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

front of her, shut L want to apologize for
what L said yesterday about-about the GEM
etery. 1t must have seemed very heartless to
you, but | didn't know that you were in
mourning when 1 spoke as did,"
=" | have forgotten what you said," she an
swered.
am glad you have" said Putnam,
rather fatuously. There seemed really moth
| ing further to say, but as he fingered for a
moment before turning away perverse rec
objection surprised him, and he laughed out
| loud
She cast a look of strong indignation at
him, and rose to her feet.
"Oh, ask your pardon thousand times,''
| he exclaimed reddening violently. "Please
| don't think that was laughing at any thing
| to do with you. The fact is that last idiotic
| speech Of mine reminded me of something
that happened day before yesterday. Pve
been sick, and met a friend on the street
who said, Pm glad you're better;' and
answered, Pm glad that you're glad that
| Pm better;' and then he said, pm glad that
you're glad that Pm glad that you're better
like the House that Jack Built, you know
and 1t came over me all Of sudden that
| the only way to continue our conversation
gracefully would be for you to say, Pm glad
that you're glad that I've forgotten what you
| said Yesterday"
She had listened impatiently to this naive
and somewhat incoherent explanation, and
she now said, 81 wish you would go away.
You see that am alone here and in trouble.
l can't imagine what motive you can have
FOR annoying me in this way" her eyes I'LL
ing with angry tears.
Putnam was too much panied by the vehe-
mence of her language to attempt any imme-
date reply. His first impulse was to bow
and retire without more words. But per-
tinacity which formed one of his strongest
though perhaps least amiabe traits counter
manded his impulse, and he said gravely,
"Certainly, Twill go at once, but in justice
| to myself must first assure you that / didn't
mean to intrude upon you or annoy you in
any way"
She sank down into her chair and averted
her face.
You say" he continued, "that you are
In trouble, and beg you to believe that | re-
| spect your atfliction, and that when [ spoke
to you just now it was simply to ask pardon
for having hurt your feelings yesterday,
without meaning to, by my light mention of
the dead. Eve been too near deaths door
myself lately to joke about it" He paused,
but she remained silent "I'm going away
now," he said softly. s'Won't you say that
| you excuse me, and that you haven't any
hard feelings toward mep
"Yes, oh yes" she answered YEARLY: 81
have no feelings. Please go away"
Putnam raised his hat respectfully, and
went off down the pathway. On reaching
the little gate house he sat down to rest on a
bench before the door. The gatekeeper was
standing on the threshold in his shirt-s sleeves,
smoking pipe. ga nice day after the rain,
sir" he began.
"1es, it is"
"Have you any folks here, sir?"
mo, no one. But come here sometimes
for a stroll"
g Yes, Pve seen you about. Well, it's a
nice, quiet place for walk, but the grounds
amt KEEP up quite the shape they used to
be: there amt so much occasion for it.
Seems as though the buryin' business was
dull, like pretty much every thing else now
eyes, that's so,' replied Putnam alb
sently.
The gatekeeper spat refectively upon the
center of the doorstep, and resumed
'There's some that comes here quite regular,
but they mostly have folks here. There's
old Mrs Lyon comes very steady, and there's
young Miss Pinckney: she's one of the most
regular"
as that the young lady in gray, with black
eyes"
"That's she."
"Who is she in mourning for?''
swell, she amt exactly in mourning.
guess, from what they say, she hain't got
the money for black bunnets and dresses,
poor gal! But it's her brother that's buried
here-last April. He was in the hospital
learning the doctors business when he was
took down."
i, "In the hospital' Was he from the South,
"Well, that 1 can't say: like enough he
was"
odd you say that she is poor"
$50 they was telling me at the funeral. 1t
was mighty poor funeral too-not more'n
a couple of hacks. But you can't tell much
from that, with the fashions now days /:
some of the richest folks buries private like.
Won don't FIN tho,
had ten years back. I've seen fifty kerridges
to onst a-comin' in that gate" waving his
pipe impressively toward that piece of arch
itecture, "and that was when kerridge hire
was half again as high as it is now. She must
have spent goodly sum in green-h house
n)wers, though: fresh boquets most every
day she keeps a-fetchin',"
"Well, good day." said Putnam, starting
off.
"Good day, SIR"
Putnam had himself just completed his
studies at the medical college when attacked
by fever, and he now recalled somewhat
vaguely a student Of the name of Pinckney,
and remembered to have heard that he was
a Southerner. The gatekeeper's story in
creased the interest which he was beginning
to feel in his new acquaintance, and he re-
solved to follow up his inauspicious begin
nings to better issue. He knew that great
delicacy would be needed in making further
approaches, and so decided to keep out of
her sight for a time. In the course of the
next few days he ascertained, by visits to the
cemetery and talks with the keeper, that she
now seldom visited her brothers grave in
the forenoon, although during the first
month after his death she had spent all her
DAYS and some of her nights beside it.
Putnam read the inscription on the tomb
stone, which ran as follows: ''To the
Memory Of Henry Pinckney. Born October
29th,' 1852. Died April 9th, 49," and
under this the text, ''If thou have borne him
hence, tell me where thou hast laid him."
He noticed with sudden twinge of pity that
the flowers on the grave, though freshly
picked every day, were wild fiowers-most-
ly the common field varieties, with now and
then rarer blossom from wood or swamp,
and now and then garden flower. He gath
cred from this that the sisters purse was
running low, and that she spent her morn
ings in collecting flowers outside the city.
He determined that the shrine OF her devo-
ton should not want richer offerings. There
was dollhouse on the way from his home
to the cemetery, and he now stopped there
occasionally of morning and bought few
roses to lay upon the mound. This contn-
ued for fortnight. One morning as he APP
preached the little grave-ot with his accus-
toned offerings, he looked up and saw the
young girl standing before him. Her eyes
were fixed on the flowers in his hand. He
colored guilty and stood still, like boy
caught robbing an orchard She looked both
surprised and embarrassed, but said at once
eff you are the gentleman who has been
infr ttaKs h.-nfl ..f