The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1879-01-02

upon rash plans OF escape-valnly wish
ing sister Alice was with me; or that l
was anywhere else, when / heard low,
musical voice exclaim: "How are you
to-day, my sweetsi"
Aha! here was discovery, indeed
Companyi had never known of q single
soul who visited her. Who could it BET
At the peril of immediate discovery l
could not resist the temptation to peep.
Poor, lone soul! looking out of your
soull whom all the world had forsaken.
You were seeking comforts in the Mas
ter's lowly gifts.
There she was, that wretched old hag,
kneeling in the long grass, csressing
lovingly the wild flowers that grew In
great luxuriance about the hut.
l heard her say: "Oh, my sweets, my
pretty crimson clovers, butter-cups and
daisies. You're all out to-day, full
blown. saw you the first thing this
morning shaking your bonny heads in
the sunshine as the wind went tossing
by. And you're here for whole sum-
mer, my precious ones; how came you
to come and blossom SO sweet just to
please old Margerye but you amt
afraid of her, oh no! Margery wouldn't
hurt you, for the world She only looks
at you, and you kinder help her from
being. all alone. You don't know. my
pretties, what an awful thing it is
to be all alone, always ali alone,
with no one to care whether you
lived or died. No, you can't know
how it is, when you're gone and the
wind bowls around the hut. or how 1
keep praying the good Lord TO hasten
the summer and send you back. Twas
always SO; no one could ever bear Mar
gerry; her poor old shoulder and the
great hump on her back were always
against her. The old hag,' they call
me, even the little children, my sweets.
wish they wouldn't, for love them SO
why, crimson clover, would be ready
to die tomorrow for very JOY, if one
Mould come and kiss me, and say how
dye do, Margery2 But oh no; that
can't be, they are afraid of nc; afraid
of met"
Reader, l was sinless little child
then; if had been older should proba-
bly, have stifled under the cloak If pride
and selfishness the noblest impulse of
my life. But, thank God did not, for
without moments hesitation climbed
the fence and with tears Of sympathy
streaming down my cheeks, caught the
old creatures hand in mine and said, as
I bent and kissed her, "How dye do,
Margery?"
Great God forgive US! how shall we
ever answer for these poor neglected
souls that the kiss of child can so over.
comet She gazed upon ME for several
moments in mute establishment, then
burst out sobbing and laughing alter
nately, saying over and over to the
senseless flowers: "She did Tiny sweets
Just think, can you believed Some one
has really kissed Margery and said, how
dye dot"
She has been dead this many a year
the old hut tumbled in ruins long ago;
the people of the village have ceased to
speak of her. She was always wonder to
them, ''the queer old hag." They looked
at her outwardly; no one even dreamed
beautiful soul lay hid in such rough
casket. But knew it and learned to
love her we'll.
The day she died-oh, such beautiful
day-the daisies, buttercups aud clovers
how they swung their heads and peeped
in at the old door! All day long she lay
with one hand locked fast in mine. At
sunset, when the yellow rays streaked
the crimson banners hung in the west,
the angels came (they were not ashamed).
She heard them, the beautiful soul came
ap and looked out of its prison windows
with such glad look, such as the pris-
oner wears when, after dreary years of
darkness, the iron bars fall and the door
of his cell swings back, letting in the
blessed sunlight once more.
l dressed the poor. worn body for the
grave, smoothed back the tangled hair,
filed the tired hands full of her flowers.
In stony corner of the graveyard,
overgrown with briars and nettles, they
made her grave. No one had been
buried in that part for years, it was SO
desolate and nothing would grow there,
but it was good enough for an ''old hsg."
A wooden mark was erected and many
scofed when begged them to put Mar
gerry on it.
was called away soon after her death
and did not return until the following
summer. One morning l entered the
graveyard for the express purpose Of
placing few flowers on the grave in the
desolafe corner. What WAS my surprise
to behold It! There above, aud ell
around it, "hsr sweets" were growing,
tossing their crimson white and yellow