Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1896-08-01

Wiz An ouCA - NOA AAuVAO
lY N@ q town that, y after
sSsIMEG1EEfSES.O you went up the
tsySEzNN.5 1II| dusty street, on
,SG| 49, which there was
M !: !: +; =: ;: IL: s;
fronts of "Family Groceries" "Drug
Store" "Postofice" and "General
Supplies Sold Here" why, there re-
manned no more town to see.
The rest of the old place just trailed
off into scattered buildings, some oc.
cupied, but many falling to ruin for
want of repair OF occupancy.
But if you went swiftly along the
quiet country road after awhile you
would come upon fairy white cottages,
trim and neat, set in the midst OF
broad acres of cultivation; and there
would always be space reserved for the
sweet.smelling blooms of old fashioned
flowers, such as country folk have
time to thrust into the soft brown
loan.
In one of these white cottages she
lived. A little fair "old maid" as
people called her. A maidenly soul,
be sure, looked out from her sweet
eyes, and perhaps certain gentle pre-.
cision in her neat attire. and an ad.
herence to ways which Miss Floribel
Rose had proved to be good, might
have earned for her the epithet con.
sidered so unwelcome. But to me she
looked the very essence OF youth and
purity and unconscious innocence. .
Be all that as it may, as l started
out by saying, she lived in the coun.
try, and in pretty cottage, with
bright green blinds and broad sur.
rounding fields, and the prettiest
flower garden in the whole village
Miss Floribel had perfect passion
for ''growing things" and it was
popularity believed that should she
elect to bid the town pump return to
its original wildwood condition there
would at once appear those little nibs
and nobs of green which show the be-
ginning OF growth.
Miss Floribel wrought no miracles,
however, save those needing great pa
thence and constant care. But it was
fact that, under her gentle care, flow
ers seemed to become sentient things
and appeared to develop consciences
of their own, which obligated them to
q certain amount of bud and bloom,
in return for her ministrations.
We will peep at her as she walks
leisurely through the small gate which
divides the flower from the kitchen
garden, on a balmy May morning.
She is a tiny woman-small head,
small hands, small feet and delicate
features, with fower-like ripples and
lines along her gentle fairness. Her
hair is soft and brown, and waves
away from sweet, placid forehead in
smart, crisp little ripples, which no.
cessitate frequent applications of Miss
Floribel's small, pink palm in a series
of subjugatory pats and pressures.
Her eyes are of deep and shadowy
blue, and they look straight out into
this work.a.day world with an expires.
sion of pleased surprise at finding it
so "good." Her figure is all soft,
warm curves; and she has many dim
Piles which come and 60 in all manner
of unexpected places. For instance,
who would ever expect to see little
qu,vering dimple set up for itself
high ON the delicate bloom OF an "old
maids" cheek? Very high up, 80 that
when she smiled at you, which she
very frequently did, there it was, q
provoking piece of prettiness, near to
the sweep of the curling lashes, and
in nest of soft rose color, which was
the flush on Miss Floribel's sweet
check.
On one sido the long, deep gallery,
or veranda, that ran all across the
front of the white cottage, grew tall
rose bush, with long, delicately Auted
foliage, and buds of pure, snow.white.
ness, cleaning in the midst of all the
pale greenness of the bush. This rose
held strange place in Miss Floribel's
life.
Twenty years ago there had gone
from the village gay, rollioking lad,
with reckless record back OF him,
and all sorts of possibilities fronting
him. He was beautiful to begin with,
with the beauty of slim, graceful
lines, high.spirited and clear. cut
features, and deep and rich coloring.
He was gifted; learning all that the
Grabbed old scholar who taught. the
village school could teach him, in the
time in which other lads had just be-
gun to comprehend; and assimilsting
all of outside information that came
his way. He was favorite with oil
who knew HIM, as much for his lonely,
solitary existence as for his charm OF
person and manner.
About his mother had clustered the
village romance. An undutiful daugh.
ter-a runaway marriage-and the in.
evitable sequel; the, return to the
stately mansion which had been her
childhood's home, with death on her
young brow, despair in her broken
heart, and son IN her poor frail
arms, to hold up as peace offering to
her only parent left. her stern old
father. The mother died during the
first year Of her daughters absence.
But Leonard d'Orville (which was
the boys sole inheritance from q
worthless father-a high:sounding
name), was "inolined to be wild" and
these inclinations had been crystal
lized into set forms of as much callow
wickedness as the sleepy old village
could furnish, by the undue severity
of his grandfather. So the time came
when Leonard flung on his back u
parcel containing change Of clothing,
his little savings bank, his mother
picture and bundle of notes written
in q girlish hand, with, among them,
q long tress Of ripping brown hair
cut from his sweetheart's head. Bid.
ding his implacable enemy land
grandfather . merry goodby, he took
his way along the highway wherein