The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1879-12-11

/ y
while others, not so dry, were tied in
punches and hung from the brown raf-
tiers of the attic, a stranger would have
noticed certain appropriateness be-
tween the girl and her surroundings.
Her presence seemed to diffuse just
such faint, pleasant perfume. Both the
dried punches of herbs and her pale
check reminded you that, though faded
now, there had been bloom there once.
You felt that not very long ago she had
seen June, with sunlight and song,
warmth and perfume and life; and,
though it had all gone from her rs COM
pletely as from the withered leaves in
the little paper bags, her mission. like
theirs, was to do good, to give ease to
the suffering, and even mild spice, q
cheerful flavor and perfume to all that
was monotonous and distasteful about
her.
Margery was not called an old maid
by the school children. There was not
a gray thread in all her wealth of auburn
hair, she did not dress in antiquated
style, or keep cat, or drink tea, or be-
long to the sewing society, or show any
of the usual characteristics of old maids.
The coy little parlor looked out upon
| the spice-garden from bay window,
which Margery had had built for her
geraniums; and the flowers and the
open piano-for Margery was a music
teacher-gave the room a very pleasant
air Her music kept up with the times,
like her dresses. Both were always
modern and pretty. She went to all the
parties and musicales (and did not go
alone, either. She helped get up all
the fairs and festivals and tableaux.
Society at Bakers, the little town where
she lived, would have been at stand
| still without her. In short, she was not
an old maid at all; but only an old
young lady. Margery was never sighted,
and yet it was probably ten years since
she had an offer. She had had her love
story, of course; but that was fifteen
years ago, and every body at Bakers,
including Margery herself, would have
been very much surprised to have heard
that she was going to be married. And
yet every body and Margery were des-
tined to exactly that surprise.
If you had asked the people at Bax-
ter's for Margary's love story, you
would probably have received two diff
| ferent versions. Some would have said
that it was Jack Bogardus, and some
that it was Fred rockingham; but all
would have agreed that she had been
"disappointed."
Margery's story, so far as she knew
it-for Margery herself did not know all
of her story-was this: Jack Bogardus
was an orphan and her cousin. He had
been adopted by her father, and they
| had grown up together. But Jack was
a willful boy. Margery's father did not
understand him, and at last he ran
away to California. Margery knew that
he was going, and she did not discour-
age him. 1t seemed TO her that this
was really best for all. Jack had prom
ised to come back some day, when he
had "made his pile,'' and claim her for
his wife, if she would only wait. Mar
gary had waited, her father had died, and
she was left alone. That same year Jack
wrote that he had prospered and that
he was coming home. The same mail
brought her a little box, containing a
ring of California gold. It came on
Thanksgiving Day, and the day had
ever since been sad one for Margery;
for, though Jack came back to the viii
lage, and others saw him, he did not
even call upon her, and he returned to
the West the next day, without leaving
any message for her. There had been
no explanation since. 1t was still the
same cruel mystery that it had been fif-
teen years ago. She did not even know
at the time that he was in town, for she
was in great perplexity and trouble.
Fred rockingham, the son of the
wealthiest man at Baxter's, had been
one of the first to enlist when the War
of the Great Rebellion broke out, and it
was now the second year of the struggle.
On the eve of battle, not knowing
whether he would survive the terrible
work of the next day, Fred wrote
Margery a letter, telling her that he
loved her and asking her, if he lived to
come home, to be his wife.
Margery replied, telling him as kindly
as she could how impossible it was.
This letter Fred never received, for he
was wounded in the battle, his father
came for him, and he was brought back
to Bakers the day before the arrival of
Margery's cousin. The journey threw
him into fever, and when he was laid
upon his own bed, with his mother
bending over him, he did not know her;
but raved deliriously about Margery,
calling her by all the sweet names that
his disordered mind could supply.
Mrs. rockingham imagined, from
this. that Margery and her son were en-
gagged. The possibility that Fred could
love and not be loved in return never en-
tered the head of the doting little
woman; and so she wrote to Margery,
calling her "my dear daughter" and
begging her to come to Fred, for her
presence alone could cure him. Mar
gerry had no mother or friend to consult,
and to her the only thing to be done
seemed to be to confide in Mrs. Frothing-
ham; and, taking little basket Of
poppy-leaves, to make pillow for the
sufferer, she hurried to the Frothing-
ham mansion. The girl who admitted
her told her that Mrs rockingham was
tired out from watching all night
with her son, and had laid down to