The Chickasaw messenger. (Okolona, Miss.) 1880-1900, 1888-10-18

noticed il, aud felt strangely worried
all the evening. Whenthree dayshaf
passed aud still he did not come agab
my endurance had reached its limit
walked to the gate aud looked aim.
lessly up and down the road besor,
Tenuring farther.
Surely that was he coming around
that bend in the roadi 1t was. indeed
but, Oh, how changed!
His face was pale and drawn. hi.
shoulders stopped, his gait thar Of
weakness and exhaustion.
Good evening" said, intending Ia
ask him his trouble.
"Gut'n abend, mee,,7 he replied.
touching his hat.
"Ah, You are German!v cried Gag
erly.
"Nein, mees, bin Schweitzlander. .
he said, and sadder hook came into
his blue eyes.
lie was Swiss. might have known
il from his perfect politeness.
In no other country under the sun.
/ think. are the lower classes taught
from theircradlcup. TO so respect those
common rules Of politcness that the
youth Of this land of the free and
screaming eagle consider il reproach
to their manhood or womanhood TO
notice. Nor do the latter always be-
long to the lower classes. either. more
j., the pity!
"Do You not miss your mountains p
] asked him in the language he loved
best.
"Ah, Gott-my mountains :. he cried
pas,ionately, raising his hands with
little pathetic gesture; and as look
ed at him I saw the heavy tears that
had risen TO his eyes, Wrung from the
depths of his strong, silent nature.
| had struck the Keynote Of the
mans life-his love and longing for
his beloved Swiss mountains.
After that first meeting used reg
ularly to walk down the little path to
the gate when | saw him coming, to
exchange with him few words in his
own tongue, lamely, he eagerly, as
though the very sound Of the words
brought him nearer home and his
loved mountain peaks.
Gradually | learned his whole his
tory. He had left Switzerland five
years before, promising his sweetheart
to return to her when he had made
enough in the new country to which
he was going to marry her and give
her home at least as comfortable as
those oftheir peasant ueighbors.
Il told her gOodby," he said simply, |
"and went away. ! did not fear, nor
did she-she knew ! would come back |
il lived--but my mOuntainsl How |
could say them goOdby for so long |
| wept. have no shame, miss, to say |
| wept as have not done since lay |
in my mothers arms--as shall never
do again
There was resignation that amount
ed almost to despair in his tone. Be
fore ! knew It the tears were running
down my cheeks.
Il thank You, miss he said simply,
shut do not weep for me-
slave YOU never heard from your
sweetheart p asked him once. He
made a gesture Of apology.
"IIow could |, miss p he said. I'VE
can neither of Us read or write"
let me write itfor YOU begged,
"and she eau easily find some one to
read it to her and send a reply
His face frightened wonderfully.
and as soon as possible a letter was
to the lonely heart in far
of Switzerland, that pictured to my
self waiting and watching so anxious
ly for the word that never came.
Then we waited patiently for the
answer lie never mentioned it from
the day he walked ten miles to post it.
so that it might go one mail earlier
but knew he dreamed of it, waking
and sleeping; and my heart sank more
and more each day that the postman
passed my gate with his Good morn
ing, ma'am-no, nothing to-day"
AT last came June--a perfect June.
when Heaven tries the earth if it be
in tune.
And over it softly her warm ear lays"