The Canton times. (Canton, Miss.) 1893-1906, 1896-04-24

ID
ter's cheek had checked her fanciiul
thoughts. Phoebe had locked her desk
suddenly, and rising, had started for the
/ door leading to the stairway, and as
suddenly, without warning or sound,
had fallen in dead faint; but she had
made SO light of it afterwards, that
Emmeline had almost forgotten the in
cident till the opening Of the lid let out
the memory like q long-imprisoncd
spirit. She could not recall Phoebe ever
sitting at her desk again. After her
death the sight of it was painful, and
Becky, ever ready to avoid subjects
sad or disagreeable, had banished 1t to
| the garret. Now she was to touch the
| holy of holes. She took tenderly from
the pigeonhole little packet OF letters.
A dried blossom fiuttered from the yell
low leaves. She opened the first letter
fearfully.
1t was written in feminine hand.
The name at the bottom of the sheetwas
that OF the old school friend.
It's contents were characterized by
| schoolgirlish protestations of adoring
friendship. 1t was not lacking in the
usual Emersonian allusion to the
psychological quality of true friend
ship, and was written with the elegance
of diction that was affected by the new
ly-made graduate of those days, but at
the end of the letter she had broken out
into little burst of natural feeling:
ooh, my darling Phoebe, Manton was
here last night. He spoke of you so
charmingly. You know he always talks
and looks like hero in a novel; but, my
dear, little friend, / imagine what he
wishes you to hear, he will tell you"
The old fingers trembled as this let
ter was refo1ded and placed by itself.
She took up another in holder hand.
If it is true, as they say, that every let.
ter carries an atmosphere of its own, il
is not strange that she hesitated as
the leaves ratified in her shaking hand.
Ii breat1ed in every stroke DOM
inant masculinity which could, even
after this lapse of years, arrest every en-
croachment onits territory. The strong
est force for good or evil was expressed
in every line, and the charm it had held
for the fair reader of long ago still
fingered in the faded words: my own
dear Phoebe (for it seems to me by every
law that governs this mutable world OF
ours, you have given me the right to
call you my ownO: You write in your
quaint and dear letter that must come
and tell your sisters of the possibilities
in the future for you and for myself.
Will you believe me, darling, when tell
you that at present am engaged In an
enterprise eXacting all my strength and
all my thought, except that strong,
subtle undercurrent which bears in it's
flow the unceasing murmur of you.
This plan which absorbs me to such
great extent, if consummated, will
bring to my little Phoebe bird all that
can make her nest the downiest in the
world. vowed when beardless youth
that I should never gather to myself
wife if in so doing should subject her
to the daily grinding toll which is the
lot of three-quarters of the wives of this
period. My own mother had neither
time nor strength left her after her
round of duties were ended to cultivate
resources of body or mind My wife
shall have all that makes life rich.
wish to endow her not only with the
love that she will command overflow
ingly, but with the worldly goods the
Episcopalian ritual brings into sucE
prominence. Only wait, dear one, few
months at the most. / wish to come,
not as craven coward taking from,
them what has been the flower of their
hard lives, but as a brave man, giving
while / take. We will not be without
our sorrows. 1t is with love as with the
Exarch's sword-it has pain and pleas
ure for its two edges, but the joy is all ]
can see just now" EsF
The old face looked gray and grim as
she placed this with the schoolgirls
missive and took one more out of the
little pile. a's
1t was written in the same dashing
hand, and dated among the hills of
Ohio. After the usual .endearments of
a lover, it closed in these words: "The
venture wrote you of is a matter of life !
and death with me now, but whatever
may come, be constant to my memory,
little Phoebe bird. In the shadowy |
mists of boyhood's memories there |
fingers the tender, plaintiye note of |
your little namesake-the bird ever call |
ing with such sad insistence. Perhaps |
the fascination it held for me came from
some mystical union of its nature with
yours. You know the old belief that inn
prisoned human souls dwell in the
dumb life around us, that in the curving
and twisting body of the tawny tiger
there may spring hence some day the
soul of woman-restlcss, jealous.