The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1880-07-03


her sunny hair, you'll have another
sweetheart IN a week. +"
In week?" said she, in that curl
ously clear voice of hers. "Do Won
think SOP" She looked up and watched
me for a moment. Then she turned and
got apon her knees, kneeling in front of
me. " Perhaps SO, she said. But .
- leaning forward, so that her breath
mingled with mine" he'll never be a
sweetheart like you
What could | do? | knew her so
we'll | knew that this was lust what
she would say to any one by way of
comfort. | knew that her words were as
tribes, light as air
Make no VOWS, said |, "only to be
broken. You and / have had happy
times; why should | begrudge the same
TO another?"
She was silent; she was now nearly Is;
but she was SO small, that it never oc-
CURED to me to think of her rs anything
but little girl. She put her hands out
and took mine, still IN the same quiet
fashion. would YOU like me to?"
said She would you like me TOTO
take another? "
LII. 5tlINi "lIdl tlDtS IL IldIItT
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 | might be, |
could not entirely hide what was III my
heart. Little Sweetheart, " said |, "of
one thing be sure-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 BERTHE; it had al
ways been plain Mister before, and the
name rang IN my cars" BERTHE. I'll not
forget you IN a week
| almost pushed her from me- knew
this dalhance was worse than follv-I
knew her SO well-and rose to my feet.
: No" said |, with bitter mirth; "not
in week, but i'll eight days.
She made no answer, but still knelt at
my feet And SO we parted; for the fare
well on the morrow was but a formal
one.
Two years passed by. Occasionally [
sent her little notes, pictures of noted
places, foolish curiosities But | never
gave her my address. | knew letter
writing was not her strong point, and for
some reason | did not like to think that
she would not write, although she could
Through it all | bore her memory with
me. and wherever | might be, at times
would come the shadow of her sweet
face. | would not own it to myself: but
now and again | hungered for a sight of
her, and because / knew it was so. and
that it was such foolishness, [ stopped
away longer than | had intended. But
at last | came back One of my first
visits was to B; for, try how [
would, | could not deny the longing for
another sight Of her. | found that the
position of the parents Of En- had little
and her mother told me that
she had gone into the world us COVER
ness. Such had always been the inten-
ton; but | wondered what sort of
governess she would make. A staid
gouyernante? with those blue eyes. and
that smile, that everlasting spirit of
mischief which would be bubbling out?
Fancy her a sober preceptress And
who were her sweethearts now Z? Was
there a pupil old enough to be made the
recipient OF her fayors Or was there
some one who was not a pupil, still more
capable? Well, what did it matter To
me? She and | had each our way to go.
Her mother told me her situation was
IN the neI9hborhoOd of Ryde. Happen
ing to have friends In that town, | made
them an excuse for visit there Yet,
on my arrival there, | was In no hurry to
find them out; and taking UP my quar-
ters IN quiet inn, | prepared to have
day or two alone 1t was Il SATURDAY.
afternoon, love weather; and | set out
for a walk well known in years gone by.
through the Lovers lane, past Quar-
abbey, to Eishhouse, nesting by the
waters side. 1t was 50 warm, and the
country was SO alive with beauty, that |
took my time and fingered, noting spots
memory once held dear. Reaching
Quar- woods, ! wandered through the
brushWood to the waters edge Along
the shore there runs or ran wall, an old
wall; and within 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 a garden gate, much
he worse for weather and wear: and on
he left was an old summer house, damp
md mildewy, with steps up to the roof
md seats upon it.
[ entered the garden and climbed up
o the old roof-seat My pipe, III sympa-
by with the weather, was soothing to
NY nerves. Gradually substance became
shadow; the soft wind sang sweet music
o my langnid ears, and a gentle charm
anne over me. | fancy it was sleep.
Utopian to lie there, the wavelets rip (
bling softly upon the shore; a dim sus-
)icion Of unclouded skies pervading my
lreams,
Something woke me-asound. open
q my eyes, dreamily conscious that
.Oices were somewhere near. | lay lis
ening with a sort Of curiosity, and be
anne aware that / was listening to the
orattle of children; little voices were
)orne upon the breeze, children's laugh
er minghng with the ripping waves
But every now and then there was an
,ther voice, not a child's, vet childlike
t was familiar to my ears, and as | lis
ened, Its sound woke within me chords
# forgotten music. Before many see
Dnds had gone, | knew it was Ems voice
heard. But | Gid not move, nor did
urn to see. | lay as IN a tower Of
strength, and it was a comfortable feel
ng to know that | had but to turn upon
ny elbow, and there before me would be
he little lady who once was my little
sweetheart. But at last | moved. | rose
all L