Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1895-06-06

unheeded, for she has forgotten to-
check them.
A year later the man comes again
up the grassy pathway from the outer
world and halts before the old seat.
The woman rises with flush upon her
cheeks, and looks at him in wonder.
for the mans brown curls are crisp
and short, and his eyes are filled with
eagerness.
"What is it?' she asks family.
IL have done with Dreams" he an
swered her.
"Tell me-" she pleads. s
There is silence, and the face of the
man becomes grave. Motionless they
stand facing one another, while many
moments pass. Then he lays his hand
gently on her arms and draws her
away down the grassy pathway. The
whole length of the alley they pace,
her heart throbbing wildly; then as
they turn again he breaks the silence.
"Tar away in Italy, as l lay dream
ing of the words which would write
some day, there came to me the words.
written, the song of some unknown
singer" The voice Of the man is
strangely restrained; the eyes Of the
woman are soft with tears. II have
CONT back to my work in the fever
of the city," he continues, ''the poetry
which is swelling in my soul will be
none the sicklier fer being brought
forth under gloomy SKIES" =.
The gray-haired nan in his study
bids the younger man "God speed"
and the woman's heart is full Of glad
ness; yet she knows that though she
has gained her desire, though there is
fire of life in the eyes of the man and
enthusiasm in his heart, he is as far
from her as in the old days Of his
dreams.
So the man leaves the woman again
and passes through the golden-drop-
ping laburnums to his work in the
outer world.
Laburnum time has come and gone
again and yet again. Messages have
gone out from the house to the world,
and whispers and echoes of the rush
and turmoil have tluttered back
through the golden pathway. And the
woman still lives and hopes.
Then to her one day came weary
footsteps, but the soft turf muffies
their sound and she does not hear
them. Then voice says quietly, "An-
gela," and a little cry Of yearning is
surprised from her. 1t is the man,
strong and brave, but weary, who
stands there smiling back at her Won
derment.
81 have come back to rest awhile, {"
he says. @
And the woman gives him welcome.
"There is no such place in the whole
world" he signs contentedly. n
els it well with your work?" the
woman queries.
"A1y work is pleasant to me-" the
man returns. II have grown to care
for it,
"And your poetry-ycur dreams Of
fame?" she asks.
"They are Dead" replies the man.
The woman shivers with her sympa-
thy. &
"Do not pity me,' says the man.
''That unknown singer who sent her
song to me in Italy has won the fame.
She has sent her messages to me
again, and there is nothing more for
me to write. I only want to see her."
Over the woman's face spreads a
| wonderful blush, but the man is look
ing upward at the golden blossoms. j.
"You know the singer is woman?'
II always think of her as SUCH y
laughs the man.
"Why do you not go to her?' asks
the woman, passionately.
"She shrouds her name in mystery
| replies the man.
what were those-words-
| first reused you-to your work?" falt.
ers the woman. II may have read
them" Il
"The song which came to me in
| Italy, and stirred me from my silly
! dreams, was From q Golden Path
| way" since then have come many
noble words and tender consultations,
until I feel that know the writer.
If I could but meet that woman! An
gela, my dear-tears! Do you know
the poem? Have you read it?'
Without a word the woman rises
from the seat, and taking the hand of
| the man, she leads him to the old
laburnum. On the dark trunk the
childish letters are still to be seen.
angela did it," all warped and rugged
| with time, and the woman lays her
finger on the words.
Then through the heart of the man
| trembles a great shock Of awakening,
and wondrous tenderness steals into
his eyes. angela did it," he muir
mers; then there is silence.
II have had my fond conceits," says
the man, at length, "but l knew I
should love the singer when I found
her" Then he takes the white hand
from the tree, and, STOPPING, kisses the
woman's lips.
Laburnums in the moonlight are
very fair to see, and the grassy path
way is as a floor of white, quivering
mosaic as the man and woman pass
downward to the home.
But your poems," pleads the wom-
an; you will write them some day.?
"You have written all that would
say" answers the man. Il made an
error. 1 am no poet-I am but an
appreciator.'
And on the face of the man and on
that of the woman, there lie joy and
great content."-Black and White.
Knew Some English, but Not That.