West Virginia argus. [volume] (Kingwood, W. Va.) 1877-1946, 1885-05-22

most next door, as you might say, TO
my old home, where / grew up. aud [
ain been there in ten years. / wsnt
over once TO the funeral OF an uncle of
niue, my mothers only brother, and
ain seen any of the folks, except now
and then rs they would come on bust
ness or something OF that sort to our
village. Lately, though, | have had
| great desire to 90 back want 10 see
| the orchards that | hooked apples from
when l was boy" He paused and
chuckled at the delightful memory OF
his youthful pranks; but his face grew
| grave, and when he continued il was i'm
"A low, confidential tone you see. | have
| got TO 60 pretty soon, for | had warning
this spring--a stroke paralysis apo
! pleNy-l don't know which; for awhile
L was bad OIL | can't do much now
adays, and my sOns-in-law runs the store
| mostly; and so | says TO the girls that |
would buy n new suit of clothes
/ should have to have EN- anyhow TO be
buried in, and might as well get a lit
/ tie wear out of 'em first. So / got the
suit; and then | made up my mind to
| go visiting. The girls didn't like to
have me 90 of; but | ain { got so old as
10 be bossed around like child. | knew
l could take care of myself, and know
everybody in Baldwin-thats the name
of the place am going to; next station
but one. was raised there. guess
this will be my last visit-though a man
may have shake and live twenty years
atterward IL don't make me much
alive, somehow.
| He smiled. and his ewes twinkled. but
his words were pathetic TO me- Perhaps
l encouraged him, for he rambled on,
telling me all about his family and bus
mess affairs, and winding up with an
account of his wife's death, which had
occurred the winter before. He was
deep i'm the details of her last illness
when the train stopped 50 suddenly az
TO startle everybody, and the men with
one accord FASTENED out of the car and
rushed forward to see what had hap
/ pened. freight train had run off the
track, wrecking one car completely; but
a gang of laborerS had already arrived
from New Haven, and the conductor
told us that the way would be cleared
IN an hour or so. Leaving my new
friend TO watch the progress of the
work, ] sauntered slowly down a shady
road that wound through lonely fields.
Presently | came on "A little school
house, painted white and through the
open windows and door | saw few
children seated at their desks, while n
few Others stood up before the spinster
teacher rcciting lesson. / felt
thrill of pity for the lint-locked urchin
who was saying the multiplication table.
stumbling over the mines, Just as had
IN my boy hood. Opposite was IA grave
yard, running up steep to the east and
and Enclosed by low stone wall that
was almost hidden beneath tangled
vines and sprawling bushes There
were no paths, and the grave-stones
pee ed out from dense growth of tall
grasses, purple asters and vivid golden
rod. One stone marked the grave of
certain Appollos Welthey, who had fall
en- in the battle of Seven Mountains. II
made my way about the graves slowly,
bat 1 found no quaint epitaphs, although
some of the names struck me as extra
ordinary such a Noahdiah, and Par
tnena, and Minerva. Far up on the
brow OF the hill was a simple marble
slab, marking the place where Parma
Shelby was buried, who had died i'm
1886, aged eighteen Set back i'm the
headstone, and protected by marble
flap that hung on hinge, scovered
daguerrotype of the dead girl and
looked long and earnestly on the bic
tured face. The expression was gentle
and winning. Her thick hair was drawn
back from broad intelligent brow,
and the shadow Of n smile lurked i'm the
corners OF her mouth. Her large eyes
met mine with a sort of entreaty. max
ing an appeal for sympathy and re-
spcct At her throat an old-faShioned
brooch fastened a pretty embroidered
COLLAR md hn -.
fitted smoothly over her slopinp shoul-
ders and girlish breast. She had died
in September: perhaps she had been
buried on just such day as this. when
the golden-rod famed along the fences
and the asters were abloom every
where. She must have had friends 10
mourn her, a mother to weep bitter
tears in the darkness. Even the sea
sons, with their storms of rain and snow.
had dealt tenderly with this portrait of
her. hidden away in the stone
"You here?'
started. Behind me stood the oar.
rulous old man, my companion i'm the
cars. looking down at me seriously. and
without a word he seated himself be-
side me on the sunken stone near
Parnas grave For awhile we were
silent, and the children in the school
house across the way began 10 recite
something in a chorus, their voices
rising and falling in a monotonous chant
Poor Parna!' said the old man.
softly
you knew her?"
He nodded, and, taking hold Of nv
arm, pointed 10 church-spire that
showed itself on a hill to the west.
That where IN going he said. 1T
ain three miles away, and. as we have
to stay there TIL the track is clear for
the train, thought I'd Just walk down
and see the graveyard. Ny folks are
buried yODder. under that pinc-trce.
and suppose I'll lay alongside Of EN-
some day ] told the girls 10 bring me. .
! d rather be here than anywhere else.
] guess
After a minutes pause he stretched
out bis hand, raised the marble flap.
and looked at the portrait Of Parma with .
wagering smile.
dts a good likeness. he continued
Her old father had 30 put in. She was
at be had left and he didn't STAY lon0
after -he was gone lie used 20 come
here and $40 and look 80 the picture by
the hour Many the time have seen
him sitting here an alone, sort ~ talk
ing as though she could hear Hc was
childish, and ] guess he thought She I.
knew That he had come 10 keen hor
COMPANY porhau- she did F Andtbo /