Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1883-06-05

white curtain waving to and fro befor'
an open window, and now and then
could feel breath Of fresh air upon m!
cheek, and out beyond could see where
the curtain was caught up, raindrop:
dropping and glistening among the
leaves. I felt as if in fairyland as
handled the clean, white coverlet owe
me, and | looked at the few cheap pic.
lures and the neat, simple sweetness o
the room.
"Where am Il" unconsciously ]
spoke, in my surprise and wonder,
aloud.
A curtain hanging at the head Of the
bed was suddenly lifted, which gave me
slight glimpse of another room as neat
as my own. A young girl entered and
quickly came forward to the side of my
bed. 1t was the face of my strange
friend by the roadside her sunny hail
and earnest eyes had been with me as
something intangible, misty, misty as a
pleasant dream, all through my sickness,
and | remembered it now-the promised
aid and swooning in the dust.
so you are at last awake" said she,
laying her cool, moist hands on my tenn
ples-"awake and the fever all gone.
You must feel much better"
"I could only look d" Yes with my
eyes.
Now, | do not want you to talk.
You are my patient, and you must mind
me-"
T" But where am :"
In spite of all orders, must ask that
question, for fear that the vision might
fade.
"You are safe enough in our house =
mothers and mine. told you that we
were poor, but you would faint right be-
fore our dsor."
Il am very sorry" l said penitently.
Hum! That don't help. Do you
know how sick YOU We been =
protested my entire ignorance.
"Well, you've had fever, and been
wild sometimes, she informed me. Z" But
now lie still until get you something to
eat"
As she said this she got up from the
little rocking-chair in which she had been
sitting.
mo, don't go!'' caught her by the
sleeve. Il don't want anything to eat
and do want you"
She sat down again with little bit of
laugh.
81 am afraid you do not know just
what you do want" she said pleasantly.
"Yes, do; want you. You won't
go, will YOU My voice sounded very
anxious in its weakness
- Not without mother calls me. Now
go to sleep
She settled the white coverlet about me
very carefully.
How did you get me here | asked
presently.
Zone of the station men helped me !;
and you were terribly heavy, if you hadn't
anything to eat"
lay back on my pillow and watched
her sitting there in the stiffness of the
room. 1t was picture sweet enough
for any man-more than that to me, for
| had scarcely spoken to woman for a
long year, excepting to receive harsh
answers.
The sun that came streaming into the
window. piercing here and there the net
work of vines, went slowly down, casting
long shadows across the floor, and fell
asleep.
How those two women did watch over
and care for me during the days that fol-
lowed-days in which l got better very
slow-the old, gray-headed, matronly
mother and the little girl. What de-
lightful, dainty, little meals they cooked
me with their own hands And then one
would fan and talk with me in the long
summer afternoons.
One day, when the mother was OUT
told my little nurse my whole history
concealing nothing, and watching the
changing emotions Of her face.
"You have told me everything but
your name," she said, when l finished.
"That is simple enough" l replied.
was sitting up now, in the great old
fashioned rocking chair. "It is George
Gray. And yours"
"Florence O'Neil. My father was
killed on the railroad several years ago
and the company gave us this little house
and we watch to flag the trains if the
bridge should not be safe; the water II
the river rises very high sometimes"
! She said it all very simply, as if sucf
life was old and common enough t