Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1880-11-05
A GRAVEYARD IDYL.

A GRAVEYARD IDYL.
In the summer OF 1S7--, when young Doc
tor Putnam was recovering from an attack of
typhoid fever, he used to take short walks in
tue suburbs Of the little provincial town
where he lived. lie was still weak enough
TO need a cane, and had to sit down nowand
then to rest. His faV0rite haunt was an old
fashioned cemetery lying at the western edge
of the alluvial terrace on which the town is
built.
1t was a quiet, shady old cemetery, not
much disturbed by funerals. Only at rare
intervals n fresh heap of earth and slab Of
clean marble intruded with their tale of a
new and clamorous grief among the sunken
mounds and weather stained tombstones of
the ancient sleepers for whom the tears had
long been dried.
One afternoon Putnam was in his accus-
toned seat, whistling softly to himself and
cutting his initials into the edge of the bench.
The air was GREATNESS, and the sunshine lay
| so hot on the marshes that it seemed to draw
up in visible steam briny incense which
mingled with the spicy smell Of the red
cedars. Absorbed in revere, he failed to
notice how the scattered clouds that had
been passing across the sky all the afternoon
were being gradually reinforced by big fluffy
cumuli rolling up from the north, until a
rumble overhead and the rustic of a shower
! in the trees aroused him.
| In the center of the grounds was an ancient
| summer-house standing amidst maze Of
| hower-beds intersected by gravel walks.
This was the nearest shelter, and, as the rain
began to patter smartly, Putnam pocketed
| his knife, turned up his coat collar and ran
| for it. Arrived at the garden-house, he
found there a group of three persons. driven
| to harbor from different parts of the ceme-
terry. The shower increased to a storm, the
lattices were lashed by the rain and a steady
stream poured from the caves. The althRa
/ a hnr hITSb Sbnl in ha fAt
and even the stunted boX-edges along the
paths, swayed in the wind. 1t grew quite
dark in the summer house, shaded by two
| or three old hemlOcks, and it was only by
| the lightning flashes that Putnam could
make out the features of the little company
of refugees. They stood in the middle Of the
building, to avoid the sheets of rain blown
| in at the doors in gusts, huddling around a
| pump that was raised on a narrow stone
plalform-not unlike the daughters OF Pram
clustered about the great altar in the pene-
traia: Pr@ciptes atra ecu tempestate
| columbia.
They consisted OF young girl. an elderly
woman with towel and watering pot, and u
workman in overalls, who carried a spade
and had perhaps been interrupted in digging
a grave. The platform around the pump
hardly gave standing room for fourth.
Putnam accordingly took his seat on a tool
chest near one OF the entrances, and, while
| the soft spray blew through the lattices over
his face and clothes, he watched the effect
of the lightning flashes on the tossing, drip
| ping trees of the cemetery y-grounls.
81 have spent the night here often, " said
the young lady, in an absent voice and as if
murmuring to herself.
"You haveF" exclaimed Putnam. "Oh,
you slept in the tool-chest, suppose, on
the old lady's shake down."
She was silent, and he began to have a
weird suspicion that she had spoken in earn
est. This is getting interesting" he said
| to himself; and then aloud, "You must
have seen queer sights. OF course, when
the clock struck twelve all the ghosts popped
out and sat on their respective tombstones
| The ghosts In this cemetery must be aWfully
old fellows. 1t doesn't look as if they had
buried any one here for hundred and thir-
| ty-hve years. I've often thought it would
be good idea to inscribe Complet over the
gate, as they do on Paris omnibus"
You speak very lightly of the dead, "
said the young girl in tone of displeasure
and looking directly at him.
Putnam felt badly snubbed. He was about
10 attempt an explanation, but her manner
indicated that she considered the conversa-
ton ut an end. She gathered up her skirts
and prepared to leave the summer house.
The water had soaked away somewhat into
the gravel.
Excuse me-" said Putnam, advancing
desperately and touching his hat, " but Ino-
tice that your shoes are thin and the ground
is still very wet. l am going right over to
High Street, and II can send YOU a carriage
or anything"
Thank you, no; l sha'n't need it," and
she stepped off hastily down the walk
Putnam looked after her till winding OF
the path took her out OF sight, and then
started slowly homeward "What the deuce
| could she mean," he pOndered as he walked
along, "about spending the night in the
cemetery? Can she-no she can't-be the
gatekeeper's daughter and live in the gate
house2 Anyway, she's mighty pretty"
On the next day he started on his custo-
mary walk,and his feet led him involuntarily
to the cemetery. As he trayersed the path
along the edge of the hill he saw in one OF
the grave lots the heroine of his Yesterday Is
! encounter, and a sudden light broke in on
him: she was mourner. And yet how hap
pened 1t that she wore no black? There was
a wooden railing round the inclosure, and
within 1t single mound and tombstone oil
fresh marble. A few cut flowers lay on the
grave. She was sitting in a low wicker
| chair, her hands folded in her lap and hel
eyes fixed vacantly on the western hills
! Putnam now took closer note of her face II
was OF brown paleness. The air of hau-
| teur given II by the purity of the profile and
the almost insolent stare of the large black
eyes was contradicted by the sweet, irreso-
Lutte curves of the mouth. At present hel
look expressed only profound apathy. A.
he approached her eyes turned toward him,
| pul scelllhBlg WITHOUT recognition. DIM
dence was not among Tom Putnam's fail.
ings: he felt drawn by an unconquerablt
sympathy and attraction to speak TO her
even at the risk of intruding upon the sa,
credness OF her grief.
"EXcuse me, MISS" he began, stopping IL
front of her, "but l want to apologize fol
what | said yesterday about-about the Gem
etery. II must have seemed very heartless t
you, but didn't know that you were il
mourning when 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 ,
moment before turning away perverse rec
objection surprised him, and he laughed ou
loud.
She cast a look OF strong Indignation a
him, and rose to her feet.
"Oh, Task your pardon thousand times, ,
ne exclaimed reddening violently. "Pieasl
uon't ihink that was laughing at any thini
to do with you. The fact is that last idiot
speech OF mine reminded me Of something
that happened day before yesterday. Nv,
been sick, and met a friend on the stree
who said, Pm glad you're better;' and
answered, Pm glad that you're glad tha
Pm betteri' and then he said, 'I'm glad tina
you're glad that Pm glad that you're better
like the House that Jack Built, you know
and II came over me all OF a sudden tina
the only way TO continue our conversation
gracefully would be for you TO say, 'pm glat
that you're glad that I'ye forgotten what y0l
said yesterday"
She had listened impatiently TO this naiy
and somewhat incoherent explanation, an'
she now said, ~ wish you would go away