The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1883-03-24

and on that day put blossom on my
fathers grave?"
Her gentle bosom huttered with a sob
or two, and big tear fell on the painted
pot and its white bloom
"Oh, Paul, don't speak SO solemnly
You know 1 will cherish the Violets, and
you may be sure" she added, in lower,
different tone, ''that | will not forget to
reverence your fathers grave for you.
This pretty pot shall adorn it all Easter
day, and your mother shall have cluster
of my white beAutie, to wear But all
the other days in the year, Paul, this pot
and plant is mine-all mine
His heart grew hot, he lost his head,
and whispered hurriedly: Violet, Violet,
give me one little kiss, to keep me strong
and good all the years I must be gone.
The girls eyes opened widely at the re-
quest, or at his agitation. As baby she
had patted and caressed, or struck her loyal
little slave just as the baby impulse had
moved her; but she had seldom kissed
him, or thought of it, since being a grown
girl
She looked at him. He was not hand
some fellow, but he was g her Paul, and
and wondering at the look and light in his
face, half-vexed by the color coming in her
own, she very gravely complied with his
request. At that moment Mrs. EstertOn
entered the room, and decided it was well
Paul Morgan was going away. Violets
embarrassment vanished at once, and she
brought forth the pot of Violets and told
her mother the bargain made with him,
While Paul went on his lonesome way with
glad heart as he cherished the memory
of that caress.
Three years of hard driving study and
work, and Paul was broken down. He
came home quietly one summer day to stay
and rest
He had carried on an irregular CORE
spondence with his little woodland wait,
and been duly informed by his mother
when the girl had broken with Mrs. Ester
ton and sought refuge with Mrs. Morgan.
Mrs. Esterton, as she grew older had
persuaded herself that she could dispose of
Violet as she pleased, after having given
the girl utmost freedom all her years. She
found her error. The girl loudly declared
she would never marry Mr. Huntley, nor
any other man; indeed, she added, unless
she met one she admired more than any
she had yet seen. The result, after a long,
argumentative battle, was that Miss Violet
went to teaching the village school and
lived with Mrs. Morgan.
But Paul was hardly prepared to find
what a magnificent woman his wildwood
flower had become. He thought prince
might have been proud to marry such a
woman.
She met him with frank, candid friend
ship; coolly explained her position at
home, as she yet termed Mrs. Esterton's
fine house.
After rather long visit, he returned to
his city labors, knowing as well as though
he had gone through all his life that there
was but one woman in all the world for
him, and that she could never be for him,
for Violet Esterton was so far beyond him
and above him that he would never subject
himself to the agony, nor her to the pain,
of refusing him. She might, indeed, know
his heart; he half thought she had already
read it; but never would he utter word.
He prayed that she might be restored soon
to her wealthy, happy home, and then,
poor fellow, humbly asked help to wade
through the remainder of his years
And, ere long, Mrs. Esterton, feeling the
need of the comforting care of her head
strong child, sent for her; and after her
death, Violet found that the beautiful
home had been hequeathed to her, and she
was again surrounded with wealth, refine
ment and beauty Lovers she had in
plenty, but she was chill to all as the cool
SHOWS that cherished through the winter
the Violets in the old wooded dell.
Paul Morgan had become celebrated as
preacher and painter; and, after years of
study, had come again unto the little old
country home where he had spent his boy
hood. Fortune had smiled upon him kindly.
He had been all over the new world and
the old; he was well-known writer and
divine, and fame had followed his travels.
A fine, kind-looking man; he was never
handsome.
1t was Easter again, and he was to as
sist in the services Of the church. He said
it was the proudest hour of his life when
he, who had been barefooted little lad of
the village, was deemed worthy to lead his
townspeople in the services of the holy
worship.
I cannot begin to tell how touching and
beautiful were the remarks he made. His
playmates had grown to sturdy, earnest
men and women, and sat before him filled
with admiration and affection for one who
had so far outstripped them in the race of
life.
The speakers eyes filled with tears as he
looked upon two women seated near him.
One, an old lady, over whose wrinkled,
smiling face perfect April shower was
constantly playing, smiles and tears, tears
and smiles. And on the bosom Of her
black silk gown was pinned bunch of
sweet white Violets Their odor foated
up to the man at the altar, and he knew
the other younger woman had remembered
all these years her promise to the awkward
country youth.
That other woman was pale, and grave,
and quiet; yet, her eyes were clear and
candid as on the day when she kissed him
farewell.
Now, she was a woman grown-an angel,
the country folk all thought her.
Very glad was she to behold her old
comrade, her knight of childish days,
standing there as the medium between her
self and heaven.
After church services, mother and son
were to take dinner with her, in her grand
home. Mrs. Morgan, indeed, spent most
of her days there Paul, that was the
treat, to entertain one who so seldom came,
Once again, after ten long years, Paul
Morgan stood by the window where Violet,
now his fair hostess, had given him that
good-by kiss, and he glanced at Miss Ester
ton, quickly, wondering if she remembered.
But she was gently futtering about the old
lady, and looked SO calm and unconcerned,
he could not fancy any sentiment had ever