Iowa state bystander. [volume] (Des Moines, Iowa) 1894-1916, 1895-07-05
THE ERROR OF A MAN

naburnums! golden, tasslcd, feath-
cry; tender-leaved and amply bios
somed; arching over and gently shad-
Ing the long, grassy pathway from the
home to the outer world. The trunks
are old and warped and twisted, but
ever juvenescent as the spring returns;
claiming youth by reason of the tender
green of their branches and the droop-
ing blossoms which hang as golden
stalactites from the roof OF this shaded
alley.
Midway between home and the world
stands a wooden seat, where sits n
grave faced nurse plying her needle as
she guards the babies which tumble
on the grass beside her. Two of them
are plump and happy, and they sit in
the Pickering shadows and pick the
daisies which look up at them, grasp
ing the fower-heads with full five slow
fingers, then cooling when the treas
ures lie limp within their palms. A
man-baby and a girl-baby; and the
man-baby wears black sash and rib
bons to his white frock, for he is an
orphan. The girl-baby is the daughter
of the house, and she is also mother
less, but she wears no trappings OF
woe.
BY and by a breeze comes and bends
the supple branches of the laburnums
and shakes the golden petals on to the
green path; and the babies look grave
~ at them as they fall, and the girl
baby grasps them in her dimpled
hands. Then, crawling close to the
man-baby, she opens her fingers and
showers her golden treasures, al
crushed, into his tumbled pinafore; for
some minutes the man baby sits star
ing at them. still, then at length he
smiles lovely smile, and, leaning his
curly head close to the head of the
girl-baby he rubs her plump cheek
with his own.
Laburnums blossom every spring,
despite caprice Of climates; and ten
years later the grassy pathway looks
unchanged, except that the grave
faced nurse is grayer, and the man
baby and girl-baby have grown. The
white frocks, too, have given place
to tumbled holland, and the chubby
faces have become more shapely. The
girl-child is dark haired, dark-eyed and
impulsiye; the man-childs head is COW
cred with short brown curls, and his
eyes are soft and dreamy. They both
lie fiat, their chins propped on their
palms, and they kick their heels as
they turn the pages of a book.
'Ohl" cries the man-child, suddenly
and with disgust, some one has scrib-
bled in my book What a shamew
and his handsome face Pushes with
the strength of his objection.
Then does the girl-child spring from
the flush also; but the man-child does
not look at her; he is looking at the
writing
Its a verse" he says slowly. Then.
after pause, 81 think ! don't mind it
SO much after all
Then does the girl-child spring from
the ground, and, crossing to the old
laburnum tree by the wooden seat, be-
gin to tear it's bark with a rusty iron
nail The man-child rises also and
slowly follows her, looking absently
a her handiwork as he thinks of other
things. Then, turning to him with y
smile lurking in her eyes, the girl-chiId
points to the tree. and the man-child,
rousing himself, reads in rugged, mis-
sIapen letters the words, angela
did it,"
'.You did it? You wrote a verse;"
exclaims the man-child
Eyes replies the girl-child, with a
pout of depreciation.
II am not angry" he replies earn
estly; "I'm glad now. But you must
be very clever"
The man-child grows thoughtful,
and, taking knife from his pocket,
cuts the lightly scratched letters deep
Ell into the tree; and the girl-child
watches him in silence.
Angela is clever, SIR" remarks the
man-child gravely to the gray-haired
man who sits by the open window of
the study as they go into tea, '.she has
written poetry
I.aburDums come and go, defying
time; and again. ten years later they
are just as young and tender, just as
green-leaved and blossomy as when
they gently waved their shadows on
the babies at their play.
But the babies have grown yet more !;
they are man and woman now. The
graye-faced nurse has gone and the
wooden seat is vacant, save for
|
hat with dangling ribbons. The man
is tall and languorous and gentle;
but save that the brown curls lie
longer on his collar, and the though
full expression has deepened in his
eyes; his face is much the same as the
boyish face which bent over the book
ten years ago. The woman is still
dark haired, dark-eyed and impulsive
and her figure is still slight and
straight in her Powered dimity gown;
but something has stamped her with
a sweet restraint which checks the i'm
plIlsiye tongue and softens the bright
eyes, and the power which has done
this is love- For the woman loves the
man.
To the man this love, or, indeed, the
love of any woman, is q thing UNI
known as it is unheeded. He tells her
of his dreams, of his impa tience of the
life of commonplace work, which he
has decided TO discard, of his hopes of
the ideal life he intends to live be-
meath the inspiring skies of Italy
land of Dante, of Botticelli, of Michael
Angelo: of art, of light of song. How
can he fail to give voice to the poetry
which lies within his soulthe words
of rapturous melody which are to
bring him fame?
And the woman, listening and ques-
tioning, feels the love well up in her
heart, aye, even shine forth from her
eyes; and she knows she need not
check it, she knows that the man will
never notice it. To please her taste
she would have back the short curls
of his boyhood; she would fill his eyes
with the fire of life, and his heart