The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-12-29

was in much better shape than he had an
ticipated. He thought of his mother; knew
just o she would greet HMM such a
quiet,yet grateful way,so undemonStratlVe yet
so soothing. But when the station was
reached he could not help thinking OF the
one once so intimately connected with his
life and all it's anticipations. He was AFRAID
he would meet her, and afraid that be would
not. He would like &c % c noor Without be-
ing seen, to hear her talk without the neces-
sity of talking to her.
AS he walked down the one main street of
the little town he was reminded of her in a
score of ways. He had met her here on the
corner numberless times By an ineXplica-
BILE coincidence each had so often started to
school at the same hour, and had gone the
same way; not the shortest way, perhaps, but
a verv pleasant one. Yonder he had come to
her rescue when frightened by a cow that
was bold enough to nip the grass at the edge
of the sidewalk alone which she wished to
pass. AT this thought he smiled, surprised
that such a petty incident should have lett
an impress on his memory
With his mind filled with these and kim
dred "reminiscences he soon reached the gate
of his old home, and was met by his mother
much as he expected, except that he thought
he detected something like tears in her eyes,
she was so glad to see him. Putting his
hands on either side of her kindly face he
kissed her gently, and for the first time in
his life felt III his heart an affection for her
that he did not know was there.
After the meeting formalities were done,
he fell quietly into the Old ways; hung his
hat on a nail where he used to hang his cap
when "a boy, and felt an impulse to go to the
cupboard as he used to to get something
to eat. His eyes wandered from
object to object, and as each
passed in review some faint shadow of a smile
slipped through his features as though they
were old friends and could understand.
But again his thoughts flew away from
him, out through the ~iealess and tangled
apple boughs at the window, to wander
everywhere his feet had wandered when he
was a schooiboy. He thought of Stafford's
woods, where he used to hum wild pigeons;
of the pond among the trees where he had
often gone to skate, and where he once pulled
her out when she broke through the treach-
erous ice and would have drowned but for
his timely aid. He recalled a singular fact
in that connection-that she had cried bit
terly and had upbraided him, petulantly
blaming him on account of her bedraggled
skirts and wretched appearance. He smiled
at it now half grimly, understanding it as
he could not then. He recalled the time
when he had CALAMITY cham pioned her title
as the p~rettiest girl in town, and got whipped
for his devotion. Ee forgave the fellow
afterward, Tor he enlisted in the army and
died at Andersonville
He remembered the next and only time
that he saw her in tears-the night before
she went away to school. Drawn toward her
by a power he could not withstand, he found
her waiting for him. He held her hand
awhile-it seemed like months, and 1t passed
like a moment. When he spoke of her going
away to become a grand lady she put her
slender fingers over his lips and said she
would never be other to him than she was
then; that she would come back to him
Just as she left him. When he still seemed
to doubt she had burst into a pretty
storm Of sobs that distressed vet comforted
him. And at last, when he was leaving her,
he timidly Ventured to kiss her, Tor the first
and the last time-a kiss that thrilled him
and seemed sweeter than earth had ever been
blest with. And then followed the bitter ex-
p~erience of separation, of growing indilfer-
| euce and gradual neglect.
The letters were few enough, and not long
in growing Jelly formal. 1t seemed but a
| step from the one that began my dear old
foolish boy to the one that chilled him
with a curt t'Mr Wamsley." 1t was a short
| story, and seemed to require little effort on
her part to tell him of the change that had
taken place. He would understand, she
said, how she had mistaken her sentl-
ments toward him-and he did un-
derstand. He understood, too, that
he had been dropped b cause
of the appearance of a more stylish, if not
more worthy sutton. He bitterly resented it
then. and he had not felt his heart free from
its ranking sting since that time.
Wrought up by these dismal recollections,
he could not content himself in the house,
and said he believed he would take a stroll
before dinner-he needed fresh air and it
would do him good to knock about a little,
as he termed it.
His mother looked at him anxiously as he
went out, and sighed as she thought of his
loneliness, for she understood it all.
He had gone but a short distance, exchang-
ing greetings with old %neighbors as he went
along, when his attention was attracted by
by the screams of a little girl who had
been knocked down by a sled
on which a boy was c%oasting in
a side street. He ran and picked her up,
soothing her as best he could until she
stopped her cries, and lay pale and limp in
his strong arms. only moaning as the pain
racked her. A crowd soon gathered, and
| from some one he learned that the child's
name was Mamie Gordon. Several volun-
teered to take her, but the little sufferer
looked up so pleadingly into his eyes, that he
asked where she lived, and said lie would
carry her home himself. This he did, fol-
lowed by those who had witnessed the acct
dent or had come up afterward. The mother
of the child was not at home at the time, and
neighbors told him where to lay her.
The doctor came in Il few minutes, and soon
assured the excited people that there was
no serious injury, and that after the shock
had passed away all would be we'll. Soon
afterward the mother came, and needless of
all else ran at once to the side of her daugh-
ter. Hysterical and not unmludful of the
show of emotion that would be expected
of her, she took no notice of y
But her counterfeited grief and alarm, so
palpably superficial and assumed for effect.
were ridiculously overdone TO any but the
most careless observers. And in the license
of her anguish" she took occasion to
blame everybody for an underlined some
thing that nobody understood, and her
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