The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1879-12-03
81 did not know that you loved them.
Most girls are afraid of bees"

II did not know that you loved them.
Most girls are afraid of bees"
Eyes; 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 leaving me, as she said, 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
schoolhouse yonder, be kind to them
as you were to me-"
Something -choked in my throat, and
I could not say Il word; but l kissed her
more than once: and after she had
slipped from my arms and was twenty
rods away, I sat down and cried like a
baby, because l was never to see Adelina
again.
1t was not long before the rumor was
rife in the neighborh6od that Mrs. La
grange had married q middle-aged city
millionaire, and that the young widow
and her child had found new protec-
tor in place of the one death had taken
from them.
Years iitted by-I was twenty-four;
| had fought through the war-entered
the army a private and came out of it a
captain, shattered in health and utterly
depleted in pocket, to find myself at
home again. i'll and altogether distrust-
full of fortunes smile.
In my frequent walks to the village
postoffice I often passed by the old red
schoolhouse, and never without sigh
of regret for the many happy, care-free
days spent within its battered walls.
Among the letters handed to me one
morning was one postmarked New
York, which informed me of the agree
able fact that, through theinstrumental-
ity of friend of mine, whom he was
anxious to serve, the undersigned, Mr..
Maxwell, had been induced to extend
to me commercial opening at the lib
eral salary of two thousand year, to
be increased if merited. There was for
tune for me in the offer, and accepted
it with alacrity.
Mr.. Maxwell, rich New York mer-
chant, from the first took lively inter-
est in my advancement. The unknown
friend I could not account for in any
other way than by supposing it to be
some soldier comrade whom had be-
friended inthe past.
Within month I was fairly estab-
lished at my new post OF duty, and sue
ceeded in pleasing Mr.. Maxwell 80 well
that ut the beginning of my second year
he sent me to Europe in the interest Of
the house. When / returned, I was
given weeks vacation, which / spent
among the breezy hills of my old country
home, passing the pleasant September
days in tramping through the woods and
fields and by-ways that were the chosen
haunts of my boyhood.
/ was Just turning the curve in the
road where the Canada thistles grew,
and $50 lost inmy walking reverie, that I
was almost opposite lady standing in
their midst before / was aware of her
presence.
Il anu glad you still love the old
scenes, Mr.. Durand," she said, without
expressing the least surprise.
1 was astonished. Here was lady
who, to the best of my knowledge, I had
never seen before, addressing me rs
familiarly rs if we had known each
other all our lives.
Names are treacherous things. and
if were ever so fortunate as to have
known yours, I am guilty of having for-
gotten it," I replied.
Men forget easily, I 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:
"Has your battle with the world en-
tirely driven from your recollection all
the old school faces?"
Her voice dropped to its old sweet,
clear, winning cadence. thrilling my
whole being with delight.
"Adelina!"
caught her hand, and, before knew
what I was doing, had carried it to my
lips and kissed it.
"Excuse NEIL stammered; "but I
am so glad to see you, and you seem
just the same little girl l kissed here
years ago-not bit older-only AIDE.
lima, always lovely and always loved"
Then I told her all about myself, how
prosperous / was, and the strange man
ner in which I had been brought to the
notice of my kind employer. When l
had finished. she merely said, in her
simple manner:
II know it."
"You appear to know everything.
Do you know Mr.. MAXWELL"
"He is my father"
"Adelina"
staggered back, in my soul ashamed
that I should owe every good in life
evsrything-to a woman who owed me
nothing but the poor favor of once hav-
ing united for her wretched black and
white worsted hood. I turned away,
cut to tie heart, but she put out de-
tanning hand.
Don't 20, Mr.. Durand-that is. don't
90 feeling hurt; for it would make me
very unhappy if you were to 60 away
angry with me"
Unhappy! What am I, that pain
to me should render you unhappy" I
answered, bitterly.
II knew of no other way to express
my gratitude"
"Gratitude for what?"
The question was rudely abrupt, but
she took no notice of my ungracious
speech.
"Gratitude for the kindness given me
long ago, and which have missed ever
since the day we parted here by the
roadside"
care you conscious of what it is you
are saying, Adelina?r
Perfectly"
"How am / to understand your
words2"
THAT I leave to your good judg-
ment, she smiled" lowering her eyes.
She had an instant illustration of my
"good judgment" in the way / impris-
oned her two little hands in both of
mine. and kissed tht sweet mouth for its
shHy-whispered promise.
walked home with Adelina-oh, so
happy! and when I asked her hand Of
Mr. Maxwell, he said:
81 have anticipated your request by
keeping you under my eye for more than
two years. Adelina is the best and
truest girl in the world, but 1 believe
you to be as worthy of her as any man
living, and give her to you confident
that you know how to prize the treasure
you have Won"
And.so, not long thereafter, married
Adelina, the love of my boyhood, and
the crowning glory of my later years.