The Republican., 1895-05-09

nanQIeO IN III
with the caress-
ing tenderness which mother gives
TO the belongings of dead babe. Yet
there were no infants clothes or play
things in the heterogeneous collection
scattered around her on the floor. Oc-
casionally look of surprise and curl
osity mingled with the more gentle
emotions depicted on her sensitive
face. She glanced at the pages of an
autograph album. The writers were
mostly dead. She gazed penslvely
upon light green tarlatan dress made
with putfings and plaitings, arranged
in an obsolete style. She had once
worn it to ball and thought the color
brought out in too vivid contrast the
red of her cheeks. A pair of light kid
gloves, somewhat soiled, were care
fully folded in linen handkerchief.
The prospectus of the school she had
attended came next to her notice. She
cast her eye down the page where
many names appeared corresponding
to the signatures in the old album.
Many of them were marked with stars,
and at the bottom in her writing was
duOJllCI SldI tlltl dCCCdStts sic
stared at her name as though unaccus-
toned to the sight, and turned sec
ond time to that of her best friend of
youthful days. Where was she now?
1t was many years since she had
heard word from her, She had tried
many times to gain some knowledge of
her whereabouts through mutual ac-
qua;ntances, but in vain. She longed
for her, not as young girl for her
lover but as one weary of life and its
meaningless acquaintances longs for
the one most congenial friend of happy
youth.
Her attachment to this memory was
unique, it was so firm. Often her
dreams would drift through the pic
lures of years and shadow forth some
scene from her girlhood, so true to life
that the friend would seem to stand
before her as she used to stand, with
the same neat blue calico which fitted
1er graceful form to perfection; the
fine yellow hair, like strands of sun
shine, in one large plait ending in
ribbon-t;ed curl; the same peculiar,
genial LOOK, which mingled a smile
acknowledging another.
"Why had she never written?" The
little old woman had asked herself this
question a sad number of times, and
always with the bitter thought that
she could have written if she wished.
With sigh she turned to a package
of letters-their narrow envelopes,
with the address written on the
diagonal, indicated style of station
cry in vogue many years ago. They
were tied with silk which had become
faded and frayed with age. She un-
tied the knot and unwound the thread
until the bundle fell apart. Selecting
one of the envelopes mechanically, she
withdrew the letter and read:
my OWN DARLING: Thanks fors he tender lit
tie missive you so kindly sent me yesterday. The
yiolets you inclosed, and which you gathered
out by the west orchard fence. are in cup Of
water on the table where write. l sprinkled
their dropping little heads in the hope that
might revive them, but though still dropping,
their perfume fills the air.
Darling ont worry your little head any
more over your friends objections to mar
riage. OF course know that considering you
have been sucn close friends since childhood,
you, and l would gladly do anything in my
power to gain favor in her eyes, II only could
make you more happy But she turns coldly
from me when l attempt being pleasant to her
You must admit ii is uphill business The
fact that she objects to my adopting literature
as "a profession, proves that her mind is not
refined as that of my little angel So. pet, do
not worry any more over what can't be helped
but go to work on those little frockS which
you say are so positively necessary Il don't
know why, for you always look dainty and dstyl-
ish in what you have, and although knight Of
the pen, hope to furnish my little wife with
everything sui table, and we will be married as
soon as we can
Il will come and see you tomorrow at seven,
SO be little dear and meet yours devotedly'
at the orchard gate. WILL"
Dejectedly she retied the letters and
put the contents of the trunk back in
their places and went wearily down
stairs, her mind again taking up the
old theme of why she didn't write.
The thought was worn threadbare, but
occasionally an incident, like a visit
to the trunk, would recall it to her
mind.
Sometimes when she felt rested and
fresh, hope would lead her on
through visions which mirrored the
two friends seated cozily chatting
by her own freside, the de-
light in meeting so real that no ex-
PLANTATION of the long silence was re-
-quired. At such times she would go
about her househ old tasks with light
step, the table would be set with the
best linen and the gold band china,
which had been her mothers, with a
third plate for ANYONE who might
drop IN" For she was convinced that
her friend would come some time. She
felt that the longing, which had not
deserted her through forty years of a
hard life, bitter at times from loneli-
ness, presaged an event which must
occur as a natural sequence.
But tonight she was tired. She had
bnlxed and churned, besides attending
TO her ordinary housework. and she
was no longer strong. She was SUBJ
ject to severe pains in the back of her