Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1889-04-18

that Miss Adams, now IL her nineteenti
year. sometimes wrote verses.
One slender pile in the corner OF nei
desk was made uD Of verses copied with
unusual care. and signed with her
name. These had all been returned
with thanks from some magazine. The
letter which Rexory held IN her hand
this afternoon, in fact, had the name OF
great magazine printed upon 1t. II
contained the usual formula, expressing
regret that the manuscript was not aVal!-
able, and enclosed a poem, which was
the only one Rexory had sent away foI
a year.
She sat leaning against the tree, with
a handful of leaves stripped from low
brance placed between her head and the
rough bark. Ii the editor could have
seen her Just then, he might have looked
longer at her than he did at the verses.
Her hat lay on the grass, and her dar
hair was tumbled little by the wind.
Her dreamy brown eyes were just now
directed at the rosebush, for she called
her poem {" The Colchester Rose.
1t was a modest productions; dozen
four-line verses, telling the story Of
Mistress Simpson. Most of the words
had come to her there under the oak, as
she had watched the rose petals drifting
to the ground one windy afternoon; yet
into it had passed great deal Of her
self
! Well, here her last venture was re-
turned as the others had been, except
that careless pencil mark was opposite
the third verse, and at the bottom was
written g Try us again.
The unlucky third verse, she thought,
had spoiled everything the one that
described the roses. Rexory had thought
herself that it was not so pretty as the
rest, perhaps, but it had painted the
roses Just as they We're She had tried
to beautify the story of Mistress Simp-
son by making her young woman and
the farmer boya gallant knight. The
poem might have been accepted, she re-
hected, as she looked back and forth
from the third verse to the rosebush it
self, if it had not been for those four
lines, too simple for the great OlgmpiaH
Magazine. Yet they still seemed good
to her, while the other verses, in her
discouagement, sounded rather weak
and sentimental.
Poor Rexoryl She had embarked
upon a sea where only the lucky navi-
gators find wise pilot, and where most
of us have to steer by the stars, when we
can see them.
She put on her hat after a while, and
walked briskly up the hill-road. The
view and the air and the vigorous exer-
else of her healthy body put her in good
spirits again, and before an hour was
over, she laughed to find herself plan
ming another poem.
A month later Mrs. Symonds gave a
reception, at her fashionable summer
cottage in the little village, in honor of
the well-known writer, Mrs. Morton
Carew, and the Adams family were in
vited. Rexory read her invitation over
and over; she was not much used to the
social ways Of the summer people, and
the formality of the note half-frightened
and half-pleased her.
" Mrs. Symonds," Miss Adams,
"AIrs. Morton Carew." 1t was agreea-
BILE to see her own name in such dis
tinquished company She had read all
of Mrs. Carew's novels, and TO think of
talking with the writer, She would at
tend the reception, although she had
nothing suitable to wear except a Inst
years Swiss muslin.
Mrs Adams declared that tired old
school teacher like herself would be out
of place at Rachel Symonds's house.
Tom, however, to Rexory's surprise, I
said he would go. So Rexory sat down 1
and wrote Mrs Symonds a simple, di- 4
rect note, thanking her for the kindness. I
and telling her that she and Tom would
be happy to come. Mrs. Symonds smiled
when she read it, but liked the girl none
the less for her informality.
At six o'clock on the evening of the (
reception Tom Adams walked up from
the express office in the rain, disgust
ed man. He had ordered some Jacque- 4
minot roses for Rexory from Bridgeton,
twenty miles away, and they had not I
come. Rexory met him in the hall and (
her eyes fell when she saw he was emp 4
ty-handed She had counted ON the .
flowers with girlish delight they would
be the only pretty thing about her, she
had thought.
The three ate supper silently. Tom
disliked the prospect for the evening, at
heart, and Rexory was more sorry about
the flowers than she cared to have him