Ceredo advance. [volume] (Ceredo, W. Va.) 1885-1939, 1892-03-02
CuApTrR Iv.-CoNrrNrrp.

The fresh gurgle of the little Neon
made music in her rs she turned to-
wards the village. She was happy, in
tensely happy in the strong hope and
confidence of girlhood; the prospect of
the journey and the beginning of city
life did not dishearten her in the least.
And vet she was conscious of new and
strange affection for everything that
belonged 10 the life that she must leave
behind. She felt herself clinging to the
simplest and commonest things, looking
lovingly at the cushions of velvet moss
and bright little ferns that grew on the
stones OF the old bridge. watching the
rush OF the swift water with dimmed
eyes.
The churchyard is lifted high above
the hamlet, and narrow path runs
across IL TO the steep hill that towers,
sentinel-iKo. above the church. 1t is
quiet place, free from all souIri of ac-
tive and stirring humanity, end the
fresh April lights and delicate shadows
fall tenderly on the gray stones and
grass. The sun was Just going down
when Olive stood by Lucy's grave; it
was calm sunset, clear and golden;
soft wind scented with violets blew
cold and sweet from the west.
Standing there. and looking down
upon the mound, she felt that she had
never loved her friend better than She
did at this moment, and yet she shed no
tears. Death is not always disunion:
there is u parting which seems to leave
US with a deeper, more intimate lSnowl-
edge of the one who has gone before.
There are certain questions which are
answered, or answer themselves, in
silence and absence. Much of Lucy's
history, now unknown to her. was vet
20 be revealed, but the influence of
their long companionship was still n
living influence in Olives mind, and it
was teaching her many things.
A great American writer has finely
said that there are but two biographers
who can tell the story of mans or
womans life. lone is the person him
self or herself, the other is the record
ing angel. The autobiographer cannot
be trusted to tell the whole truth, al
though he may tell nothing but the
truth; and the recording angel never
let's his book 20 out of his own hands"
But Lucy had written her autobio-
graphy on the ''fleshly tables of n
warm young heart, and had bequeathed,
90 ~ NNANs AAtA own personality Ilc
girl she had loved so we'll And this
had been done without saying many
words about her life history.
''Good-by, Lucy" said Olive softly.
Il 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 l must tread. There is no need 10
stand here and say all this; but il makes
me happier TO say it. God bless youl
know He does bless you for ever and
ever; and so good-by."
She slept that night, rs she had done
for many nights, in Lucy's little room.
As yet there were no flowers twining
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
awoke and realized that her last day in
the village had verify come.
Afterwards, in looking back. she
thought that this was the most confus-
ing and bewildering day of her own
life. SO much was crowded into it. and
yet 50 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 fnd-rich
velvety pansies, delicate hyacinths, jon
quils' tulips, violets, all mingled with
plumes of fresh green ferns. And