St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1885-07-05
and white of his uniform and the dark
plume waving from his helmet.

obscured the moon vanished, and left every
object as plainly visible as at midday. The
couple walked slowly down the lane and
although their tones were low. in the still
ness of the night. they were plainly audible,
and this is what Uncle Garry was compelled
to hear:
care you sure, perfectly sure, my own,
that you will never regret the choice you
have made? VIII you be content to leave
these shores and trust your happiness en-
tirely to me?'
"'How can you ask me that. Hubert?
You know my heart is all your own, and
when we cross the sea, | shall go leaving no
tie behind me that it will cost me sigh to
break
'''How strange it is that you, with all
your wealth of loneliness, should never have
had the still waters of your heart stirred
until |, rough war-wom soldier, came
across your path
L never think of it as strange: / only
know the fact You came like the angel to
the pool and disturbed the waters, but you
brought the healing with YOU
And then, after a long embrace and a
lingering kiss, the officer mounted his horse
and moment later, followed by his orderly,
rode rapidly down the lane, and with her
fair head bowed in thought Miss Dorothy
walked slowly to the house, and dare say
not one single moment did she give to the
poor fellow lying behind the hazel bush.
''What crowd of thoughts must have
passed through Uncle Garry's head i'm those
few minutes! No doubt his first impulse
was to shoot the officer on the spot, which it
was plainly both his privilege and duty TO
do; in the first place because he wore red
coat and in the next for the simple reason
tha4 ha ha1 cfn Of ,f l.
promised bride. But my uncle was very
self-contained man and did neither. He
simply rose from the ground, and, deferring
his visit to the Van Ripper homestead, slowly
walked back to the boat landing, by the
path over which he had so lately hurried,
got in his boat and crossed TO the other
shore. Grandfather never knew that Uncle
Garry had left the camp that night, until
after the British had evacuated the city.
That day, when every one else was
happy my uncle did not seem exactly
jubilant, and messenger had brought him
a note which he read carefully. and after
ward placed it in an inner pocket; but what
it was and where it came from no one ever
knew, for it was never seen afterward.
''Of course there was a good deal of fes-
tivity and rejoicing during the day of the
evacuation, but that night my grandfather
and Uncle Garry sat in this very room, and
the one told the other what have just mar
rated to you"
".
''Butwhat became of Miss Dorothy?" 1
asked.
''Oh! forgot to tell you. She sailed
that morning in one of the transports with
the colonel, having been married to him the
day before, and her grandchildren are liv-
ing to-day, gray-headed like myself, and
had the privilege of telling one of them of
the perfidy of his graceless grandmother.
and L was glad to see him vince as spoke
of the young hussy."
And Uncle Carry suppose he forgot
all about her in time, and lived long and
happily with some good creature whose
heart was not tickle. Was that the wind
up of the StOry?"
''Well, not exactly" said my friend very
slowly, 81 only wish it were. But this is
how it ended. After Uncle Garry had told
his story to my grandfather he sat silent
while, and showed more signs of agitation
than he ever had in his life before. He
arose and, grasping my grandfather by the
hand, said:
"'James, L am not happy here; it is too
near the scene where was foOlishly happy
once. and for time l must leave it. only
told you my little episode as preface to the
goodbye l now wish you, for / shall be
away before you are up in the morning.
''Grandfather knew il was useless TO eX-
postulate, asked him if he needed money,
and was told he was amply provided for the
journey he was about 20 take, and after a
hearty handshake the brothers parted.
1.-The next morning Uncle Garry's room
was vacant He had not even taken a
oh NJ ,g4
family saw him until the next September"
Had he gotten over his heart trouble?
and was he thoroughly cured of his pas
sion?"
SIN answer to both questions. yes"
Here my friend rose from his seat and, 60
ing to window which looked out on the
river. turned to me and said:
1.-The boys have Just been hauling the
seine, and in half an hour will give you
as fine shad for your dinner as YOU ever
tasted. They used to get very fine ones
here in Uncle Garry's day, but doubt if
they were any better then than now. And,
speaking about fish, you remember that
piece of 'swale' land in the orchard back of
the house? you can see it from the lane"
''YeS."
''Well, before that was filled in. there
was a large, cool spring there, and my great
grandfather had had large excavation
made around il and used to raise trout in ii.
of which he was very fond. 1t was very
deep and, although nearly as cold as ice in
the summer, was warm in the winter. and
directly over the spring it never froze over,
even III the coolest weather. l don't know
what put it into grandfather's head to drain
the pond, a something which had never
been done since it was dug out, but he or
dered it to be DONE and the amount of
trout they took was simply wonderful, some
of them weighing over five pounds. But
they found bigger surprise than that!'
''And what was that?"
''What the trout had left of Uncle Garry's
body, which was securely anchored to a big
stone fastened TO about three feet of rope.
which was tied round his neck But here
comes Sam to tell us our shad is ready |
never eat trout, nor did grandfather after
that, and that is why the pond was filled up.
And so it was that Uncle Garry. as YOU say.
came home to his brother cured of his heart
trouble and passion"
vi.
The shad was the finest ever tasted. the
roast from the juicest part of the ribs and
the vegetables were fresh from his own
garden; but did not enjoy my meal, and as
IOf conversation, there were only mono
syllables; but as we sat smoking in the
library an hour or so after. said:
''Are you sure you finished Uncle Garry's
story, my friend?"
Eyes, just as il was handed down to me. 4"
''When you next tell it you may add this
as postscript" l said, and l handed him
half sheet of discolOred paper, of which the
following is an extract copy:
New YORK, Nov. %. 1888.
/ write these lines to you this morning
nraviOuS tn my oa with Col nr,,,el,,,