The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1889-08-17
elegant home, beautiaed and cared for, for

him.
But with his death all her plals cher
ished for his future were laid away with
him, and nothing now remained but to get
away from it all.
The breeze swept up from the sea and
| through the open easement, dallying with
the loose Grape sleeve of her dress, the
sweet English violets lent their breath to
| the caress of the wind, and a bird in the
garden below began It's vesper song.
Miriam shut her eyes and leaned back liz
! the depths of her chair to dream of
fond baby fingers stealing up around her
| neck, and of deep, musical voice calling
! tenderly across the vale: Miriam, dearest,
goodbye"
| Patricia rose quietly and glanced at her
sister-in-law, and seeing her eyes closed
said, softly: ''She is resting, poor darling"
| Then she went out, leaving her, as she
thought, to a refreshing nap.
"Of course" she said to herself, with a
bright blush Of happiness, "Of course,
Hollis WILL purchase Miriam's home if Sue
wishes to dispose of it, but we would rather
she would 1--we with US instead of going to
| America"
And tie 1.-the little English girl glanced
! down on enc dimpled hand, where brilliant
| solitaire flashed in silent Affirmative.
Miriam opened her eyes slowly. Patricia
| had gone downstairs, and she was alone.
alone in the sweet June twilight, VI lii the
music Of the clear, evening bells, exercising
the Geep bass Of the sea, floating tenderly,
softly around her. The plaintive song of
Robin Adair came up from below, and she
knew the old man with his bagpipes was
making his rounds once more for 'just wan
ha'-penny, please" "Friendless and poor,
perhaps sorrowful also," she murmured,
leaning over the window ledge.
| Yes; he was coming her way, and would
stop just beneath her window, as usual.
| Poor old fellow; he aped the dress Of the
Highlander and doubtless thought tho
music of his bagpipes equal 10 any OF
SCOTS minstrel melodies. Well, he was a
5orry-looking minstrel Of the degenerate
| latter days, to say the least.
| There, what was that he was singing, In
! his rich Scotch brogue? Harkl the song
hea changed. and "Where my bonnie love
lies sleeping' is what he essays in his
! quaint voice. She would go down and drop
q penny in the vvlthered pam.
| @Why do you sing that sorrowful song,
my friends" questioned Miriam, opening the
| lower sash and recognizing in the dreamy
! light the picturesque garb Of the aged man
whom Arthur loved to hear sing.
| The song ceased, and caressing his bag
pipes with loving touch he made answer:
"Ah! lady fair, sa:r is me heart for the
| bonnie love gone out of me life
''rhen your love is dead as we'll cs mine"
said Miriam, with tre.nor CT hopeless pain
running through her words.
The quick ear of the man with the rust
looking bagppes noted the quaver ot tears
in her voice, and a sudden mist GANG oc-
| tween him and the world.
Eyes, me darling is dead" he replied,
"but the guide Gods will be done; tn, iot
the wan to be unhappy, ma'au,. ttcs wan
glorious day I'll cross over 1r!s.sre the music
ia finer, and I'll find hef there"
He nrs mis- trembling fingers once more
oE his :tres, dropped his head and began:
''And where my love lies sleeping
The angels keep watch and ward.''
s;Don't! don't!' walled Miriam, in s
helpless tone, ''you mean to comfort, no
doubt, but you only wound afresh: can
not say with YOU that I am not unhappy,