The McCook tribune., 1890-10-10
Ronald mitchell, 1.-The son Of my old

friend and schOOlmate, Eunice Sand.
Wilma advanced a little and helt
out her hand frankly, but when sh,
met the intense gaze OF the clear blu,
eyes above her shy look came into
her own end she withdrew her hand
Ronald, watching her wondered j
her grandmother 8 remark about heI
had implied that she was bit of Q
coquette.
She leaned over the old lady's high
backed chair and fastened the rich
rose in the 'silvery white waves O
her beautiful hair. And then she
went away, with a murmured word
of excuse, leaving behind her q scent
of roses and a remembrance of a fair,
fresh young face rising fowerlike
above her pale blue gown.
That was their first meeting. All
summer the young farmer came and
went at his own will and helped to
make the old place pleasant.
They sang together in the garden.
There was no musical instrument in
the primative Quaker household, hut
Wilma had brought her guitar with
her. They read together in the old
summer house through long, lovely
afternoons, while grandinamma sat
near with her homely knitting work.
They walked together in the great
old fashioned garden and along the,
murmuring creeks, and sat idly on
the rustic bridge, watching the
rhythmic flow of the waters and the
minnows darting in the cool, dark
depths below. 1t was an idyllic
summer. Both were happy. One
knew why it was; the other only half
guessed it.
Ronald Mitchell at 80 years had
for the first time felt his inmost
heart stirred and thrilled by wom-
ans presence. He loved her with
all the unwasted strength of his per-
feet manhood, with all the tender
ness of a true mans first love.
One evening he told her. They
were sitting together on messy log
beside the creek.
Wilma had thrown off her wide
garden hat, and the late rose in her
dark hair cleaned whitley like soft
star in the dusk.
What caprice seized the girl?
She listened to his eager words
with averted face turned toward the
dying sunset light.
When he had finish he'd she did not
answer.
HE takes too much for granted"
she thought; she is to masterful; he
asks as though my heart was some
light thing to which he had a right.
Twill teach him it is not"
She rose and turned to go. He
caught her hands and detained her.
wilma, are you not going to say
q word? Are you then the coquette
| always thought you that first
day."
His words stung her. She tried to
free herself, and the rose fell from her
hair. He picked it up.
"Ifyou won't say anything, Will
ma, give me this rose. Let it be a
symbol of hope to me.''
She snatched it from his hand.
"When / am ready to answer you,"
she said, l will send it to you," and
then she slipped away and hurried
toward the house. A spice of ro-
nance had always been part of her
nature. Now as she fitted away she
touched the senseless flower with lips
that trembled.
lido love him-Ido love him." she
whispered as she sped along the
shadowy path through the garden.
But the girls willful heart was
slow to yield. A week passed.
Ronald Mitchell came not once to
the farmhouse. Rebecca Mortified
wondered at his absence, and looked
searchingly at the quiet faced girl.
One evening she came into the
quaint old room, with it's sloping
roof and lattice window, where Will
ma sat reading
81 thought I'd tell thee, Wilma.
that Ronald is going away to-mor-
row. He is tired, he said when l met
him to-day, and needs change. He
does look worn, | wonder why he
keeps away from us.
She looked keenly through her gold
glasses at the girl.
81 don't know grandmamma, Pm
sure. He does act strangely of late.
Will he stay away long do you
think?"
"a month, he said," she answered.
The girl drew a quick breath. "A
she thought. ''In "a month
| shall be back at school,
Her heart beat quickly. After d
while she took q little box from her
bureau, and Went down stairs and
out into the garden.
She called to Donand wandered
down to the mossy log beside the
creek. She had been here every day
since that time a week ago.
She sat down on the log, and Don
sat down beside her, looking gravely
at the running stream.
She drew q little folded note from
the box in her hand and opened it.
"Come to me-" it said, and then in
delicate tracery her name, "Wilma."
That was all.
The girls eyes shone half mischiev-
ously as she iastened the tiny box to
Don's silver collar with bit of rib