The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1883-05-03
TRAILING ARBUTUS.

! lhhlIlNU hhDU
There is no use," he said, sno use in
the world in stirring up ashes. Let them
rest. They are useless, unsightly dead;
let them also be forgotten, or at least
ignored. By meddling with them you
only raise binding, choking dust, and
you bring back no warmth; not even a
remembrance of the flame. Nothing
comes of it but just such q shock as we
all feel at the sight of deaths head.
We know what it must once have been;
but the mind cannot go back to that, and
is only occupied with what it IS. y
looked up to see what Harry could
mean; for, sitting in my low chair be-
fore the open fire, / had been absently
playing with the poker, patting the ashes
into little hills and valleys. Did he mean
to moralize over that, orwas he referring
| to past of our own which we never
mentioned now; although Harry and
| were still friends; and since his return
| from wandering ali around the world he
had fallen back to an old habit of spend
ing an occasional afternoon in my pret-
ty room, where the lights and colors
suited his artistic eyes, and the repose-
| full chairs aided conversation, or silent
| dreamineSS to silence.
| But he was standing now leaning on
the mantel, and looding steadily, not at
my unromantic poker, but into the glow
ing blaze.
| Harry" ! answered, 81 feel tnat you
are all wrong. Ashes, dead themselves,
vet serve the living. Aren't they used
to make white clover, sweet white Glow
er, thrive and bloom? and aren't they
| thrown over ice in winter time to keep
people from falling in slippery places?
| Do YOU call that poor use? dare say" :"
| | continued, as / saw an amused smile
| quiver round his mouth, Il dare say it
| seems poor use, and may sound very
funny to you after your soaring poetry,
but the commonest uses are praiseworthy
when they are good; yes, and song
worthy too, insist -
In the old .arbutus days / might
have thought SO, he said, signing, as he
took up his hat to go. when our dead
ones fell to ashes in the same flame
you, remember the day we burned them
i fell into 81 belief in ashes generally;
believe | fell into heap of ashes my
| self >
My heart gave panied thump. Who
was stirring dead things now? Not /,
but he, himself But, suddenly, knew
| what had started it all. 1t was Helen
| Eliot Easter card, that lay on my little
table. Not prize card, nor a wonder
| full design at all; only branch of trail
ing arbutus, dewy, white and pink-tip-
ped with the words, 81 BELIEVE IN THR
RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD" rose,
too, and looked at it silently for a mo-
ment; then | said soleInnlv, Under the
dead leaves in the woods the arbutus is
| fresh and sweet to-day" Glancing up
l saw his pale face family flushed,
and, the double significance of my words
| coming to me, fastened to add lightly,
before he could reply: '.And when ashes
are swept away we have-what? Not
emptiness and cold hearth, unless we
will it so; but new warmth, light, flame,
cheer. Put down your hat, old friend,
and stay to see the charming girl who
| designed this pretty card. She is COM
| ing for cup of tea at five. You will
like her. Come; an artists time is his
own, and her face is worth seeing.
Brown hair dead-leaf color, falls over
| her brow; and below, her soft face, white
and pink, is just this flower itself
Her eyes will spoil it all, p" he answer
ed, with faint interest, as he laid down
his hat, ''by being blue
"Wrong!" l cried. triumphantly
1.-TWO more dead leaves, with sunlight
| shining through, like the eyes some poet
has sung
Like your own, then," he said, in a
low tone.
Not So" l replied .Rains of tears
have left mist that clouds the sunlight
now. But let US talk about Helen. Her
eyes are sweetest eyes were ever"
I'm tired of that quotation" T" he in
terrupted; land besides, those eyes were
blue. Can l help you?'
was unfolding my prettiest tea-cloth
Helen's gift to me.
Good he remarked with satisfac-
ton. Brown. But what! Are the
wrecks of the past to rise before US all
day. More arbutus,"
.'Helen is fond of the flower; and, be-
sides, if | must tell you. it came about
by one of those fiower-choosing games.
Shs and | chose the same, and since then
we have been close friends. Set these
cups down carefully, now, please, and
then ring the bell for the urn. | usual
" take care of this set myself, because
Helen painted it for me. :"
Yet more arbutus, and yet more, he
murmured, forgetting all about the bell
IN his admiration of the dainty wreaths,
sprigs and scattered bloom.
Il hope the girl won't come he said
at last, abruptly. Il hate her already
for stealing my flower from me-"
Again what did Harry mean?
The pink was my own. you remem-
ber,' l answered, rashly. 'sOnly this
white was yours.
"But the blended are the prettiest,"
he returned. Pink and white on one
STEM
was silent. / felt vaguely uneasy,
and the subject was growing dangerous.
True, l had been engaged 20 Harry,
once; but that was ten years ago now,
and the distance is long between nine
teen and twenty-nine. Matters must
rest. He ought to marry young and
pretty wife. Helen-yes, Helen, would
BE- Shs vsrY one. And how alsd should