The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1886-07-23

near the gate, and Immediately the cot
tage door opened and little girl flew
down the path and flew into Toms out
stretched arms like little squirrel.
moved away unnoticed, for something
came to my throat which made me feel
that if 1 tried to speak l should cry.
What was the matter with mep j walk
cd briskly homeward. but do what /
would, l could think of nothing, see
nothing but that picture: the devoted
little knight and his little lady-love,
with the homely brown jug OF sirup at
their feet. Why in the world should the
memory of it bring the tears so near my
eyesp Could it be an intuitive provision
of after yearsp
Another picture from the same corner
of my heart:
A bright sunny day in early summer,
sparkling brook, a beautiful elm-tree
on the bank, in the shade of its
branches two tigures-a girl of 16 or IL
years with knitting in her hands, her
face shaded by broad-brimmed hat,
her graceful little figure dressed in
quiet, cool-looking gown. In the dis
lance some men raking hay, toward
whom the little head turns very often,
although the figure under the tree is
talking to her all the time. She laughs
a merry laugh now and then, and some
times picks up bits of grass or clover
and pelts the speaker with them. OF
course you know it is Katie and myself
We are both older than when l saw her
leap into Toms arms that evening, but
arc we wiserp
The haymakers are Farmer Granger
and Tom Horton, with the SHRED
help"
Let us see if / am wiser with my adj
vanced years. There has been pause
in conversation, the needles have been
very busy. The air, so sweet with dry
ing hay and full of the soothing buzz OF
summer, might have put u man of my
years to sleep, had been wiser
.'Katie?"
"Yes, Nonno."
Now, what made me writhe at that
answer The tone was sweet enough,
the name. Nonno, / had taught her to
call me years ago. when felt so much
older than she. | had said: Call me
Grandpa" but she had laughed so
heartily at that, and said grandpa
must have white hair; so l made COM
promise and taught her the Italian
equivalent, which did not convey the
same idea to her mind. But since then
she had been growing up to me and L
did not feel that had advanced in the
same ratio, and to-day my thoughts had
been running riot with my reason, so
that when Katie said, Eyes, Nonno,"
in that calm way, l felt irritated and
was silent.
'What were you going to say. Non
MOP" moved nearer 10 her, and look
ed under the broad hat into the merry
eyes.
"Do you love me, Katie dearP
80, yes, very, very much, Nonno,"
and the eyes grew tender. Still felt
irritated. l took her hands, and stop
ped the blinking needles; she looked at
me in a surprised way.
"Why, Nonno, you know Tom and l
both love you dearly"
Just then q shrill whistle in the dis
lance made her start up. She waved
her hand to the haymakers who were
coming toward us, and turned to open
the basket of luncheon which was wait
ing in cool corner for them. l turn
ed away impatiently, and was moving
toward the road when she caught me
by the arm.
"Ah, now please don't 60. There
plenty of luncheon for you, and Tom
said be sure and make Nonno stay with
us for nooning."
mo, Katie, can't stay to-day. Good
l. Il. II
took the pretty face in my hands,
kissed the sweet mouth, and turned
quickly away lest she should see the
tears which would come to the surface
this time.
never saw Katie after that except in
the shadowy light in which my sketch
is made. That picture l saw few
months after the summer day, when
had grown wiser, though so little older.
l was going to Paris to devote my life
to the study of art, which was all in all
to me now. Yes, that was the one wise
action of my life. | have never re.
GREETED it, and after all these years,
with my hair grown white, can sit and
gaze calmly on the little sketch which
l made with aching heart so long ago
sketch from memory. The first
glimpse of it made my heart beat faster
for a few moments only. am wiser
man now and happier one. () My
life has been uneventful. l can love my
art and find in it peace and content
ment. am nearing my journeys end,
and Katie is on the other side. turn
the sketch to the wall, and 10! on the
back of the canvas the brown jug!
smile remembering the time when
painted that from memory too. All, ole
jug, you are fearfully out of drawing
you hold no sirup, but sweet and grace
full memories cling to you, and / love
you well! l light my pipe, and let thu
thoughts of other days wreathe them
selves into the soft blue smoke ant
slowly vanish. -Home Journal.