fell across it, and my head fell
between them, and was crying such
4 storm of sobs that wonder no one
heard me. But some one did hear.
Directly shadow fell between me and
the sunshine, and voice made my
heart stand still and my sobs cease.
"'What does it mean?' cried Paul.
l demand to know. l will have no
more of this. What are you unhappy
about? Because you have abused me,
because you have outraged all my feel
ings, because you have refused even to
answer my letter.
What-what letter?' Istammered,
throwing back my head, with the tears
streaming all over my face.
"What letter?' ne cried. Are
you playing with me, still? Have you
received no letter from memo letter
that l gave John? Do you pretend to
say
al pretend to say nothing re-
turned, in storm and fury of ire
pressible tears, springing to my feet
and starting to run away and hide my
face out of sight, and pray that every
fresh flood OF tears might drown out
my very being pretend to say moth
ing but that you have broken my
heart
':But he had caught me, and he held
me by the arm, and got my hands and
kept them, and would not let me hide
my face.
al have broken your hearth he
said, in such a grave and tender voice.
i have not broken your spirit. Tell
me why you spurned my letter?'
cell never had your letter. 1
sobbed.
".Never had u letter telling you
telling you all you knew without it, but
assuring you that, grandfather or no
grandfather, only you should be my
wife; and if not you, then no one?
What, never had that letter, little one?
1t is mislaid, then; and we have had all
this misery for nothing-we, who wor-
ship each other And-and - well,
never mind about the rest. There was
nobody to see us two young creatures
standing in the garden as the first
young lovers did. l don't know that
we should have cared if there had been.
And all in a breath, as if the earth had
rolled round under new heaven, the
sun seemed to be shining as it never
shone before. the birds to be sing
ing, flowers were full of life and
fragrance, the world was the most
beautiful place, and we were on our
knees shredding roses together over
the old pot-pourri jar, and the garden
ringing with our laughter. And every
once in a while Paul was lifting my
chin with his finger to make me look him
in the face with my eyes that all at once
dared not, and saying my mouth was
the sweetest rose of them allah, yes,
you did, Paul-and then he was plung-
ing his hand into the jar to stir the
petals. And suddenly his fingers were
touching something like no heap of
rose leaves, and he was bringing up
paper, letter-that very letter
which he had given John just as the
old fellow was coming in from empty
ing the jar of last years leaves and
spices; and he had dropped it there,
and forgotten it. John is so forgetful
Il mean, of course, he was. All me!
what a day that was! We trod on air,
we walked in the mid-heavens. Have
you gone sound asleep. Paul? To be
sure. And, Rosamond, if you want
that other rule for pot-pourri-the En-
glish, you know, call it hotch.potch-,
All, what music that isr' and she paused
to listen.
Gather We rOse-buds as We may.
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day
Tomorrow will be DYING"
sang Beltran, stepping through the
long window into the low light of the
rising moon, the rich strain of his tenor
seeming to roll upon the dusk sweet as
fragrance from a flower.
Rosamond fingered to loosen her
dress from Miss Effingham's chair
which detained it. Miss bingham was
crying softly to herself. "Ah, see"
she murmured, working the knobby
fingers in the lace mittens, and forget
ting whose contemporary she was
"see how selfish age is! She remem-
bers all her own part in it; she forgets
mine. For l also-it is so long agO-I
loved Paul. "-Harper's Bazaar.
Hydraulic Gold Mining in Georgia.
GOING seven or eight miles up the
Yahoola River, q dam was built where
the stream rushes through a pictur-
eSOue gorge. whence a ditch six feet