The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-11-13
A GRAVEYARD IDYL.

tor Putnam was recovering from an attack OF
typhoid fever, he used to take short walks in
the suburbs of the little provincial town
where he lived. He was still weak enough
to need cane, and had to sit down now and
then to rest. His favorite haunt was an old
fashioned cemetery lying at the western edge
OF the al1uvlal terrace on which the town is
built.
1t was a quiet, shady old cemetery, not
much disturbed by funerals. Only at rare
intervals fresh heap of earth and slab OF
clean marble intruded with their tale of q
new and clamorous grief among the sunken
mounds and Weather-Stained tombStones OF
the ancient sleepers for whom the tears had
long been dried.
one afternoon Putnam was in his accus-
toned seat, whistling softly to himself and
cutting his initials into the edge of the bench.
The air was breathess, and the sunshine lay
so hot on the marshes that it seemed to draw
up in visible steam briny incense which
mingled with the spicy smell of the red
cedars. Absorbed in reverie, he failed to
notice how the scattered clouds that had
been passing across the sky all the afternoon
were being gradually reinforced by big fluffy
cumuli rolling up from the north, until q
rumble overhead and the rustic of a shower
in the trees aroused him.
In the center of the grounds was an ancient
summer-house standing amidst a maze OF
fower-beds intersected by gravel walks.
This was the nearest shelter, and, as the rain
began to patter smartly, Putnam pocketed
his knife, turned up his coat-colar and ran
for it. Arrived at the garden. house, he
to harbor from different parts of the ceme-
terry. The shower increased to a storm, the
lattices were lashed by the rain and steady
stream poured from the caves. The althaa
and snowberry bushes in the flower-pots
and even the stunted X-edges along the
he I'M ,o f,,I It "a.
dark in the summer-house, shaded by two
or three old hemlocks, and it was only by
the lightning flashes that Putnam could
make out the features of the little company
of refugees. They stood in the middle Of the
building, to avoid the sheets of rain blown
in at the doors in gusts, budding around O
pump that was raised on narrow stone
platform-not unlike the daughters of Priam
clustered about the great altar in the pene-
tralia: Precipites atra ecu tempestate
columbia.
They consisted of young girl. an elderly
woman with a towel and watering pot, and q
workman in overalls, who carried a spade
and had perhaps been interrupted in digging
a grave. The platform around the pump
hardly gave standing room for fourth
Putnam accordingly took his seat on a tool
chest near one OF the entrances, and, while
the soft spray blew through the lattices over
his face and clothes, he watched the effect
of the lightning flashes on the tossing, drip
ping trees of the cemetery grounds.
81 have spent the night here often, " said
the young lady, in an absent voice and as if
murmuring to herself.
"You haye?" exclaimed Putnam. sob,
you slept in the tool chest, l suppose, on
the old lady's shake down."
She was silent, and he began to have q
weird suspicion that she had spoken in earn
est. "This is getting interesting" he said
hInnsnlfs ~
have seen queer sights. OF course, when
the clock struck twelve all the ghosts popped
out and sat on their respective tombstOnes.
The ghosts in this cemetery must be awfully
old fellows. 1t doesn't look as if they had
buried any one here for hundred and thir-
ty-fve years. I've often thought it would
be good idea to inscribe Complet over the
gate, as they do on Paris omnibus.'
"You speak very lightly of the dead, "
said the young girl in tone Of dispeasure
and looking directly at him.
Putnam felt badly snubbed. He was about
to attempt an explanation, but her manner
indicated that she considered the converse
tion at an end. She gathered up her skirts
and prepared to leave the summer house.
The water had soaked away somewhat into
Excuse me-" said Putnam, advancing
desperately and touching his hat, "but Ino-
tice that your shoes are thin and the ground
40 SUN Ncbs all SOluS TlRuD over TO
High Street, and If can send you a carriage
or anything"
Thank you, no; / sha'n't need it;' and
she stepped off hastily down the walk
Putnam looked after her till winding of
the path took her out of sight, and then
started slowly homeward. "What the deuce
could she mean" he pondered as he walked
along, "about spending the night in the
cemetery? Can she-no she can't-be the
gatekeeper's daughter and live in the gate
house! Anyway, she's mighty pretty"
On the next day he started on his custo-
mary walk, and his feet led him Involuntary
to the cemetery. AS he traversed the patti
along the edge of the hill he saw in one OF
the grave lots the heroine Of his Yesterday
encounter, and sudden light broke in on
him: she was mourner. And yet how hap
pened it that she wore no black? There wa.
a wooden railing round the inclosure, and
within It a single mound and tombstone OF
fresh marble. A few cut flowers lay on the
grave. She was sitting in low wicker
chair, her hands folded in her lap and hei
eyes fixed vacantly on the western hills.
Putnam now took closer note OF her face. II
was of a brown paleness. The air OF hau,,
teur given it by the purity of the profile and
the almost insolent stare Of the large BLACK
eyes was contradicted by the sweet, irreso-
lutte curves Of the mouth. AT present hel
look expressed only profound apathy, AS
he approached her eyes turned toward him,
but seemingly without recognition. DIM