The Springdale news., 1889-09-06


 that It amounted to the same thing as lar as sentiment was concerned? And as Tor reality l thought very little about 1t. Death in the abstract was what held fascination for me.
 So in this frame of mind l started for Aunt Becky's, accompanied by my father, who, as he placed me in her care atthe country station-for he had to return immediately to the city-said to her in an undertone:
 "Becky, do all you can for her. Cure her, if possible; but humor her, as she seems not long for this world. :"
 She gave a sharp glance as she seated me in the low basket phaeton and gathered up the pony reins; and she kept up her swift glances as we rode out to the farm, varying them by occasional terse questions.
 Been sick long, Rue?"
 For nearly year." l languidly replied.
 ''W hats the matter?"
 'I don't know"
 'Have aches and pains or coughp"
 "No-that is, not much" I had for gotten that a cough was usual in cases of decline, and forthwith proceeded to give little one-a very unnatural one l felt it to be at the time.
 Another sharp look.
 That ain't any consumption cough, We'll, how do you feel, any way?"
 70, Aunt Becky, just as if it would be perfectly heavenly to lie right down and die"
 My far-away look as I contemplated the blue sky was intended to settle forever the question as to my condi- tion; and it seemed to, though not in just the way l had expected
 "Pish.' was her contemptuous ejac- ulation. Die! We'll, you ain't going to just yot-not from any thing you've got now"
 had no chance to reply to this un- feeling remark, as we had reached the farm.
 For several days l wandered idly around, swinging in the hammock I had brought with me, arrayed in clinging white wrappers and slippers. When the weather permitted 1 took my maps out of doors in the most ap- proved attitudes-a book of poems clasped in one hand, one arm thrown gracefully above my head while the other hung limp by my side, and one slippered foot peeped from beneath my skirt over the hammock s edge. I felt that my affinity might possibly hover near me unawares and it be- hooved me to keep my lamps always trimmed and burning; for even if I could not live, we must at least recog- nize each other-and how could that be if 1 did not live, while lived, up to my ideal2
 But a few days after my arrival, ready for my day-dreams, l missed my favorite poems; in fact novels as well were gone
 Where are my books, Aunt Bccky?" I asked, as she was about to drive to the village
 live put them away The doctor says you mustn't read much, ." she an swcrcd as she drove off
 l had not heard of that edict before; but 1 knew some poetry by heart and that would do as well so lay think ing my breast swelling with emotion as l made myself the heroine Of most romantic tale passing through my brain. My eyes were wet with tears and 1 was sobbing with the excess of emotional excitement 10 which pitch had worked myself when she returned
 What are you crying about, Rue?" she brusquely exclaimed.
 70. nothing! only-' paused un- decided how to express myself.
 "Only what? Homcsick?"
 No, indeed, Aunt Becky! but you can't understand me. It IS delightful to cry sometimes. l do love when I am alone to lie and think and feel that $ all.
 ''Fiddlesticksl Well, l got some thing to-day for you to take that'll make you feel better, was all she said.
 That night she came to my room.
 Two of the slats are out of my bed stead, Rue; I guess HI have to sleep with you" she announced, tying on her nightcap as she spoke,
 What's these?'
 She had opened one Of the bureau drawers in an ostensible endeavor to close it properly.
 Only some soft slate-pencils have with me-" l answered, faintly
 Well now, child, I'm going to take them every one. ain't going to have you fggerin' one bit while you are here. she shrewdly remarked as she confscated my whole stock upon the spot.
 Gloves, too. Why, Rue, your ma must've sent these to me. Enough to last housekeeper year, and l want some in my pickles tomorrow! I'll take them right out, because you don't want your clothes scented up by them sweet clover's best for that.
 1 could not say word; but 1 won dercd how I should keep up my pallor without those condiments to nibble. Then, too, how was 1 to enjoy my sentimental soliloquies which often kept me awake far into the night and left me so Interestingly wan-eyed in the morning? should have to fore go this sorrowful happiness. or happy sorrowfulness with which my roman tic imaginings filled my solitary hours, if Aunt Becky was to share my privacy.
 But she did not seem to dream that she might be intruding. She chatted on in her cheerful, quaint strain until found myself laughing in spite of me. She kept it up, too, far into the night until l dropped asleep-too ut terly exhausted to answer her ire quent question: ''Gone to sleep, Rue?n