Juniata sentinel and Republican. [volume] (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, 1885-01-14
Five YEARS Ago.

This day five long years agol Oh,
how my heart aches when l think OF
that hot afternoon IN the merry month
of MAY, when We two stood together
for the last time in the old orchard. un-
der the apple-trees ". ich seemed bent
down with their weight of soft pink
and wlite blossoms, the soft cfirp and
hum of birds and insects mingling
dreamily in the warm golden sunlight
hlckering in bright light and shadow on
the green grass
can see it all now. as I sit here try
ing TO put il down on paper. When |
suffer my mind to dwell upon that day.
a kind of desperate longing and remorse
comes over me, and l would gladly give
ten of the best years of my life If !
could but live one short hour over
again. But, alas, il may not be J Re
gretS and repinings are alike useless. the
lost opportunity can never come again.
the day that is past is gone for ever, and
the word once spoken cannot bs re-
cal ed. Five years have come and gone
since then. Five times since that day
have the trees IN the orchard BEEN
white with blossom; and, when | see
them, feel as if my heart must break
with the agony of remorse and the
weary longing for the hope that never
comes.
There are times in our life when a
word spoken or left unsaid NAV alter
the whole tenor of our future, when we
hold the scales of destiny in our hand,
and are permitted to say the word that
may prove the turning-point of our eX-
istence for either veal or woe. Such a
moment was mine and now, five years
after. sit, pen in hand, thinking it all
over. and every word and every look
come back to me, as though the occur
renee took place yesterday, inst cad of
so many years ago.
was staying on visit with my mar
ried sister in her sweet country home !;
and happy visit it proved to be, for
there ! met Harold BroughtOn, the hero
of my life. Even now my hand shakes
as | write his name, and the sight of it
brings back the romance of my life that
is all over and gone, laid away IN the
tomb of the past, but, though dead,
never forgotten.
1t was sach a lovely evening when |
saw hin first, all nature looking her
brightest and freshest n the spring sun
shine. There was visitor coming TO
Rosebank-an old gentleman, Helen,
my sister, told me, smiling; and, after
she had seen her husband start for the
station to meet him, she carried me of
with her to pick flowers for the stran-
gers room.
Poor old Mr.. Broughton," she said;
''he Is so particular, and so fond OF
flowers -
[ was upstairs dressing for dinner,
and wondering somewhat at the trouble
Helen took to make me look Lay best
but she laughed, saying, as she fastened
a lovely bunch of lily of the valley IN
my hair
at is all in honor of old Mr.. Brough-
ton, dear"
Then, hearing the trap driving up the
avenue, she ran off to welcome the VlS-
itor; and, soon following her, found
them all assembled in the drawing
room. and was Immediately introduced
by Helen TO Mr.. Broughton, who, to
nv utter astonishment, was neither old
nor ugly, but decidedly the reverse. In
utter be Silderment, looked at him,
while [ felt my face growing crimson
with confusion. Mr.. BrOughton was
tall. road-shouldered, and certainly
not more than thirty years of age, with
a kind open face, and pleasant brown
ewes that contrasted forcibly with MS
fair hair and moustache-not handsome
so far as regularity of features went,
but altogether brave and manly-look-
ing. a man who one inStlnetlveiy felt
was to be honored and trusted. Such
was my first impression or Harold
Rrouphton. as. in the awkward pause
that followed, | looked up into his face,
and then turned to Helen and her hus-
band. who both seemed highly amused:
The little mystery was soon explained
amidst much laughter. There was no
sold Mr.. Broughton;' it was all
Helen's fun, whe seemed more tnah ue
lighted at the success OF her llttle plol.
The laugh however broke the Ice OF
formality between us, and we soon got
on capitaIly together. Dear Helen al
ways so bright and merry, and yet 50
sweet and loving-no wonder her nus
band idolized and almost worshipped
his ''wild Irish rose, as he called his
pretty golden-haired wife, with hef
laughing blue eyes and sunny smile
'sTom, " she would say, clasping eoth
white hands on his arm, now confess,
would you ever have thought OF the
wild mischievous Helen McDermot Is
she had not led you that nIadcap race
over the downs, and you had been sure
| was run away with, and pictured me
at the foot of chalk cliff. or something
equally terrible All, you little though,
could make Princess answer Whlp anu
bride so well ~
And Tom would look down, with
love in his eyes and voice, and assure
her that his mind had been made up,
his heart irrevocably lost, from the mo
ment he had met The first glance OF her
blue ewes. and that the memorable race
on the breezy downs only brought mat
ters 70 a crisis-that was all.
But I find myself wandering from
NV own story, and more inclined 70
write about my dear sister Helen' fer-