The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1880-07-15

VI uy uISk VISITS WAS COsO xOTs tTy
how I would, I could not deny the long
ing for another sight of her. l found
that the position of the parents of EN-
had little improved; and her mother
told me that she had gone into the world
as a governess. Such had always been
the Intention; but wondered what sort
of governess she would make. A staid
gouvernante? with those blue eyes, and
that smile, that everlasting spirit Of
mischief which would be bubbling out
Fancy her sober preceptress! And
who were her sweethearts now? Was
there pupil old enough to be made the
recipient of her favorsP Or was there
some one who was not a pupil, still
more capable? Well, what did it mat.
ter to me? She and l had each our way
to 60.
Her mother told me her situation was
in the neighborhood of Ryde. Hap.
pening to have friends in that town,
made them an excuse for visit there.
Yet, on my arrival, was in no hurry
to find them out; and taking up my
quarters in quiet inn, prepared to
have . day or two alone. It was Sat.
urlay afternoon, lovely weather; and ]
set out for a walk well known in years
gone by. through the Lovers Lane, past
Quar- Abbey, to Fishhouse, nesting by
the waters side. 1t was SO warm, and
the country was so alive with beauty,
that Itook my time and fingered, noting
spots memory once held dear. Reach
ing Quar- Woods, I wandered tnrous h
the brushwood to the waters edge.
Along the shore there runs or ran a
wall, an old moss-grown wall; and with.
in this wall an ancient garden-so
ancient it deserved no better name than
wilderness. The weeds grew rank and
thick, and no hand but Natures had
much to answer for in it. There was an
old green gate at the bottom, which
moved on rusty hinges; under the trees
was garden gate; much the worse fol
weather and wear; and on the left was
an old summer house, damp and mil.
dwey, with steps up to the roof, and
seats upon it.
entered the garden and climbed up
to the old roof-seat. My pipe, in SYM
pathy with the weather, was soothing
to my nerves. Gradually substance be.
came shadow; the soft wind sang sweet
music to my Ianguid ears, and gentle
charm came over me. I fancy it was
sleep. Utopian to lie there, the wave
lets ripping softly upon the shore; a
dim suspicion of unclouded skies per-
vading my dreams!
Something woke me-a sound. ]
opened my eyes. dreamily conscious
that voices were somewhere near. ]
lay listening with sort of curiosity,
and became aware that I was listen.
ing to the prattle of children; little
voices were borne upon the breeze,
children's laughter mingling with the
ripping waves. But every now and
then there was another voice, not a
child's, yet childlike. It was familiar
to my ears, and as listened its sound
woke within me chords of forgotten
music. Before many seconds had gone
I knew it was Ems voice Iheard. But
did not move, nor did l turn to see.
l lay as in tower of strength, and il
was a comfortable feeling to know that
l had but to turn upon my elbow. and
there before me would be the little lady
who was once My Little Sweetheart
But at last I moved. l rose upon my
elbow quietly, 80 as to make no noise,
and looked over the side of the summer
house on to the garden below. And
there saw her. She was on the seat
under the trees. About her were four
children, two boys and two girls. They
stood at her knees close together
watching her make chain of daisy
flowers. She had grown, but not much
she was still little maiden, and it was
plain she never would rank among big
women. She was dressed in blue---a
little blue cloth cap perched daintily
upon her dainty head, still poised like q
queens upon her shoulders, and blue
serge dress, which fitted better,
noticed, than her dresses used to do
Even from where l was could see hel
blue eyes flashing, and that wonderful
smile upon her face. She was certain.
" prettier than of old, and she still
looked like maiden stepped down from
fairydom.
lay still and watched, content to bt
near her. knew I had but to open my
lips, and she would be with me on the
instant. But I did not choose. I pre-
ferred, like child, to play with pleas
ure, spinning it out to its full length. II
was summers ecstasy, and for . while
would not break the charm. But ther
the thought came to me, what would
she do if she knew that 1 was there
Wondering what the answer might be,
softly, hardly above a whisper, I gently
called "Em!" But she, engaged with
the daisy chain and with her little ones,
lid mt hnor aud ro;I no knoA
smiling as watched her, a second time
l called q little louder" Emil" But
she did not hear. The daisy-chain and
little ones seemed to engross all her
thoughts, and my voice blew past her
with the wind. How would it do, l
thought, since she was so obstinatelv
deaf. to rouse her by confronting her!
If she would not hear, she should see.
and her eyes, if not her ears, be opened.
With some such fancy, I was Just about
to rise and intrude myself upon her
presence, when I noticed the figure Of
man coming down the path.
l had no objection to children wit
Messing our meeting. though 1 could
have spared even them; but a third
party, and he . stranger, did not want.
0O WltOU UIJA u0 SuOuIU nave gone.
He was young man, q gentleman, be-
yond doubt, good looking, dressed in a
gray suit of Scotch tweed, and bright
red necktie. His was fair young face.
He had a promising mustache, which
he tended with one hand; and he was
smoking . mighty meerschaum. In
stead of passing as expected, when he
reached the wall he paused and looked
ut the group within. There was l, peep
ing over the outer edge of the summer
house, wondering what kept him there.
There was he, leaning with one hand
upon the moss-green wall. There was
she with her daisy-chain, and children
at her knees. just as I thought he
would be moving on, to my surprise he
vauited lightly over the wall, hiding be-
hind the very summer-house on which