The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1890-10-10
CHRYSANTIIEA.

ncT STO"CES L1dG ot4CI anu oCAASA
flowers share.
She lived in brown farm house
among the Massachusetts, hills with her
old father. Had she blOomed so late
in his life to give some color and poetry
to the autumn of his days, as chrysan-
themum blows only to light the fall of
the dying leavesP 1t must have been
so, for he was well into the sixties,
while she was barely sixteen.
Years ago her mother had died,
frail lovely creature, who would have
given that other young life the Joy and
love it needed so; but the child grew
without it, a hardy, cheerful little
thing, though not without a certain
wistfulness at times in her great deep
blue eyes SO like purple flower. Old
Rachel her fathers housekeeper and
her own faithful nurse, used to look at
her with wet eyes and shake her head.
1T amt natural. She goes on sing
ing and laughing as happy as a lark
ali day; but what's to make her happy.
say /? 1t amt her father, nor yet me,
tho do love her the dear, and she
amt got no mother, no sister, no BROTH
er, nor yet no lover, so what's to make
her happy? 1t amt natural" she in
sisted, as a blithc voice rose above the
clatter of the dishpans as Rachel bus
tied about the kitchen.
What makes you so happy, lamb?"
cried the old woman out thrOugh h the
open window.
..Oh. Rachel, I've got such lovely
lot of chrysanthemums; come out and
see; oh, look, look!''
"It's them flowers that makes her
happy" muttered the old servant, as
she made her way through the kitchen
garden.
well, to be sure, Chriss, dear, them
do beat all. Oh, them is handsome"
Aren't they just lovely? See the
great gold ones and the purple; those
are nv favorites, aud this cherry and
white, and these pure white, too, those
are for mother" she said, lowering her
voice little; they are the only ones
! shall pick. Rachel! aren't they love-
ly?"
But Rachel only shook her head and
went into the house.
TO think she loves them flowers so;
it amt natural, it amt; if it was a kit
ten now or IL dog | wouldn't wonder
so, but a lot of clinging asters, it amt
natural"
Natural or not Chriss was very hap
py. She hung over her newly bloom
ing pets nearly all the morning, then
q sudden cloud came over her face.
She looked up with a long sigh and
turned to the back of the house, where
two deep windows marked her fathers
study.
II wonder now if I dare tell him
about them, he does hate so to be dis
turbed; but oh! want him to see those
purple ones so much"
With one fond look at her glowing
bed she went in at the door. With
hesitating step she passed along the
broad. old-fashioned hall and raped
timidly at the oaken door. Note
pecting any response she went inland
sighed as she saw the gray, bent head
poring over AN old book. A wood fire
smoldered on the hearth. She knelt
down and blew the embers looking up
now and then with smile.
''There, there. let it alone, child; it
is burning very we'll"
''Oh. father. father"
"Well. what new?"
Father, it's just lovely out to-day
SO warm and sunny; and, father, my
flowers are in bloom"
Your tlowers-oh, the chrysanthe-
mum bed, hey? WE'LL that's good"
Father, won't you come and look at
them? Dor very wistfully.
Come out? Not l. I've got some
thing better to do than to look at lot
of posies. There, run along, child;
now do"
She went very slowly and softly out
of the room, closing the door gently be-
hind her, but her heart was full. Her
song was silent now, and as she passed
the kitchen window she did not look up
and nod as usual.
She went quietly out to the hot house
and, selecting a small trowel, knelt
down beside the white chrysanthe-
NUNS and began loosening the roots
with tender, patient hands.
''She would have come to look" she
murmured, as she glanced off to where
the white shaft of her mothers tomb
arose.
She would have understcod; per-
haps she will understand now if say a
little prayer"
Two hot tears fell on the pure bios
SONS as she gathered them up in her
apron; but they were not bitter tears.
she was too young for that. She
Walheu quickly across CHe ueluS CHaE
separated the burying ground from the
house, and was soon by her mothers
grave. The field lark was chirping,
the goldenrod had brushed her cheeks
as she passed, her heart was lighter,
and she sang under her breath d
sweet, old-fashioned hymn.
At last the flowers were planted and
she turned to 60.
A young man with a sketch book
under his arm stood aside to let her
pass. She looked up in time to see
him remove his hat, and encountered a
pair of dark brown eyes. She colored,
and went on with quickened steps,
conscious of her soiled apron and earth
begrimed fingers.
He stood looking after her, still with
his head barred. He was an artist; the
sight of the young girl kn neeling by the
grave had appealed to his senses.
He had seen the monument from a
distance and had come to inspect it,
without an idea of intruding; there he
had seen her, had sent one look into
those sweet fioWer-like ewes and had