St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1886-08-18
4 TALE OF UNDYING LOVE.


Poor old rejected MS. Back you have
come to me and l shall put you away with
no regret or disappointment, for it does moi
matter now. Nothing matters any more.
There are no longer any eager, anxious
thoughts crowding each other off the enc
of my pen. The litter of papers, note.
and pages is cleared away and lies in
careful pile before me. [ piled them ur
myself in the first days of my sorrow
when | could hardly see them for the rec
blur before my eyes, or hardly hold then
in my shaking hands. Then, also, | put
away my pens. pencils and ink, cleared
everything carefully and methodically
away.
Each day sit at my desk, where rusty
pens and moldy ink show to me the pass
ing of time-st here with my head on my
helpless Misunderstanding, thinking, think.
ing.
Now, with my rejected MS. before me, ]
turn the pages slowly and let my dim eve.
travel over the familiar words, while each
sentence brings to ME some recollection,
some link to draw me to the past
Just here it was that she came in, with
dancing eyes, bearing plate of lusciou:
Strawberries rare delicacy for us-and
insisted upon feeding them to me one by
where she dropped berry and would moi
regret it, for she said it only made the page
prettier. And just here laid the bunch OF
bluebells that her soft hand slipped oyel
my shoulder.
These sentences were written with he
dear, tired head against my arm, and hel
blue-veined hands clasped over my knee.
We very poor, Hester and l.
We married for love, and there was never;
time, through the years of work and priva
ton that my heart did not beat faster with
JOY at the thought or sight of Hester,
My dear little, blue-eyed wife! Brave
earnest and true, with supreme confidence
in the future, and no thought but that some
time | would be rich and famous, with
publishers clamoring for my work.
we expected great things from the MS.
that now lies before me. 1t was begun
with Hester at my side, her eyes shining
as She conducted with great pomp and
formality the exercises in honor of the be.
ginning Of ''our fortune"
All the time that could take from my
regular newspaper work was given to ''ou
fortune" as we always called it, and
would sit far into the night with only tho
scratching of my pen for company.
We were poorer than ever that summer.
In the long struggle with poverty. poorly
clad and fed, my Hester looked more fraiI
than ever, She never complained, and only
by the sharpened outline of her face. the
sudden catching of her breath or the quick
movement of her hand could [ know the
change
She had taken to sitting with me as I
wrote at night, despite my pleading. Il
will sit so STILL, she would say. ''Only let
me be with you and close to you"
IAN abruptness of expression, as well as
a tiresome wandering from the thought"
the publisher says, in his polite letter of
reasons for returning my MS.
Well. | suppose my thoughts did wander.
They wandered from the paper before mt
to the small. sunny head so often resting
against my chair arm; to the white fore
head, just within my range of vision
through which the blue veins showed toe
plainly; to the dark circles beneath the
closed eyes, and to the short irregular
BREATH coming from between the fever
dried lips.
'Oh my darlingw would cry to N.Y.
self. Can | do nothing-nothing?"
Ii could take her away, out OF the city's
heat, into some cool, quiet place l feel sure
she would be better. That was simply out
of the question, with my meager salary;
but, with my story finished and paid for, !
could take my wife out of this life-sapping.
burning air. away to the country.
l knew just the place, dear little house,
among the trees and flowers, where Hester
would get back her strength and color
How l would hurry, so as to take heI
there!
dare say did not write well. 1 did
not stop for deicacy of expression OF
| careful rounding of sentences. was writ.
ing for Testers life, and her face was be.
fore me every moment. lone page more
for Hester'-''Another days work fol-
Hester'-these were my only thoughts. ]
suppose [ could not well describe loYe-scenes
and moonlight rambles with Hester's white,
tired face before me and with that agony
of fear, which was daily growing stronger,
depressing me.
''Only wait, dear" would say to her;
II know you will be better soon," and my
wife would answer with her own brave
smile-her smile SO filled with love, YET
now tinged with sorrow and pity, for |
think she knew that soon for her there
would be no wretchednesS or pain, but all
of it for me.
The last nightsthat wrote on this rejected
MS. | went to my desk determined to finish
and send it out by the next mail [ drew
my papers together and sat down for long
nights work. Hester had been very i'll;
she had not left her room for days, but as ]
began writing the door opened and my wife
stood on the threshold. So white and i'll
she looked that sprang to her and took
her in my arms in sudden burst of love
and fear.
She begged to stay, and placed herself in
her low chair at my side with her head on
my shoulder. She was much more COM
Portable than all alone upstairs" she said,
land would sleep here
wrote on and on and on, only stopping
to caresS or speak to Hester, who was quiet
and content.
The hours sped by; hardly noticed their
arrival so intent was | upon my work.
Testers head, still and heavy upon my
shoulder, assured me that she slept, and
my pen sped on, until, as the clock struck
8, made final flourish.
''It's done DEAR" cried, gayly, and as |
received no answer 1 folded, incloSed and
addressed my MS, tossed it aside and
turned to my wife.
Come, sleepy-head, dear little sleepy
head" l said.
raised her IN my arms and turned her
strangely still White face to mine. | kissed
her sweet, tnln Ilps-her brow, her cheeks,
her hair. kissed her small, cold hands.
and called her the old, fond, tender names
and there was no reply.
Without sound or movement she had
gone from me.
1 did not call Or weep. held her close
in my arms. and, with her dear, dead face
to mine, the life in me slowly died-the
light of my world had gone out, and /
knew that God had called me to walk for
ever alone and in the darkness.-L. G.
Folsom, in Louisville Times.
Allen G. Always Ready.
PittSh1rcr nisnafnh