The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1879-11-06

I
shut my eyes of a hazy October after
noon, with a O'Clock sun dipping to-
wards the tree-tops, and see a little girl,
! lovely as the blush Of the sunset, gazing
pensively at a bee upon common road
/ side flower.
"Did it sting youP'' asked, assum-
/ ing very sympathetic air.
''No; bees never sting me and I've
watched them dance on the thistle
| heads all summer
q / did not know that you loved them.
Most girls are afraid of bees"
'' Yes, but / am not"
She turned from the rank patch of
thistles and slowly resumed her walk
| homeward.
When we came to the lane where our
/ paths separated she put up her little
/ arms to be taken and kissed before leav-
ing me, as she said, 4" to come back no
more."
"Be good to yourself, Eddie, and
next winter, if any little lonely Adelinas
come cold and frightened to the old red
! school-house yonder, be to them as you
were to me-
Something choked in my throat, and
could not say a word; but kissed her
more than once; and after she had
! slipped from my arms and was twenty
rods away, 1 sat down and cried like a
| baby, because l was never to see Ade-
] lima again.
1t was not long before the rumor was
rife in the neighborhood that Mrs. La
grange had married middle-aged city
millionaire, and that the young widow
and her child had found a new protect
or in place of the one death had taken
/ from them.
I L.
fought through the great rebeliion-en-
/ tered the army private and came out
of it a captain, shattered in health, and
utterly depleted in pocket, to find my
self at home again, i'll and altogether
distrustful of fortunes smile.
In my frequent walks to the village
POst-Oflice | often passed by the old red
| school-house, and never without a sigh
of regret for the many happy, care-free
days spent within its battered walls.
Among the letters handed me one
morning was one pOst-marked New
| York, which informed me of the agree
able fact that, through the instrumental
| ity of a friend of mine whom he
was anxious to serve, the un-
dersi9ned, Mr. Maxwell, had been in
duced to extend to me commercial
opening at the liberal salary of two
Z
tied. There was fortune for me in the
offer, and / accepted it with alacrity.
Mr.. Maxwell, a rich New York mer-
chant, from the first took lively inter
est in my advancement. The unknown
friend l could not account for in any
other way than by supposing it to be
/ some soldier comrade whom [ had be-
/ friended in the past.
! Within a month / was fairly estab-
lished at my new post of duty, and sue
eeeded in pleasing Mr. Maxwell so well
! that, at the beginning of my second year,
/ he sent me to Europe in the interest of
| the house. When l returned, l was Civ
en- a weeks vacation, which / spent
among the breezy hills of my old coun-
try home, passing the pleasant Septem-
ber days in tramping through the woods
and fields and by-ways that were the
chosen haunts of my boyhood.
l was just turning the curve in the
road where the Canada thistles grew,
and so lost in my walking reverie that [
was almost opposite a lady standing in
their midst before l was aware of her
! presence.
''I am glad you stu love the old
scenes, Mr.. Durand,' she said, without
expressing the least surprise.
/ was astOnished. Here was a lady
whom, to the best of my knowledge, 1
had never seen before, addressing me as
familiarly as if we had known each 9TH
er all our lives.
" Names are treacherous things, and
if / were ever so fortunate as to have
known yours, 1 am guilty of having for
gotten it, replied.
g Men forget easily, am told but I
had hoped to find you an exception to
the rule
A very awkward silence on my part
ensued. She took pity on my evident
embarrassment, and continued:
q Has your battle with the world en-
tirely driven from your recollection all
the old school facesP''
Her voice dropped to its old, sweet,
clear winning cadence, thrilling my
whole being with delight.
AdeliRdr
l caught her hand, and before knew
what l was doing had carried it to my
lips and kissed it.
Excuse me" " | stammered; g but /
am so glad to see you, and you seem
just the same little girl l kissed here
years ago-not a bit taller, not bit old
er-only Adelina, always lovely and al
ways loved.'
Then 1 told her all about myself, how
prosperous was, and the strange man
ner in which had been brought to the
notice of my kind employer. When
had finished she merely said, in her
simple way:
. know it. -
" You appear to know every thing
Do you know Mr.. MaXwellP'
He is my father"
- And my unknown friend"
- Adelina -
: staggered back, in my soul ashamed
: that l should owe every good in life
7 every thing-to a woman who owed me
nothing but the poor favor of once hav
| ing united for her n wretched black anC
Z white worsted hood.
r / turned away, cut to the heart, bu
: she put out a OBTAINING hand.
- Don't 90, Mr.. Durand-that is, dom
2 90 feeling hurt; for it would make mt
: very unhappy if you were to go ava!
: angry with me-
5 . Unhappy What am l, that pail
' to me should render you unhappyP''
answered bitterly.
a d" 1 know of no other way in which t.
D express my gratitude"
' - Gratitude for whatP'' The question
e was rudely abrupt, but she took n
e notice of my ungracious speech.
1 - Gratitude for the kindness given m
e long ago, and which have missed eve
since the day we parted here by tn
y roadside
Are you conscious of what it is yo
y are saying, Adelina?''
Perfectly"
"How am 1 to understand you
It words?"
:, "That I leave to your good judg