The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1880-07-15
MY LITTLE SWEETHEART.

When l first knew her she was fifteen
years old; l was twenty-four. She was
schoolmaster' daughter; 1 school
masters son. We first met one Sep
TENDER evening. Her father was a
struggling pedagogue, with family of
seven children to support, and few
pupils. had it in my head to become
his partner, and went down first to see
how things were looking. l arrived
after lengthy journey; and the first
room was little girl seated in an old
armchair, with a big book upon her
knees. She shook hands with me; and
as she did so noticed her eyes were
blue, her hair was golden brown, es-
Gaping from its bonds in ripping wave
lets; and that she had curiously-win-
ming smile, smiling not only with her
lips, but with her eyes and face and all.
Later on, l was struck by the way her
little head was poised upon her shoul-
ders. She was upright as a dart; and
when she moved, it was with an infinite
grace, as some tiny Queen.
Her name was Emily; to her friends
she was always EN-.
She and l struck a friendship. She
always did make friends with all male
creatures, whether five years old or
fifty. was scribbler even then; and
fancy the pride of authorship, even in
so small degree, had certain charm
for her which set me up in her eyes.
She wrote her name in my birthday
book; and beneath it 1 wrote, "My
Little Sweetheart" 1t lies before me
at this moment.
She would fly through her work like
bird flinging unwelcome showers from
its wing. She could not see that life
was real
Yet had she good cause to see that it
was SO. 1t was the hardest struggle in
the world for her father and mother to
to bring two ends together. Very lit
tie money was ever hers. Her ward
robe was of the scantiest. She knew
nothing of pleasure, as some people
understand it; she had never been ten
miles out of the town where she was
born. Yet there must have been some
fairy present at her birth, for she was
like summers day, always bright.
Not that she could not be grave. That
was one of her rarest charms-her gift
of sympathy. Only let some one whom
she knew and cared for be in sorrow,
and En- would not be far away. Dark
indeed would be that sorrow which did
did not change to light when her sun
was shining. Her voice, her eyes, her
arms, all Joined to drive the shadows
away, and soothe the sufferer with tn e
presence of her love.
Time sped. l had now known her
more than two years. was going on
rambling expedition to foreign parts,
and though l knew was a fool for
my pains, to me it was a bitter part
ing. And SO for the time, l think it
was to her; for, in some way. links had
been joined between us without our ever
knowing they were being forged.
"Well," said l to her, the day before
I went, we being alone together, ''Blue
Eyes, how long shall be missed?''
The only answer was to throw herself
upon the hearth-rug, place her hands
upon my knees, and turn her eyes up
toward my face.
"Ah, Blue Eyes," said l, triiing with
her sunny hair, "you'n have another
sweetheart in a week.
In week." said she,. in that curl
ously clear voice of hers. do you
think SOP" She looked up and watched
me for moment. Then she turned
and got upon her knees, kneeling in
front OF me. Perhaps so," she said.
"But'-leaning forward, SO that her
breath mingled with mine" II new
er be sweetheart like you.''
What could l do? 1 knew her so
well! knew that this was just what
she would say to any one by way of
comfort. I knew that her words were
as trifles, light as air.
Make no VOWS" said l, "only to
be broken. You and I have had happy
times; why should begrudge the same
to another?''
She was silent; she was now nearly
eighteen; but she was 50 small, that it
never occurred to me to think of her as
anything but . little girl. She put her
hands out and took mine, still in the
same quiet fashion. would you like