Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-03-06

 to k,,uw what the .LArs are and what the win.l is; l. want to know where the lark goes when yos lose him out of sight against the sun: want to know how the old artists got to see Gol, that they could paint him and all his angels as they have done, l want to know how the voices got into the bells. and how they can make ones heart beat, hanging up there as they do, all among the jackdaws: want to know what it is when walk in the fields in the morning, and it is ali gray end soft and still, and the corn crake cries in tho wheat, and the little mice run home to their holes, that makes me so glad and yet so sor rowful, as if 1 were so very near God, and yet so all alone, and such little thing: be- cause you see the mouse she has her hole, and the crake her own people, but D.
 Her voice faltered little and stopped she had never before thought out into words her own loneliness; from the long green arbor the voices of the girls and the students sang
 An! le doux son dun baiser tendrer'
 Hlamen was silent. The poet in him-and in an artist there is always more or less of the poet-kept him back from ridicule, nay, moved him 10 pity and respect.
 They were absurdly simple words no doubt, had little wisdom in them, and were quite childish in their utterance, and yet they moved him curiously man very base and
 
 dying deer's eyes, or by the sound of song that some lost love once sang.
 He rose and drew her hands away, and took her small face between his hands in stead
 'Poor little Bebee!'' he said gently, look ing down on her with breath that was al most sigh. "Poor little Bebee!-to envy the corn crake and the mouse!'
 She was little startled; her cheeks grew very warm under his touch, but her eyes looked still into his without fear.
 He stopped and touched her forehead with his lips, gently and without passion, almost reverently; she grew rose hued as the bright bean flowers, up to the light gold nipples of her hair: she tre1nbled little and drew back, but she was not alarmed nor yet ashamed :; she was too simple of heart to feel the fear that is born of passion and of consciousness.
 It was as Jeannot kissed his sister Marie who was 15 years old and sold milk for the Krebs people ill the villages with a little green cart and yellow dog-no more.
 And yet the sunny arbor leaves and the glimpse of the blue sky swan around her in distinctly, and the sounds of the guitar grew dull upon her ear, and were lost as ill a rush. ing hiss of water because of the great sud den, unintelligible happiness that seemed to bear her little life away on it a wave bears q young child off its feet.
 "You do not feel alone now, Bebeep' he whispered to her.
 ''No!" she answered him softly under her breath, and sat still, while all her body quiv- cred like leaf
 No; how could she ever be alone now that this sweet, soft, unutterable touch would al- ways be in memory upon her; how could she wish ever again now to bo tho corn crake | in the summer corn or the gray mouse in the hedge of hawthorne
 | At that moment a student went by past the entrance of the arbor; he had sash round his loins and a paper feather in his l cap; he was playing fife and dancing; he glanced in as he went.
 ''It is time to go home, Bebee," said Fla | men.