The Cheyenne daily leader. [volume] (Cheyenne, Wyo.) 1870-1884, 1883-12-25
LINKS OF HOLLY.

Mr.. BARCLAY, muflel 10 the chin In cOStly
fur, and carrying the nattiest OF travelling
bags, the jauntiest OF umbrellas, the finest Of
plaids, and the softest OF rugs, came over the
Eido OF the newly arrived ocean steamer, and
walked away as unconcernedly as though he
had simply crossed the river.
The holiday times Of most men had long
ceased to be the exception In Mr.. Barclays
life. He had been not only successful. but
triumphant over fate and fortune, and there
remained for him, one would say-to enjoy.
He soon became aware that there was a
tremendous crowd, that 1t had two currents,
setting in opposite directions, and that, be-
tween them, he was jostled, hustled and gen.
orally delayed as TO arouse his dormant ensr-
gies. There came fire to his eye and esgor.
ness TO his bearing as he breasted the oppos-
ing pressure In the steep ascent Of the first
half mile, but an eddy In front OF the custom
house whirled bin round, swept him into an
angle Of tie great steps, and left him stranded
there, to recover breath and scan the pano-
rama Of faces.
Christmas Eve" he exclaimed al had
forgotten itr'
Christmas Evo assuredlyl And the spirit
Of che season evidently abroad Smiles and
jollity, boxes, bundles, packages, eager haste,
and alas that fierce impadence which comes
of a mind i'll at ease with the mirth Of
Others. To an imaginative and sensitive man,
returning to his native city after years of alb
sencs in foreign lands, there WIS a melan-
choly significance In thus standing apart, a
looker-on.
There was an old woman sitting on the
steps near him, In the chill Of the darkeniug
afternoon, with u few poor triHes for sale.
Miserable little odds and ends. at best, but
wonderfully frightened and adorned by a
wreath Of holly, conspicuously hung on the
- - - - Il -
Mr.. Barclay NRlke away, carrying his head
as high as ever, his heart weighted with a
linked chain OF ghostly holly wreAths, woven
round many a Christmas, past and gone.
"Hollyp" he muttered. 81 wish / had
bought 1t. might have had that much, at
least, belonging TO the season"
Belonging, indeedi How IL made a part OF
all his memories, from the great picture
paper he crawled over as a very baby Poem
and song aud Christmas story; church dress
ings, and school festivals, family dinners and
youthful gayeties, all came to him in a set
ting OF delicately outlined leaves and shining
berries. And yet, curiously enough, he could
remember tho first time he saw 1t in reality,
long after childhood, in the very bloom and
vigor Of proud young manhood.
1T was that visit to Thorndyke's which
decided my fortunes" he thought, as he
mounted the hotel steps, ''Old Thorndykel
What a fellow he was to gather young folks
round himi l wonder where they ars now.
It is-yosi | declare it is nearly twenty years
since she-Mary- gave me that holly sprlg
after my first dinner thore. | suppose she's
married long ago TO that pale-faced scamp.
hat sweet yves she hhdl never saw an
other woman with that same steady, gentle,
earnest look. II she had bean free, l suppose
/ should have been spoons on her, as that
| Vaffnty bavpqr nprxat yyauld saw n
Mr.. Barclays suile wa rather grim than
amused. Truly, lie seemed to find 1t less easy
to enjoy than one would have supposed.
Ho went to his room, presently, and then,
TO dine. He strayed out into the brilliantly
lighted street, and drifted, with the crowd,
into the resplendont stores.
In tho hotel rotunda, upon his return, he
encountered the first familiar face. Its owner
greeted him cordially, and they sat talking
until a late hour. Mr.. Barclay, going through
with his nightly toilet, and turning his nightly
pillow impatieuty, under the pressure OF
thoughts new and disturbing, became quite
Hamletian.
\ dead except one ~daughteri Poor, at
that Upon my word. it is curious / should
have stumbled upon this thing. And | can't
get away from iti' tviciously punching his
pillow, THEORETICALLY jerking It over, and de-
termlnedly fiattening ip. as there "a Prov
idence In it, as the old woman in Medlip used
TO sayf m go there tomorrow and see.
That win settle itn
About this period OF the soliloquy, Mr..
Barclay passed into the lAnd OF dreams
When he re-crossed Its threshold, the sun was
shining. 1t was not exactly christmas
weather y rather too warm. and with lurking
suspicious Of rain in the atmosphere; but
Mr.. Barclay was in tine spirits.
The rain had confirmed the suspicious OF
the morning, when he stepped from the way
train at a station Just beyond the city line, A
gray, n~oi-eless, yet palpable mist yelled the
sad-looking black and brown country land
scape, and was rapidly turning the rugged
hill road into IA Shiny waste. Mr.. Barclays
enthusiasm wnned. Under such difficulties
and d~iscomforts, the prospect OF presenting
himself, unexpectedly, at a house he had not
visited for years and years behind years, sud
denly assumed that hopelessly silly aspect our
best in;entioned deeds sometimes wear upon
their outer face,
There 1t was, nearer than he had thought
A small. gray cottage house, set low among
trees aud shrubs and trellised vines, and
wearing that look of neglect and decay
which comes TO q home once allied, now
empty of all save Swallowed memories. The
roof was cTumhlinR under the great syca-
more trees heavy, knotted branches, the
vines had ovorburdensd one of the ~trellises,
the path-he had gone on, after all, and en-.
tered twas worn by the winter storms into
irregular channels, and the paint was slowly
fading into corners from the whitened edges
OF window frames and porch angles.
ct would break old Thorndyke's hearth /"
thought be, as he rang the bell. 1t was an.
swered almost instantly, and a little maids
wide-opened eyes conveyed the impression
that a visitor was something TO mako much
Of. But she was a well trained little maid
a lady's servant-and showed him modestly
and placidly enough into the well remem-
bered parlor to await her mistress.
Well rsmemberedi Had 1t besy yesterday,
he could not have recalled more wildly the
last time he entered It SO little changed
aud yet-so worn. 1t told its own story OF
the life running on between its walls, and a
pang shot through Mr. Barclays softened
heart at the mute evidences Of constrained
and narrowed tastes, OF uneyentful pursuits,
and curiously unmarked seasons. There was
q small bright hre on the hearth, q faded
chair drawn near it. a tiny tabls with a worn
hook upon It at Its side, and the one new
thing, a majolica vase OF rosa buds, on tbs
mantel over It Mr.. Barclay bent his head
~ the lair blossoms with n sense Of relief.
Rough on Corns."