The Red Cloud chief., 1892-07-08
CHAPTER xrII.-CoSrrNuEp.

CHAPTER xT1I.-CoNrrNuED.
Nearly thirty years have gone by
since Charles Dickens wrote about the
Savoy churchyard and the quiet pre-
cinct. II think that on summcr nights
the dew falls here" he said; ''thc only
dew that is shed In all London, beyond
the tears Of the homeless" And these
very words may be spoken Of this spot
to-day, so green and fresh is the grass
and so beautiful are the trees. The
place is unchanged, and the familiar
figure Of the chaplain, known and loved
by everybody, Is still constantly seen
in his old haunts. The surroundings
are altcred; ''the simple dwelling
houses. with their white doorsteps and
green blinds" have been swept away;
but the coalies still 'touch their SOU
-wcstcrs TO him as he glides about" and
the children's faces brighten at his
greeting.
The churchyard was quiet and de-
serted when Olive ventured In and sat
down to rest upon n seat under the
trees. She was in perfect harmony
with the tranquil lights and shadows;
and the grave beauty of the old gray
walls, on which the record Of centuries
was written so legibly, yet without any
sign Of neglect or decay. Tho chapel.
in its venerable strength, stood in the
midst Of all tho active life Of to-day,
and linked the present TO the past. In
that old church, the good and peaceful
Fuller spoke loving words to those who
sat within the walls, and crowded
about the windows and doors to get
within reach % his voice. And there,
too, he preached his last sermon to the
wedding couple, who were members Of
his flock, and was carried out of his be-
loved sanctuary to die. There were no
regrets for the dignities so lately be-
slowed upon him, no troubles about
worldly things; but only ''all humble
t~hanlifulness and submission to Gods
welcome providence"
Olive sat there and meditated, and
saw the yellow leaves dropping slowly
In the still sunshine. Watching them
idly ut first, she began, after u time, to
remember that these very leaves had
taken the sun and dew Of spring: and
oil the freshness and fragrance of those
earlier days camc back to her with q
sudden thrill, stirring her with emo
tons which she had believed 70 be al
most dead. How soon the autumn Of
her life had come! II was tranquil; it
might be sweet; but the gladnoss Of
springtide is the one recoverable Joy
that, in this world, can lever be granted
70 us again.
She was no longer bitter and desc
late, yet the sense of n lost youth
(which comes oftcner TO those still
young, Than to tho old) was too strong
for her at this moment. Something
arose in her throat; the tears filed her
eyes,, md she thought she would allow
Thorn to flow without restraint. They
did flow and plcntcously. Once set
flowing they would not stop, for
thoughts and memories came crowding
after them. Every scene In her brief
experience seemed TO be suddenly re-
vived Mt this moment; voices, long
hushed. were calling to her from tho
past, and drowning all the sounds Of
the present. Tho habit Of self-re-
s~traint, SO constantly cultivated for the
sake Of others, was broken through at
last.
When ut length her bowed head was
lifted, some n spoke to her In a calm
tone that she had heard before. She
looked up, startled and yet strangely
quietcd, and met the gaze Of the speak,
er. 1t was Mr.. Sidney, the chaplain.
"You are in trouble" said the quiet
voice, with its penetrating sweetness.
"You ire in trouble, and you need help
and comfort"
As he stood there, toll and Of digni-
fed bearing, she found courage to
glance ut him q second time. lie was a
man who looked as II he could stand
alone without q single prop; and al
though he had n most benign face, 1t
wore an expression Of authority.
While he was speaking Olive had dried
her last tears, and she answered him
with q gentle franlsncss that touched
him.
~ have had sorrow, but It Is over"
she said. II came here because the
place Is SO still and r~cstful; and then
began to cry unawarcs."
"You are looking tired" He was
watching her narrowly, and read the
signs Of quiet patience In her beautiful
young race. do you live far oif?"
"Oh, no! l live with my uncle who
is q bookseller close by. Last sunday
came here .or the first time. II wa q
surprise 20 come suddenly on this green
spo< ; had been longing for q sight OF
grasn and trees, for was born in the
country"
The chaplain knew well enough that
this shady nook had. been u refuge te
many who were "born in the coOltry.'