Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-12-29

"A great american writer mas nnely
said that there are but two biogTaphers
who can tell the story of mans or
woman's life. zone is the person him
self or herself, the other is the record
ing angel. The photographer cannot
be trusted to tell the whole truth, al
though he may tell nothing but the
truth; and the recording angel never
lets his book go out of his own hands. I"
But Lucy had written her autobio-
graphy on the "heshly tables" of a
warm young heart, and had bequeathed,
as it were, her own personality to the
girl she had loved so well. And this
had been done without saying many
words about her life history.
"Good-by, Lucy" said Olive softly.
81 am remembering you, dear, as you
wished to be remembered. / am going
to follow your counsels, and let your
experience help me in the new path
that must tread. There is no need to
stand here and say all this; but it makes
me happier to say it. God bless you!
l know He does bless you for ever and
ever; and so good-by."
She slept that night, as she had done
for many nights, in Lucy's little room.
Ao DSb lllClC "CAS III LlO"SlS y" ll1lLlo
round the lattice, but the ivy was as
thick as ever, and the swallows had
come back to their nests under the over
hanging thatch. Their cheerful twit-
tering filed the morning air when she
awoze and realized that her last day in
the village had verify come.
Afterwards, in looking back, she
thought that this was the most confus-
nd hovxr3IIo,.soCs dow ~ ha,.
life. So much was crowded into it, and
yet SO many things seemed to be left
out. Jane went with her into the gar
den, and gathered basketful of the
best flowers that they could find-rich
velvety pansies, delicate hyacinths, jon
quils, tulips, violets, all mingled with
plumes of fresh green ferns. And
while they fingered over the flowers,
they talked again of Aaron, and looked
forward hopefully to the meeting that
should bring the long-desired e1plana-
ton.
1t was to Aaron's father-old Fen.
lake, of the ''Boar's Head''-that Olive
was indebted for her drive to Peters
field. His Ostler was to convey her an6
her box to the railway station, and when
the cart came up to the garden gate
Olive was waiting with little group
around her. Mrs. Hooper's farewell
was the last.
''This is something that Lucy left fol
you, my DEAR" she whispered, putting
a sealed envelope into her hand. 81
was charged not to give it you till you
were setting off on your journey; anC
I've kept it all these months. Good-by
Olive; if you ever want q home, child
come back to me-"
The cart moved Off. Olive, seated or
her box, looked back on the little group
at the gate, and waved to them until Z
turn in the road hid them from hel
sight. Her driver was old and deaf
/ and did not talk to anyone but hi:
] horse, and she could open the sealed
letter in peace. 1t contained five
pound note and three words, written il
a feeble hand: "With Lucy's love"
1t was the last proof of her friend
thoughtful care. She kissed thu
safe place. The old horse logged on
the old driver checrcd him in husk,
tone, and Olive sat silently watching
few white clouds travelling slowl,
across the fresh blue Sky. Here ant
LIcfc, Ill Il cOICdPc BafUcu, Incfc WAS
cherry tree in full bloom, lifting up
dome of silver blossom; but the spring
was advancing with tardy footsteps
and only a few flowers were scattcrer
over the cXpectant earth.
They came at last to the railwa,
station, and Olive watched for the trail
with athrobbing heart. The waiting wa
soon over, her seat was taken, and sH
was speeding on and on to her new lif
before she had quite realized that sh
had done with the old
Some minutes went by before sh
was composed enough to observe he
fellow travellers; but presently a baby
sitting on the lap of Il rosy mother
gave crow of delight at the basket c
flowers. Smiles and pleasant word
followed, but Olive was in no mood fo