American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1880-07-17

at her. 1t came to me that this was
very bitter, and however great fool |
might be, | could not entirely hide what
was in my heart. Little Sweetheart"
said l, "of one thing be sure-I never
shall forget you"
| She came to me and I kissed her.
She still kept her face near mine. Der
| tie" 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 ears BERTHE, I'll
not forget you in Il week."
| l almost pushed her from me. knew
| this dalliance was worse than fclly-l
knew her so weil-and ro.e to my feet.
NO" said l. with bitter mirth; mot
in a week, but in eight days"
! She made 40 answer, but still knelt
| at my feet. And so we parted; for the
| farewell 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. L 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 men,
| DRY with me. and wherever | might be,
sweet face. l would not own it to my
sight of her, and because | knew it
was so, and that it was such foolishness.
l stopped away longer than had in
tended. But ut last came back. One
of my first visits was to b; for, try
how 1 would. l could not deny the long
ing for another sight of her. I found
that the position .f the parents of En-
had little improved; and her mother
toI.. 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
goueernante? with those blue eyes. and
that smile, that everlasting spirit of
mischief which would be bubbling outp
Fancy her sober preceptress! And
who were her sweethearts now2 Was
there pupil old enough to be made the
recipient of her faeorsP Or was there
some one who was not a pupil, still
more capable? Well, what did it mat
ter to me? She and 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, l
made them an excuse for a visit there.
YET, on my arrival, was in no hurry
to find them out; and taking up my
quarters in quiet inn, l prepared to
have day or two alone. 1t was a Sat-
urday afternoon, lovely weather; and
set out for 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 YVES SO alive with beauty,
that Itook my time and fingered, noting
spots memory once held dear. Reach
ing Quar- Woods, wandered tnroue 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 Oh rusty hinges; under the trees
was garden gate; much the worse for
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 languid ears, and a gentle
charm came over me. 1 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. l
opened my eyes. dreamily conscious
that voices were somewhere near. l
lay listening with a sort of curiosity.
and became aware that 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
child's, yet childlike. 1t was familiar
to my ears, and as listened its sound
woke within me chords of forgotten
music. Before many seconds had gone
1 knew it was EN- s voice heard. But
l did not move, nor did l turn to see.
lay as in tower of strength, and it
was a comfortable feeling to know that
1 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 l moved. l rose upon my
elbow quietly, so as to make no noise,
and looked over the side of the summer
house on to the garden below. And
there 1 saw her. She was on the seat
under the trees. About her were four
children, two BOYS and two girls. They
stood att her knees close together,
watching her make a 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 a
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 her
blue eyes flashing. and that wonderful
smile upon her face. She was certain
looked like maiden stepped down from
fairydom.
lay still and watched, content to be
near her. l knew l had but to open my
lips, and she would be with me on the
instant. But 1 did not choose. l pre-
ferred, like child, to play with pleas
ure, spinning it out to its full length. 1t
was a summers ecstasy, and for a while
1 would not break the charm. But then
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 whisper, gently
called Emil But she, engaged with
the daisy-chain and with her little ones,
did not hear, and paid no heed So,
smiling as watched her, a second time
I called q little louder Emil But
she did not hear. The daisy-c chain and
little ones seemed tn enprOsS all hers