The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1880-12-15

When first knew her she was fifteen
years old; | was twenty-fou. She was a
schoolmaster' daughter; |, school
masters son.
We first met one September evening.
Her father was struggling pedagogue,
with family Of seven children to sup
port, and few pupils. | had it in my
head to become his partner, and had
gone down first to see how things were
looking.
Her name was Emily; to her friends
she was always EN-.
She and | struck up friendship. She
! always did make friends with all male
creatures, whether five years old or fifty.
| was Il scribbler, even then and fancy
the pride Of authorship even in so small
a degree, had certain charm for her,
which set me up in her eyes.
She wrote her name i'll my birthday
book and beneath it l WROTE 'My Little
Sweetheart 1t lies before me at the
present moment.
II was the hardest thing in the world
for her father and mother to make both
ends meet. Very little money was ever
hers. Her wardrobe was of the scantest.
She knew nothing of pleasure as somo
people understand it; she had never been
ten miles out OF the town where she was
born.
Yet there must have been somo fairy
present at her birth, for she was like q
summers day, always bright.
Timo sped. I had been her fathers
partner, and had now known her more
than two years I was going for u ram.
bling expedition TO foreign parts; and
though | knew I was TOOL for my pains,
to me it was n bitter parting.
And SO for time, think, it was to
her; for i'll some way links had been
joined between us without ourcyer know
ing they were boing forged.
"Well, said to her, the day before
went, We being alone together "Bluo
eyes, how long shall | be missed?'
The Or,y answer was to throw herself
upon the hearth rug, place her hand up
on my knee, and turn her eyes up toward
my face.
"Ah, Blue Eyes" said I, riHing with
her sunny hair, you'll have another
sweetheart i'll week.
In weel?' said she, in that curious,
ly clear voice others. 'Doyou think so?
She looked mp 1T me aud watched me for
a moment Then she turned and got
upon her knees, lneeimg in front OF me.
Perhaps so,' she said. "But lean
ing forward, SO her breath mingled with
mine" he'll never he sweetheart like
YOU" What could do? knew her so
well! I knew that this is Just what sho
would say to any one by way of comfort
] knew that her words were as hidcs
light as air.
"N1oke no VOWS" said /, "only to be
broken. You and | have had nappy
times; why should bcgrulgo the same
to anOther?'
She was silent. She was now nearly
eighteen, but she was so small, that il
never occurred to me to think of her rs
anything but little girl. She put her
hands ont and took mine, still in the
same quiet fashion. "Would You like
me to?" said She" would you like me
toto take another?"
En-" said I, "what does it matte.
what like? Before the sun has gone
down upon my going, another day will
have dawned for you" / looked at her.
1t came to me that this was very bitter,
and however great fool L might be, |
could not entirely hide what was in my
I, itII, S,r-,,ll,,ut ~ 1 ..,r
one thing be slue--I never shall forget
you"
She came to me, and [ kissed her. She
still kept her face near mine. "Bertie,"
said she-it was the first time she had
ever called me Bertie: it had always been
plain Mister before, and the name rang IN
my cars" BERTHE, Ill not forget you III
q week.
| almost pushed her from me- | knew
this dalliance was worse than folly-l
knew her so well-and rose TO my feet.
" No." said !, with bitter mirth; "not IN
a week, but in eight days.
She made 10 answer, but still kneIt at
my feet. And so we parted; for tine fare
well on the morrow was but formal one.
Two year passed by. Occasionally !
sent her little notes. pictures OF noted
places. foolish curiosities. But never
gave her my address.
At last / returned, and found she was
living out as governess.
Her mother told me her situation was
in the neighborhood of Ryde. Happen
ing to have friends in that town, | made
them an excuse for visit there.
Yet. on my arrival | was III no hurry
TO find them out; and taking mp my quar-
ters in a quiet inn, prepared to have
day or two alone.
It was a Saturday afternoon, lovely
weather; and | set out for walk vel
known in years gone by, through the
Lovers Lane ncstling by the waterslde.
sat down and fell into reyerie.
Something woke me from it-a sound.
7 became aware that I was listening TO
praitle: little voices were borne upon the
breeze. children's laughter mingiing with
the ripping waves.
Bnt every now and then there was an
other voice. not child's, yet child-like.
II was familiar to my ears. and as | lis
tened. its sounds woke within me chords
Of forgotten music. Before many sec
onds had gone knew it was Ems voice
| heard.