Democratic messenger. [volume] (Snow Hill, Md.) 1869-1973, 1896-11-21
LOVES REWARD.

Philip had known her ever 50 long
ever since she came here, little, rose
! Tipped child He drew her to schoo
on his little cart, he taught her to ride
when older, and when her favor wa.
no longer TO be won by snowy kitten;
or sugared sweethearts he had laid a,
her feet mans strong love. a heart
that was brave and loyal and true a.
steel
And she->he thought OF the face
she had seen for the first time but one
short month before, the dark, hand
some face that had lighted into look
of involuntary admiration at sight oi
her, the face OF he wealthy city
Stranger-Edear Reynolds.
Only one month ago, and already
the lustrous eyes had learned to watch
for his coming. already the girlish
heart had learned to throb at his
voice.
And he No wonder he was fasci.
mated by that fresh young face, and as
the days went by he smiled to see how
the love of the woman crept into the
innocence OF the child. And so when
Philip Howard asked her for her love
she had no heart to give him. She
told him 80 with womanly tenderness
and pity, and he had left her presence
a very sad, very silent man.
The following day broke fair and
bright, with golden sunlight on the
hilltops and June time mists in the
valley.
Along the white, winding road
leading to the village, in the coolness
of the dewy morning, walked Florence
Thorne
The birds are singing their mathis
in the tree tops the brook is laughing
as it ripples DER its pebb.y bed. In
the midst Of all this glorious. sylvan
beauty the elasticity of youth reasserts
itself, and the girls step grows lighter,
her heart happier, till she almost for
gets her little troubles
In the village she posts her letters
and turns to retrace her steps. She
meets many laborers on their way To
work, and each man touches his hat
and smiles pleasantly on seeing the
bright, pretty face, for, young as she
is, she has spent many hours helping
with kindly offices and gentle pity
their wives and little ones.
Coming home. she passes II house
that stands in its own grounds
house with snowy curtains. stretching
verandas and well rolled tennis
ground attached. 1t is far more pre-
tentious than her own cozy house.
And well il may be, for it is the
boarding house of this rustic little
village. 1t is filled with fashionables
Just now who have fled from the crush
and heat OF the city, and among
Others, Edgar Reynolds.
At the gate sudden thought
strikes her. The housekeepers little
child is very i'll. She will go in and
inquire for her No one save the
servant can be up yet. She pushes
open the gate and noiselessly fits up
the garden path to the rear of the
house
She accomplishes her mission ard
is returning, when she sees fluttering
on the path before her sheet ot
creamy note paper. She picks it up
and glances around. 1t must have
blown from a window left open on
retiring. Yes, there is one directly
overhead.
She is about to take i, to the house
keeper to return to its owner, when
her eyes chance to fall on two words
written in a firm, bold hand, "Flor.
ence Thorne." II is but a short let
ter, and the girl, forgetting all honor
in the intensity Of her surprise, reads
every word OF it almost before she
knows what she has done.
Dear WILL" it runs, "expect me
back on Thursday. Am tired OF
rusticating. Ii would have been an
unbearable bore were it not for an
awfully pretty girl, flirting with whom
has helped to pass the time. She is
the daughter of Allen Thorne. the
millionaire's brother, you know. Made
a fool Of himself by marrying school
teachers daughter years ago. Flor
ence Thorne is a shy, wild rose
poor, pretty and proud as a princess
but | couldn't afford to ruin my
prospects for her, you know. Much
as | could do to keep from losing my
heart in earnest. Had half mind &c
throw over Agatha Vere's thousands
but-pshaw, the bank account carries
the day.
There is little more relating t,
business matters, then the letter closes
with the hastily scratched signature
Edgar Reynolds"
The girl stands stiff and rigid in thu
bright morning sunlight, a grea
startled horrer in her ewes. All th'
pretty, childish beauty dies in thu
strained intensity Of that gaze.