The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1885-03-25

unaccountably long in returning; ana,
finally, one afternoon, when she took
little Ned out for his accustomed airing,
she was gone for hours, wandering
across the fields, and bringing him
home at dusk, lying back fast asleep in
his carriage, with wreath of violets
like a halo round his golden head and
more clutchcd tightly in his chubby
hand.
She received my surprised reproof in
sullen silence, and / waited in vain for
some account of her absence.
She grew more and more strange and
restless every day, fretting and chatting
over her light tasks and like some
Gagged animal, until, finally, questioned
her.
Helenore," said l, kindly, "what is
it that ails your Tell me, and l will
try to help you"
AT first she frowned darkly and would
not answer, but when j laid my hand
gently and coaxingly upon her head
had noticed she loved to have me do
so-she yielded and her tongue was
| loosed.
ooh, madam, do not be angryl" she
cried. owe have gypsy blood in us,
mine moder do say-and oh, l would
be goin'l'-stretching out her arms
toward the distant fields with a swift
and eloquent gesture of longing. cob,
let me gol must go!"
/ was both shocked and disappointed,
and / told her so, and tried to reason
with her.
Where would you go?" l asked
"There are no gypsies near that you
could join, and you would soon starve
and die alone; and besides, how can
you leave poor baby and me?" Do you
not love us, Helenore?"
"Oh, do, | dol" she cried, passion
ately, throwing herself down upon the
floor; {" and l do try not to hear them
call. put mine fingers in mine ears,
but hear them just the same!"
"Who calls you, Helenore?' asked
4" All things out-o'-door; the birds
and bees and the winds. They call me,
always, always; they say, Helenore,
Helenore, come!' And / must go!" she
cried, springing to her feet and looking
wildly around.
feared she was losing her mind, and
was much alarmed about her; we tried
to divert and amuse her in every posi-
BILE way, and for few days she really
seemed to be more quiet.
But one morning we missed her.
The afternoon previous hand-organ
grinder and woman, evidently his
wife, entered our grounds and Helenore
went out to hear them play; and we no.
ticed that she stood conversing with
them in her own language for some
time afterward
They had been hanging about the
| neighbOrhood for several days and
somehow we felt sure that she had
gone with them. Our suspicious were
confirmed by farmer living mile or
so above us, who said he met them Just
at dusk, as he was returning home from
the city-a man and woman and our
Helenore. He said he recognized Hell
enore at once, and spoke to her, but
she made no answer
We learned, furthermore, from her
mother that an organ-grinder and his
wife-old acquaintance of the family
had been in the vicinity for week past
and had put up night or two at her
own house, and she doubted not that
they were the same persons we had in
mind. She made light of her daughters
disappearance, saying, with shrug of
her fat shoulders, that " she would be
back soon enough and seeming to
think that in any case we were well rid of
her.
But we missed her and we mourned
her, and did not try to fill her place.
My Every latest" as Jack still called
her, seemed to have proved sad failure.
|
was lingering in my rose-garden in
the twilight of warm September day,
hanging fondly over a bed of pet n.y.
brids-latest and sweetest of roses, when
l suddenly missed little Ned from my
side, and, looking around for him, |
spied him swinging on the front gate.
/ started to go toward him, and at that
moment the figure of woman sprang
up, as it were, out of the ground neal
him. and at the same time / heard a
glad cry from Ned: Helenore!
1t was our Helenore. She caught him
to her breast and flew, swift as the
wind, across the lawn to meet me, and
dropping on her knees, with one arm
still round the bewildered child, she
chung to me desperately, sobbing and
groaning, but not one word did she
speak.
l begged her to rise but she would
not; so l sat down there on the
damp grass and, taking her head in my
lap, soothed her with the old touch OF
the hand she loved so well.
At last she heaved long, tremulous
sigh and lifted her face to mine.
g cannot ask you to forgeev," she
murmured, humbly; that would be toe
good for Helenore; but l come to see
you once more and tell you what is sc
heavy here "-pressing her hand or
her heart" and then to de-"
led her into the house and drew
from her the history of her experience
since she left us in the spring.
Were the people with whom vol
went away kind to your" / asked.
Kind!" she cried, fiercely. Oh
they were indeed most cruel! True
they did never hurt me like mine moder
but they have made me so to suffer tina
wish not to live any more"
But you liked it at first, did you no
the fields and the woods and the
music?"
Yes; and / liked well to wande
and to be free; but learned soon tina
only children and birds and squirrel
are truly free-not women with thei
heart here and here Touching he
! forehead and laying her hand on he