The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1891-11-15
A SHORT STORY.

l was young. Life was one continual
spring for me. The flowers, the music of
the birds, the ripping rills were the only
sounds that reached my happy ears saw
not the clouds OF the world; felt not the
pains that pierced other hearts, never
dreaming that it would not always be
thus
Iloved. Man always does. My love was
young; a mere child she was, a rosebud.
half-formed to kiss the dew-laden spring.
time morning air. She was as happy as
the spring day was soft and long. Even
the sunbeams laughed and wrestled for the
first kiss Of her golden curls. and the little
birds outdid themselves in merry song when
she passed by. The green leaves of the
trees along the roadside nodded their
trembling heads as she skipped along, and
the flowers in every hedge and field bowed
low In acknowledgment of the presence of
their queen and devoutest worshiper. The
soft tinkliug of the dew-mellowed harebells
was heard wherever she placed her little
feet She knew not fatigue; felt not pain
and would challenge me for arace down the
long, long red hill any day. My life was to
climb to the utmost top of some tall tree and
pluck the most luscious bunch of all the
sweet grapes. or with superhuman effort
snatch a defiant wild rose as it hung by
bOIue Tiny WIG buSponuous pretty ana
saucy pendulum, over the rocky cliffs, at
the bottom Of which the laughing of the shall
low waters was heard. When | did so, she
would laugh, and what musicl The rocks
would take the sweet notes up ana echo
them back and hack again. when they
would at last die away In some pretty wood
birds throat. and he would give it to the
world Of wood and dale and nodding flow
ers as his sweetest song. She didn't mind,
ton If | OnanQnIad hnF dainty vpFiSto with
my own loving hands aud drew her to me,
and wrestling with the roses struggling to
reach her rosy lips, steal a kiss. Her sweet
est smile was always mine. and the sun
shine was not half so bright. Over field
and meadow we would romp day after day,
gathering buttercups, sweet williams and
water lilies, until her young limbs
could 60 no further, and she would
sink exhausted into my arms, all heaped
and covered with the flowers that we had
stolen from natures golden garden. With
her big sun hat would coax the breezes to
kiss her soft, flushed cheeks in cooling ten
derness Maybe it would be in the shadow
of some great pine on an upland knoll
where the grass was cropped short by the
browsing, homecoming COWS and where
| the lazy lizard stole from his covert of
brown leaves to bask in the sun; or it would
be beneath a low beech tree, with its great
wide top shading the deep white sands at
its feet and where the redbird preened his
brilliant dress in the sunbeans that stole
| through the thick bamboo vines overhead.
This was bliss, ecstasy. paradise on earth.
| The dark, bad cloud was only lowering be-
hind the horizon of our young vision, and
it burst all too soon. 1t was angry, dark
and awful looking. and fell upon us as
though We had already drunk too deep of
the cup of happiness.
| 1t roared, it Numbered, stormed and
hailed, and all was over. The clearing
away of the once bright sky found fresh
mound in the old graveyard on the hill. and
beside it lay my heart.
After the deep frosts Of many winters had
fallen upon my shoulders, chance, the same
| guide that led me rover, rambler and a
hopeless, uncheered soul, over all the world
| brought me back again to the little mound
| 1t. like my hair, was whittier than when ]
left it. A small cedar grew beside it and q
rosebush shorn Of leaves and buds by the
winters blasts, lowered over the sacred
spot. A sunbeam, it seemed in mockery.
quivered upon the low headstone Al
around had gone to waste and q shiverine
cricket chirped dismally in the
withered sedge at my feet All was cold
and silent. The rotting boards of the old
| fence looked ghostly white in the pale light
| of the winter stars, and the old hill had lost
some Of its redness in the tramp of time
| Not twig quivered in the frosty air, all SC
still and quiet, and no sign Of life, save the
| cedar bush and bunch Of mistletoe nest
ling in the bare arms of giant oak near
by.
| shed a tear, the first for years, and
passed on in my ceaseless roaming.
| HENRY WEBB KoLSUN,