The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1896-10-24
WITH GOLDEN HAIR.
Oh, aunty, tell us story
OF days when knights were bold
And fought and bled for glory,
~, ,naida ~ nth hair af ooJd

The little rhyme IS SO fanlllag, ana the
picture it recalls to me SO vivid. My little
nephew, Reginald Trenholme, and my
piece, Geraldine Graham-cousins they
Nere--stoed at my knee, the boy repeating
the above rhyme proudly, the little girl
looking intao his face lovingly, filled with
admiration of him. Isnailed on them and
wondered if the ago of knight errsantry ever
produced "knfght'' more "bold' than
my Reginald would be, or maid with
hair Of brighter gold than my wee Geral-
dimes. I told my thoughts to the children,
and the young knights arm went about
his lady's waistvas he made answer:
True enough, aurty;
Well be bonny pair,
And Will fight foE my ladyipve
with the sweet eyes and golden hair.
The little. girls eyes wero full of love as
they looked UNTO his, and when his loud
laugh rang out, half in pride of himself
and her attach meht to him, half in boyish
rtdiouls of sentiment, she blushed shyly
second, and the NEXT caught his mood, and
the rippiing music of her laughter min
gled with his strong, clear tones. He
bounded away in pursuit of a sudden fam
ey--expecting her TO follow, I think-but
she few 30 my arra 8 and nestled her gold
en- head on my hassast in the desire to be
oaressed, saying, 4 love you, aunty, oh,
SO dearly, SO very Ilarly"
] folded my arms about the tender, sem
sisive little being, wondering how often
in the future her A,ving heart might be
wounded, and suddenly found my thoughts
90 fraught with strisnge forebodings Of
sorrow for her that I had to struggle
nightly against the stears that fought to
escape from my eyes and the terrible
weight that seemed to prevent my breath
ing. T started abruptly, determined to
drive away such foolish fears, and carried
her into the house, where the current of
my thoughts did change abruptly, for I
found a messenger to tell me that I must
return to my oEn home on the morrow
my mother was dying.
All this seems SO long ago-it really is
long ago-yet SO distinct now as muse
here in the moonlight alone. Nature is
splendidly serene tonight, beautiful and
sympathetic, and the moons rays SO soft,
yet SO bright and penetrating. One of the
sirens of memory is telling me story of
the past with stereoptioon illustrations.
The pictures are SO lifelike and the story
go inthralling that am powerless to
move.
There is a change of scene--a ballroom.
The little boy and girl are grown up now,
but their faces betray the same character
istics 1 discovered In their childhood.
From the noble brow and the flashing eyes
of my dark haired youth speak haughti-
ness, pride to excess, determination of
purpose. Dovelike gelntleness, trustful af
lection, unselfsh devotion look out from
the starIike eyes Of my golden haired
maid. She is the CROWN beauty of the sea-
son, the adored one of many hearts, the
ideal loneliness of the artists soul, the en-
Bhrined saint Of the devotee-
/ am not surprised atythe number of her
conquests, all unsought as they are Did
every one not love her should be amazed.
There Is one among her lovers moro hope
full than the rest. She wears his flowers
tonight, and his face beams with delight.
Geraldine has worn the flowers because he
asked her to as a token of friendship
nothing more--and on that ground she
consented. She Is no coquette. She threw
her arms about me, ais was her childish
habit, when she came to mo before this
ball and said: "I think may wear the
lilies, dear aunt, but l. do not love him.
/ love you best Of ALL
Now, Reginald has returned from
abroad, and as Geraldine with the radiant
sutton disappears in the conservatory my
proud nephew draws my arm through his
and takes me out On the lawn near the
great marble fountain and laves his brow
with the cool water.
'Aunt," he begins, "I think you are
poet, though you don't write verses. Your
heart Is whole world of sympathy and
understanding, and I can freely tell you
things that would not dare to think in
IL. - -kN- Al
hands and speaking with feverish impa-
tience, he says, ooh, tell mel am sure
you know, Geraidine-does she care for
that man with whom she has just dancedf"
sShe does not love him." I answer. 81
am sure of it--she told me so, and-both
my children lay bare their hearts to me-"
He smiles. "That is why asked you.
You would know. I ana glad she does not.
1t Is better for her and for me. During her
first ban-you remember it wildly, Of
course-how lovely she was. stood here
awhile alone at this fountain, and vowed
that I would win her from 1000 suitors
If need be-. +"
Seeing my look of dismay, he smiles de-
family and continues: eyes, stood here,
where as boy I've often stood and watch
sd these nymphs and oupids disporting,
and gazed upon that strong, godlike fell
low up there at the top, with his arm
hbout that slender goddess. 1t has been a
fancy of mine since childhood to call that
couple Geraldine and myself. She shall be
ing wife, aunt I only wanted to learn
from you how many I should have to SUBJ
due before I could carry off the lady in
triumph-like a knight of old. Ha, ha,
hal Don't look so serious, you dear old
sibyL Haven't you often called us the
knight SO bold and the maid with golden
hair"
cannot help smiling at him. He is like
an enthusiastic boy now.
81 am serious, too" he goes on. cat
her first ball began to tell you, as stood
here vowing that she should be mine,
made up my mind that L would go away
for time and let the other adorers have a
chance. It seemed only fair. Besides
wanted her TO have plenty to choose from"
To choose fronP' I exclaim. "You
had already decided that she should have
no ohoice--that you would choose her.
"Oh, no. She will choose me freely"
"You are her first cousin. It is not