Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1886-10-03

yes, l go TOMORROW, no ealu, oh
Bwer to a question, just as she entered;
and it wa well he took the milk, or she
might have dropped it. He looked at her
keenly; a deep blush covered her face; ne
sighed and raised a glass to his lips.
"Your health, Miss Mary, and q good
husband to you"
The old man burst out laughing. Mary
put the empty glass away with a small
pain at her heart. She had often been
joked about a husband before, yet some
how she did not like to hear the stranger
Joke about it. She would never marry
not shel
The evening passed swiftly away, and
the village clock struck nine. The artist
arose to go.
Good bye" he said, "and many thanks
for your hospitality"
Goodbye, sirI If ever you come this
way, drop in and stay a week or two
with us. Mary here will take good care OF
you, and you can make pictures Of her to
your hearts content"
THANK you-you are very kind; and If
am neal you, I shall not fail to accept
the invitation. Miss Mary, may 1 venture
to ask one thing of you in memory Of this
pleasant visit"
"What can I give you, sir?" she said, in
a voice that trembled, though she tried
to keep it steady.
THAT flower, if you will"
He pointed to the rose on her bosom.
She unfastened it, and seeing a thorn
upon the stem, removed it before she
placed it in his hand. He smiled sadly.
THANK you. May all your roses be
thornless for ever! l shall finish your
picture, and perhaps you may see it again
some day. Good bye, now"
He held out his hand. . She gave him
hers. The old farmer had already made
two steps toward the gate and stood with
his back toward them, gazing out tow
ard his beloved barn-yard and the fields
beyond. Two pair of eyes looked into
each others depths; two pair Of lips met
softly; two hearts gave a quick bound.
And then the artist went away. 1t was
quite time for him to do so.
So Curtis Howard went away about his
business, and Miss Mary went to hers.
Yet often, during the succeeding autumn
auG winter. after her work was done, she
stood before the two pictures changing in
the place of honor on the parlor wall, and
sighed in an incomprehensible way that
would have spoken volumes to any one
experienced enough to read them.
And what of him? All that year he
had worked as he had never worked be-
fore, and the end was gained. His great
picture had given him fame enough to be
the master Of a pretty little villa on the
Thames, daintily furnished, and boasting
a rose garden worthy Of Istamboul, a
pleasure yacht, and a carriage, There
was a dun COW, moreover, in the little
| pasture at the back, and a noble New
foundland dog lying at his feet. Also a
lady's work table and easy-chair beside
one OF the windows, at which he gazed
with a proud smile. He took an embroid-
cred note-case from his breast pocket,
and extracted from its leaves the faded
efigy of q blush-rose.
"Do you see that, Paul, my boyH" he
said, gayly, holding it toward the dog,
who was watching him %curiously.
And Paul sme!t it, and looked still
more bewildered. What could his mas
ter want of such a thing? Wa it not
June, and were not the roses blooming
in the garden9 Why did he not go there
and gather a fresh onei
All Paul, that was all you knew about it!
Curtis Howard was pressing it to his lips,
like a lover m an old romance, murmur-
ing, "She took the thorn from 1t before
she gave it to me, angel that she Swas!
Dear little Mary"
Mary Morrison's tasks for the day were
over, the COWS had been stalled for the
night, the milk was put away, and her
father had gone to the next house to
smoke his pipe with q brother farmer,
and exchange opinions about blowing.
The girl was alone and a little lonely. So,
calling Trip, she put o. her hat, and
went slowly down the hill Beside the
gate she halted.
"Here we first met" she said, softly, to
herself; and leaning against the rail some
thing dimmed her eyes. She dashed it
away indign ntly. Had she not promised
herself that she would grieve no more for
what could not be helped.
"Crying for the moon, like a great baby,
as / ami" she said, stamping her little
foot Indignantly. Il wonder, Trip, that
you do not laugh at mel"
Trip had romething better to do. An
enemy was In sight-a great black dog
was marching gravely up the hill, way
ing his feathery tail as il he were a mon.
arch of all he yed. Trip, small as
he was, would convince him to the con
trary, and showing all his teeth, and
growing as II he had swallowed an earth
quake, he made a sudden dash into the
road, with a bark like TWELVE penny
truLIpets blown by one breath.
"Trip, TripI" cried the girl, without
looking round.
paul, be quietl" said a voice that made
her heart stand still. "Trip, why, Trip,
my fine fellow, have you forgotten mes"
The sharp bark changed into a de-
lighted whine, the two dogs suspended
hostilities, and came together to her feet;
then some one followed, and her hand
was taken in q warm one.
at Ia you, Them she said, turning
round and looking into the bright, gay
face she never expected to see again.
at is IL and he gazed as earnestly as
she had done.
She was not thin or pale; she evidently
had not pinned for him; and yet there was
something-aR added look of gravity and
seriousness that only love can bring.
%Are you glad to see met"
%Very, very glad" she said, bending
down to caress Paul, who had thrust his
cold nose into her hand, and to speak a
kind word to Trip, lest he should get
jealous of the sable stranger.
The artist leaned upon the gate, and
waited patiently. When she looked up
again, he said quietly, 1 have often
! thought of you all these long months. 1