The Springdale news., 1889-11-15

 Arthur lived she would nave continued her residence here and would have kept tlc elegant home, beautiiicd and cared for, for him.
 But with his death all her plans cher ished for his future were l.s1 aEay 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, dallylng with the loose crape 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 in the depths of her chair to dream of fond baby fingers stealing up around her neck and of a deep, musical voice calling tendcrly across the vale: Miriam, dearest, good bye"
 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 wlll 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 vhe 1.-the little English girl glanced down on one dimpled hand, where brilliant solitaire flashedin silent affirmative.
 Miriam opened her eyes slowly. Patricia had gone downstairs, and she was alone, alone in the sweet June twilight, with the music of the clear, evening bells, chorusng the deep bass of the sea, floating tenderty, lc1 1a1a int of Robin Adair came up from below, and she knew the old man with his bagpipes was making his rounds once more for ''just van a'-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 the music of his bagpipes equal to any of Scott's minstrel melodies. We'll, he was a sorry-looking minstrel of the degenerate latter days, to say the least
 There, what was th2t he was singing, ia his rich Scotch broguel Haril the song had changed, ard ''Where my bonnie love lies sleepingn is what he. essays in his quaint voice. She would go down and drop penny ill the wIthered palm.
 "Why do you sing that sorrowful song, my friendie questioned Miriam, opening the lower sash and recognizing in the dreamy light the picturesque garb of the aged man whom Arthur loved to hear siag.
 The song ceased, and caressing his bag pipes with loving touch he made answer: "Ah! lady fair, sair is me heart for the bonnie love gone out of me life.n
 ''Then your love is dead as well as mine,n said Miriam, with a tremor of hopeless pain running through her words.
 The quick ear of the man with the rusty looking bagpipes noted the qIaver Of tears in her voice, and a sudden mist came be- tween him and the world.
 ''Yes, me daring is dead,o he replied, "but the gude Gods will be done; Tn not the wan to be unhappy, ma'an, for wan glorious day I'll cross over where the music is finer, and I Il find her there"
 He put his trembling fingers once more on his pipes, dropped his head and began:
 And where my love lies sleeping
 The angels keep watch and ward"
 "Don't! =don'to walled Miriam, in a helpless tone, you mean to comfort, no doubt, but you only wound afresh. l can not say with you that l am not unhappy, for l am so miserable, so desolate, so crushed! Here is money for your comfort, if there be any comfort in it; but do not sing that song for me again, please. '
 She put handful of shining silver pieces in tke faded cap, and bidding him ''good night" shut the window down gently and went upstairs.
 "Bagpipes belong to the Scotchman, l know" she said to Patty on the stairs, but they worry me tonight as much as if they wero in the hands of unsophisticated Teddy McGlynn.n
 But Patricia knew that Miriam was trying to dissemble.