The Cecil Whig., 1882-10-28
MISS EULALIE, S ELM TREE.

MISS EOLALlE, > ELM i SEE.
| 1t was magnificent work Of nature,
! Miss Eulalie'S elm tree, so tall and grace.
full, ovcrhanging the street with its green
banner, lending charming shade to her
| little parlor, which gave it the air of a
dim, cool recess in the woods on a sum
mcr's day. Miss Eulalie loved it, and,
except for her gay young ward, it would
seem as if she had little else to love- Her
! grandfather had planted it; it was sort
of heir-i loom. She had passed her youth
beneath its boughs; her name was carved
on its stem. She never looked at the
tree without thinking of the one who
had carved it there; of the still, moon
| light nights they had spent together in
| its shadow. 1t gave her both pain and
| pleasure-pleasure because it reminded
her that he had loved her once; pain, that
lie loved her no longer. She could not
guess why he never returned to her:
what had estranged him was still as great
a mystery to her as in those days of her
early bereavement, when sorrow and sus-
pense had been her daily companions,
rising up and sitting down with her.
Perhaps some fairer woman had enslaved
him, perhaps he had never really loved
her at all, and she experienced pang Of
mortified pride when she reflected that
she had possibly been vain enough to
make the mistake. Year by year she
watched the tender green of the elm.
thicken into dark masses of leaves; year
by year she watched them fading and
falling, like her own hopes and illusions:
it was poem to her: and yet after all,
it was only Miss Eulalie's elm tree by
ps I'm ssion. The home of her ancestors
had fallen into other hands, she had only
returned to it by a happy chance, not as
its owner. Mrs. Waugh, the purchaser
had daughter to be educated. and Miss
Eulalie had taken the situation. When
Mrs. Waugh died, she devised that Miss
Eulalie should make home with Isabel,
be mother. sister, teacher, ali in one, to
that wayward young person, till she
should marry-in short, stand in the gap.
Miss Eulalie had been used to standing
in gaps all her life: this was nothing
new. And it was home--her old home
where she had dreamed dreams. When
she walked by twilight beneath the old
elm its leaves seemed to whisper, Just
here he kissed you first" and Here you
said goodbye" No wonder she loved
the old tree.
" Dangerous thing" said Captain Val
entine, tapping its trunk with his cane as
he walked by, ''hollow hearted as jilt.
Miss Eulalie.''
8 lou are mistaken" she reioined; ait
is as sound as nut
But it must come down. he added,
as if his word were law.
Nicer, while l live, Captain Valen-
tine
"1ou forget that am man of prop
erty; that pay more taxes than any one
in Littleford; that | can buy every tree
in the place, and cut it down, if
choose
Then it is only from pure good-nature
that you beg my consent to cut down this
exquisite tree? Do you know, I have
loved it from childhood; my grandfather
planted it.
II know that Miss Isabel owns the
wholc estate, and | know that this bone
of contention. this tree, ohstructs the
view from my windows, Miss Eulale.
which is more to the point-that its
boughs leap into the air so high and
spread their branches so wide, that it
blots out the view OF the sea, sthe open
sea- and he passed on up the long
green lawn to hls new home, with It's
marble steps and broad balconies. which
m lGe its humble neighbor seem forlorn
and shabby. Miss Eulalie looked at the
imposing structure, at the partarres of
brilliant flowers, at the fountain tossing
its jets into the sunlight, the velvet ter
races and lawn, and smiled. Why had
Captain Valentine chosen to build his |
palace so uear Eer home? Why had he |
built at all at his time of life, with no
family t, inherit, and no wife to do it's
honors? How lonely he must be, she
in the spacious mansion, with |
nobody but the servants to speak with,
Why had he never married? In the hu-
mility Of her heart Miss Eulale never
dreamed that it was because she would |
not marry him. That had happened SO
Andrews had smiled together in the |
Water Witch. How angry he had been
then! how jealous of Anson. How bit |
terly he had sworn that the day should |
come when she would give her hearts |!
blood to recall the words-when she |
should regret her folly in dust and ashes, |
But of course he had forgotten all that |
the rawlings of an untamed nature. He |
had been only second mate then. with |
little or nothing ahead in the world: to-
day he was Captain Valentine, with that |
world 1T his feet: the richest man in
town, perhaps.
'Iou might haze been mistress up |
here. Miss Eulalic," he had reminded |
her one day, pausing at her gateway af- |
ter the house was done. But you took !
your choice-you took your choice, and =
-laug Ching" they tell us that beggars |
:Lnnlju't Ia. pI,nSa,s -
From the very first Captain Valentine !
had raised hue and cry about Miss |
Eulalie' S elm tree; it also seemed as if he |
had selected the site to tease her, as if |
he wished to strip her Of everything she
loved since she declined to love himself |
8 have bought the most expensive spot |
IN town. hc said, and spared no money
in order that | might open my eyes every |
on my beloved sea, and you re-
fuse to sacrifice a tree for an old friend |
and ueighbor, a tree which will drop of
its own will presently
"Captain Valentine" she said, "you
have my word, once for all; the elm shall
stand SO long as am mistress here. There
need lac no words about it,
NO more words, but deeds,' he an
swered, and d wicked, angry light famed |
in his eyes. such as she had seen there
once before. The man could hold fire
like iron.
But then the subject dropped, as she
believed. He did not mention the tree
again. Il He has given it up" she
thought: "he makes IL great noise when |