Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1894-05-31
a TILE OF A bridge.

Buried, as it was, amid q sea o.
dense foliage, the little mill betrayed
it's presence only by the sound of
churning water and falling spray. II
sounded at little distance like Q
melody with sad rhythm to 1t that
from time to time became suddenly
bright with thousand charming
graces, and then returned again te
the old melancholy song.
The mill itself, with It's roof Of
soft, red tiles, mingled its soft color
ing with the tops of forest trees; and
the background Of poplars that shut
it in behind and extended to the hor.
izon only let through the ruddy glow
Of the sunset.
To reach the sunset it was neces-
sary to cross O stream which in one
of its tortuous meanderings q little
further on, flung itself with such
sweet music against the revolving
mill wheel.
A bridge SPAWNED it here and
led up to the entrance, but a
bridge whose beginning and end
alone were in serviceable condition.
The middle consisted merely of a
couple of movable planks which
rested on the two ends, and impaired
q springy motion to all who passed
across them.
But only foot passengers dared to
trust themselves on these perilous
boards, and the wagons loaded with
-four and corn were obliged to make
long detour to reach the mill.
And this little oasis so well pro-
tected, this little out-of-the-way
corner, where human industry had
made itself a home, was situated, as
the rubicund visage Of it's portly
owner indicated, in Bourgogne.
This brave miller possessed but one
fault and that a common one, name
ly an immoderate affection for dol
lars.
He was a widower, and his daught
ter Martha lived with him. She was
charming creature who busted her
self with the household duties and
was q treasure toward which many
had already directed covetous eyes.
For Martha was Is years OF age,
besides which she had q lovely mass
Of auburn hair, eyes Of exquisite ten
derness, and thousand and one other
attractions. 1t was known by all
within radius of twenty leagues
that she would be rich one day; her
father had saved money for years.
But she, brave lass of Bourgogne,
was as profoundly Indifferent to the
burning eyes that watched every
Sunday in the church as she was to
the passionate hand-pressure of the
enchanted partners who led her away
in the dances Of the village fetes and
festivals.
Martha really had some love in her
heart. There was a delightful inno-
cenoe in the way she loved her cousin
Thomas, who, for his part, was not a
whit more enterprising in love mat
ters than herself.
Thomas possessed tastes that
showed considerable refinement. He
was fond Of reading and he played
the flute. He was a dreamer Of mild
characteristics. He loved nature too
fondly ever to have robbed bird 6
nest, and he cultivated sweet-smelling
flowers in every possible corner of the
garden.
This native aristocracy of taste had
always pleased his young cousin,
Martha.
But lie pere Bernard looked upon
his nephew as hopelessly stupid, and
as, in addition, the lads parents had
scrupulously neglected to bequeath
to him q single sou, there was no
chance that the two cousins would
ever be united by the sacred bonds
OF matrimony.
They both knew this, but despair
sits lightly in young hearts, and they
continued to live resignedly in the
warmth Of this impossible dream.
They gave to each other the thousand
little joys and attentions that are al
lowed between relations and like
true lovers, they found infinite sweet
ness in the most trivial incidents.
Who can tell the value OF a furtive
pressure of the hand in the shady
grove, the touching of the fair ones
hair with the yearning lips, the flower
let fall from the pretty waistband
and treasured ever after with trem-
bling and heart-pangs?
Those who like may sneer at these
things, but they are, nevertheless,
delightful, and he who has never ex-
perienced them is thrice unhappy
wretch.
As Sully-Prud' homme says: at
Is the little things that bear witness
to the deepest love-"
Thus Martha and Thomas lived
side by side, not daring to think Of a
future which had in store for them q
common love, yet happy at least that
they were not separated for the pres
emit.
One morning as Marthc came in
from the yard where the sweet spring
air had awakened the clucking of the
young chickens, lie pere Bernard
came to meet her with an express
sion on his face that was half laugh
ing, half angry. He heldin his hand
three letters that the postman had
Just left.
Here, read these, filette," he said
to Marthe, who, when she had
opened all three, stood there with o
look of great surprise. mingled with