The Red Cloud chief., 1892-05-20
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CHAPTER lv.-CoNrrNuEp.


The fresh gurglc of the little Neon
wards the village. She was happy, in
tcnsely happy in the strong hope and
confidence Of girlhood; the prospect Of
the journey and the beginning Of city
life did not %dishcartcn her In the least.
And yet she was conscious of a new and
strange affection for everything that
belonged to the life that she must leave
behind. She felt herself clinging to the
simplest and commoncst things, looking
lovingly ut 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 q narrow path runs
across it to the steep hill that towers,
sentinel-liKe, above the church. II Is q
quiet place, free from all sound Of &c.
tive and stirring humanity, and the
fresh April lights and delicate shadows
fall tenderly on tho gray stones and
grass. The sun was Just going down
when Olive stood by Lucy's grave; It
was q calm sunset, clear and golden; o
soft wind scented with violets blew
pld and sweet from the west.
1Standing there, and looking down
upon the mound. she felt that she had
lever loved her friend better than she
did ut this moment, and yet she shed no
tears. Death Is not always disunion;
there Is a parting which seems to leave
us with n deeper, more intimate knewl-
edge of the ono 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 yet
to be revealed, but the influence Of
their long companionship was still a
living influence in Olives mind. end 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 a mans or q
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 20 out Of his own hands"
But Lucy had written her autobio-
graphy on the ''1cshly tables" Of n
warm young heart, and had b~equeathed,
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.
~ am remembering you. dear, rs you
wished to be remembered. I am going
TO follow your counsels, and let your
experience help M In the new path
that I must tread. There Is no need to
stand here and say all this; but 1t makes
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.
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 filled 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 bcwildering day Of her w
life. SO much was crowded into IL, and
yet 10 many things seemed TO be left
out. Jane went with her into the gar
den, and gathered q basketful of the
best flowers that they could fnd-rich
vclvety pansies, delicate hyacinths, jon
quils, tulips, v~iolets, oil mingled with
plumes OF fresh green ferns. And
while they fingered owe the flowers,
they talked again Of Aaron, and looked
forward hopefully TO the meeting that
should bring the long-desirod explana-
ton.
II 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 and
her box to the railway station, and when
the cart came up to the garden gate,
Olive was waiting with u little group
around her. Mrs. Hooper's farewell
was the last