St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1892-06-16

ralgia and Milly had a cold; and
though it was a warm day the fire
was lit and they We're sitting over it,
and would not have the window
open. When l came down l found
them all there, and mother was tell
ing Chris about her neuralgia He
looked flushed just then, not like a
person who could not live long, to
me. and so bright and resolute. l
! ked his face very much; but I saw
that the drawing room was giving
him a dreadful headache-and no
wonder. So / ran down stairs and
made the tea.
Chris and I were friends directly.
l don't know how it was, for 1 very
seldom make friends, and all the
young men who come to the house
go straight to Milly like iron filings
to a magnet. But it was different
with Chris, because the drawing
room made his head ache, just as it
did mine; and when we knew each
other better we 1 that we liked
the same things people-though
he knew far more than | did and
never grew bitter against any one,
friendly way with the world; and
yet there were only very few peo-
pie he altogether trusted and relied
on; and l was one of them. I know
he trusted me completely, or he would
never have told me about Pauline
Partly, indeed, [ guessed it. For
we fell into way of going walks to-
gether on Sunday afternoons, when
Chris had some spare time and l
made it, and / found out that he
liked this particular road-the road
running west northwest It was such
a stupid road First it led through
long street of those miserable, thin,
gray houses that look like grave
stones standing upright, and then
came streets full of public houses
and wretched little sweet shops with
halfpenny ices and tobacconlsts' and
boots mended while you wait
Then there was a dismal triangular
bit of common, with fence on one
side all over placards, and then a red
brick Primitive chapel and more re-
spectacle houses-till at last came
real fields. You could not call it
country where there were always
cabbage leaves and bits of broken
pots and clothes hung out to dry
But generally at this stage we turned
back.
L soon concluded that it was the
way to Chris old home, but guessed
more than that. For people do not
always like to walk in the direction
of a particular place only because
they have lived most of their life
there There must be something or
some one there now that they like to
fancy themselves nearer; and by
and bye, when Chris saw that I
guessed, he told me the whole.
There was very little of it, as he said
cheerily.
1t was just as l thought. The girl
he loved had lived there, was liv-
ing there still, and her name was
Pauline. She was rich, he said, and
very beautiful. He told me what
she was like, and l could not hel ,
knowing that I should have loved
her, that any one must have done.
And Chris had lost everything at
once-money and health and hope.
ct wouldn't have mattered about
the money" said Chris in his quaint
way Il would have asked her to
wait for me and worked my way up.
It would have been a very good
thing But you can't ask a girl to
wait for you when you find you have
only one lung
He laughed rather ruefully, and l
laughed, too, though something
caught my breath.
Did the doctor give no hope2" I
asked.
IF I had gone abroad at once"
So I thought, as there might be g
year or two, might as well do some
thing for my living. And this turned
up
Did she, ;" said tentatively, "know
you liked herr"
Chris flushed a little and looked
away, but not before I Lad seen a
sudden light in his eyes.
Il never told her." he answered
simply. "They say-women know :"
''And she-did you-was she-I
mean, were your
His flush deepened.
1T was too early in the day." he
said Il sometimes thought-if it
had gone on-but it didn't go on. l
have prayed about it. Not very en-
Enthusiastically, perhaps-but it is a
good prayer. And there's another
fellow in the running-a remarkably
good fellow think it will be all
right
l did not answer. 1t seemed all
wrong to me. He had told me the
story on one of our Saturday after
noon walks, and when it was ended