Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-08-15
egant home, beautified and cared for, fo,

cicSou1 Aoiue, OeauLlueQ ana cared for, fOI him.
 But with his death al. her plans cher. lshed 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 crape sleeve of her dress, the sweet English violets lent their breath tc the caress of tho wind, and bird in the garden below began It's vesper song
 Miriam shut her eyes and leaned back in the depths of her chair to dream o1 fond baby fingers stealing up around her neck, and of deen 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 '' ihen she went out, leaving her, as she thought, to refreshing nap
 'Of coursc," she said to herself, with a bright blush of happiness. ''Of course, Hollis will purchase Miriam's home if she wishes to dispose of it, but we would rather she would live with us instead of going to America"
 And tho 1.-the little English girl glanced down on one dimpled hand, where a brilliant solitaire flashed in silent affirmative
 
 had gone downstairs, and she was alone, alone in the sweet June twilight, with the nlusic of tho clear, evening bells, chorusing the deep 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 moro for 'just wan ha'-penny, please" "Friendless and poor, perhaps sorrowful also," she murmurcd, 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 the music Of his bagpipes equal to any of 6cotts minstrel melodies. Well, he was 0 sorry-looking minstrel of tho degenerate latter days, to say tho least.
 There, what was that he was singing in his rich Scotch brogue3 Harki the song had changed. and "Where my bonnie love lies sleeping" is what he essays in his quaint voice. She would go down and drop penny in the wlthered palm.
 "Why do you sing that sorrowful song, my frienda" 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 PApOS "AoA AoNAuS IOuCu uO ndQ0 answer "Ah! lady fair, sair is me heart for the bonnie love gone out of me life"
 ''Then your love is dead es well as minc,'' said Miriam, with @ tremor of hopeless pain running through her words.
 Tho quick car of the man with tho rusty looking bagpipes noted the qaaver of toars in her voice, and O sudden mist came be- tween him and the world.
 "Yes, me darling Is dead," he replied, "but the gude Gods will be done; Pm not the wan to be unhappy, ma'am, for wan glorious day I'll cross over where the music Is finer, and I'll find her there"
 He put his trembling fingers once moro on his pipes, dropped his head and began:
 "And where my love lies sleeping
 The angels keep watch and ward"
 "Don'tl don'tp' walled Miriam, in a helpless tone, 'you mean to comfort, no doubt, but you only wound afresh can uot say with you that am not unhappy.