The Penn's Grove record., 1886-09-04

leaves the shorter road to quiet and re-
pose; the grass is soft across it and the
ground sparrow has her nest in the
wagon tracks.
The grass Is studded with daisies,
white and yellow, and sweet-willlams
blossom gayly among the purple this
ties. Beyond, in the fields. the corn
waves, a dark, green. shimmering sea,
over the slope and out Of sight. A
clear green sea, broken only now and
then by a stately mullen stalk which
rears its yellow head above the shining
corn and seems to look, with ar air OF
possession, over the broad fields.
In the shadow of the fence the dew
is not yet dried, and gllstens bravely as
stray sunbeams find their way to 1t.
The birds sing their merriest, the sun
shines its brightest and through 1t all
walks Jean with downcast, happy eyes.
awhile you are away, you will not
forget-you know what?" her compan-
ion says holding closer her warm right
hand. "You will not forget, Jeanp"
'As if l could, you foolish boy" she
says with a happy laugh. "But you may
forget"
Eyes, when I forget to live," he
says. "On, Jeanl what would the world
be to me without your"
"a very lovely world still" she says,
but he shakes his head and they walk
on IN silence.
They walk on, down the hill and
through the village streets and up the
rickety platform where, once a day, a
roaring express train stops and brings,
for a moment, some Of the city's smoke
and din to the quiet country.
The station master, in Tapping straw
hat and patched corduroy trousers,
lounges on a truck in the morning sun
shine. A good-natured old couple sill
close together in startled anticipation
of departure, and a bldse young fellow,
whose satchel hangs by a strap from
his shoulder, smothers a yawn and
opens his dull eyes further to take in
more of jeans fresh loneliness, as she
comes forward.
ut is the last time, Jean," her lover
whispers. you will never go away
from me again. Think OF it, my sweet
hearth The very last goodbye that we
need ever say"
The sweet, red bushes chase each
other over her rose-leaf face and soft
white neck, which the linen collar
guards SO jealousy.
THE very last" she repeats softly.
''Let me pin this daisy on your coat,
Don. Nowl You will think of me
when it is withered and you throw il
away. And l will keep these IN my
hand until they fade and think of you
every minute and know that you are
thinking of me-" And so they talk and
laugh, ard his fond eyes watch her
flower-llke face that smiles and bushes
under his tender gaze.
And, at last, he holds tight her slim.
soft hands, as If he would never let
them go and say. l can hardly let you
go, but 1t is the last time, dear. Our
last good-bye; are you not glad2"
Goodbye" she whispers-For
just a little time. l shall keep the
flowers. Dom"
His lips touch hers and the train
speeds away. He catches a last glimpse
of the fair, flushed face, a last smile and
a last wave of the hand; then the gypsy
hat has vanished and fair-haired little
Jean has gone.
1t is strangely dark and dreary as he
walks away. He walks slowly back
the way they came, but the sun is hot
and glazing; the dew has dried away;
the birds sing harshly and the color and
the beauty has faded from the flowers.
1t is a very dull and prcsaic world,
much unlike the fairy land that he
passed through a little while ago.
\ \
Noise, confusion and excitement.
Cries, sobs and eager questions.
"How did it %happen?" "Who was to
blamep" "a broken railY" IAN open
switch?"
A crowd of swaying, jostling and
sorrowful people.
Elbowing his way through them
comes a white-facsd man, with a droop-
daisy in his buttonhole. He strides
straight to the door of the waiting
room from which come means and sobs;
thrusts aside the official who would bar
his way and who shrinks back from his
drawn, desperate face.
A soiled white dress, a crushed gypsy
hat and a white, upturned face.
He takes her in his arms and, with
no word, bears her out from the noise
and crowd. People make way for him
and turn their eyes away, and eyes are
dim and lips culver.
Out of the crowd he goes and lay hel
gently down on the soft grass.
There is blood ON her white forehead
he wipes it tenderly away and smoothes
back the fair, tangled hair. Her limp
hands still hold the flowers that have
hardly withered.
He kisses her small. cold hands. her
still white lips and calls her by the old,
ford, tender names-and there is nc
reply.
Holding fast her flowers, with the
happy smile that still fingers on heI
lips, Jean has gone swiftly-terribly-
out of all possible harm and misery,
Her head IS heavy on his arm and te
his passionate cries there IS no answer,
and he buries his gray, haggard face in
the cool grass and holds fast her deal
hand.
1.-The last goodbye that we need ever
say, :" he means. "Oh, Jean, my darling
1t was. But take me with you-come
for mel"
But her lips do not answer or move
though he watches them with hi
breath. Then he folds her hands upoI
her breast and clasps her fingers about
the faded daisies and bows his head
while the shadow, that never will b
lifted, comes down and takes him int
It's embrace.
cH.os OF N Thousaud HorGas