Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-03-26
MISS CLARE.
By MARIA L. POOL.

k1C SiSo tiIC uii Ol nloS SltI Aebooy AA crasies: it's rich perfume was the fitting aroma of her imperial nature: it bore itself as the princely gonfalon of the hosts of her heart and head; under such an ensign did 1 already wish to enlist thought with smile, that, though Miss Clare was not blonde. yet would like to follow her standard.
 You like flowers, l suppose, Mrs. Jerdan," said to my hostess, as 1 stood over the blossom. inhaling with epi- curean breaths it's incomparable richness. "Yes, well enough. But never should think of fussing about that thing as Miss Clare does. She brought it away from home with her, and has taken the great est care of it ever since" Then this is not her holne," I re- marked indifferently.
 "Oh, no; she only boards here for a while."
 Mrs. Jerdan is right" spoke Miss ! Clare's tuneful voice from the doorway II am here as long as I wish to stay. My home is ill Boston,"
 Was it her particular province to dis compose and confuse me? If it had been, she could not have succeeded more en- tirely.
 looked down at the girls eyes and said:
 You have discovered that am inter ested in you"
 "I have discovered that you experience a feeling, which, if you were a woman, should surely call curiosity" she an swered, advancing toward mo and stop ping by her plant, fondling it with dainty fingers.
 II don't like to have you call the feel ing by that name," said, with an air that implied that she could awaken a stronger sensation than mere curiosity. found that every such gallant at- tempt was lost upon her.
 She looked up in my face and indif- ferently asked:
 | wound your dignity?
 noted that, now that the pupils were contracted, her eyes were hazel gray. I replied to her Yankee directness by an indistinct murmur, for in truth did not know what to say. Then remarked: 'Your heliotrope is getting too large for this pot; you must transplant it, unless you want it to blossom itself to death"
 "Yes, it was for this pet of mine that l was wounded this morning.; am going to put it in a box tomorrow. It will flourish greenly and bless me with sweet ness ill return for my love. It is not human at all, Mir. Perrom." You are too young to be a cynic," said secretly glad of this remark she had rol,,~taarol that l was so glad.
 Ut is not years that make a cynic," was the reply; it is life, and there is so much of life sometimes in day" 1 did not hazard response to that re- mark, though l wished to speak in terms l feared she would resent as too per sonal. 4 silence of several minutes fol- lowed. The harsh lines around her mouth, the retrospective appearance of her face, made me imagine her to be thinking of something disagreeable in her past. l At last said:
 Can be of any assistance in trans 1 planting. tomorrow!
 ! Her face did not change as she said: i Thank you. none whatever" and walked away.
 " httl IstSl l.thCl pOSSCSStO1l OA me, prompting me to like this girl? Something that felt would soon develop itself into that which would prove more vital than a mere freak. Though could not, with any reason, decide why 1 had 1 become so conscious of this attraction yet felt it to be, if cratic as lightning, | as powerful and as sure to its mark. did not love the girl. I do not think believe in the idea of the growth of any thing so complete, so perfect as love, in one or two days. do not deny its pos sibility for some natures, where the whole previous life seems to have been attuned by invisible hands for this meet ing and this love. But for me. who harr groped in earth's dryness and dustiness did not expect sudden purifcation for the reception of the glorious guest. 1 had been at the isolated farm house a fortnight, and had seen very little of Miss Clare. In the meantime, when sat at my reading or writing occasion 1 ally heard the report of a pistol from | somewhere back of the house. For a long time wondered what boy or young man was practicing shooting, or what pigeons and quails were suffering from 1 HIS eApcIIueSS. At ldSt, one morning, as an incessant "crack, crack! came up against my window, I took my little re- volver from its case and went out in search of the marksman. The air was cool and frosty and came against my face with the very essence of winter III it. Hurrying on to keep warm, I came upon Miss Clare, who was standing about dozen paces from target board nailed upon tree. When came up she was standing with her face turned from me, loading her pistol. She wore short, loose, double breasted fur jacket and fur cap. The cap did not become her; her face was too proudly, coldly cut
 for such a half jaunty thing I took out my own pistol and examined it,
 while she asked me if was good shot.
 "Ordinary." answered.
 Well, let me see," she said, and stood aside for me to take her place and shoot.
 1 did so, and was sufficiently mortified at seeing that my shot went so wide of
 the mark as to emphasize my remark
 that l was ordinarily skilled. However, | I knew I cOuld do better and fired twc