The Roanoke daily times. (Roanoke, Va.) 1895-1897, 1896-03-18


from my plot and my pathos grew in. irid.
l wrote in lighter vein--of knights and
ladies, happy in love and beauty, but when
my hero held his lady's band andstrove to
tell her OF bis passion, though his heart
were full to OVERLOOKING, all that his lips
could utter was 'Amo, Amas, Amat, and
my efforts to aid him woro of no avail.
What soullcss, lifeless little stories they
were, to DO sure. OF course they were re-
turned. grew heartily sick of seeing long
envelopes and Of reading stereotyped no.
tices OF articles being not available I
know the little printed slips word for
word, and generally consigned them to
my wastebasket unread. / could have
cried my heart out with disappointment
IL was not the remuneration that cared
ABOUT, but was piqued to think that
had failed, failed, failed
Il tried again and again. wrote of
spring-of apple blossoms and daffodils,
OF swallows and orioles, but my flowers
grow stifily, and my swallows were not at
all glad that summer was ut hand.
But there came n day when the long
envelopes contained something more than
my poor little story and tho tirosome I'M
available notice-it contained a note. 1t
was from an editor in Now York, who had
somehow been tho chosen object of my
whose sweet patience had stood tho test of
my endeavors
Tho notc ran something like this q
wrote under q nom do plume): MY dear
MISS -, am sorry to return your story.
1t has many fine points. Tho plot is OK
oellent, and the language moro than COM
monty good, but it is-if you will ALLOW
mo to say it-droadfully stiff and unnat-
ural. Could you not manage to throw
little moro heart into your storiesp Sup
pose you take some one character or in
cidont. or place that interests you person
ally and write about it just as though
you mean 1t all And the note was signed
simply. The Editor
az sat for some time wondering over the
note. A great struggle was taking place
within mo. Should ] do it9 Could / en-
duro to SEQ in cold black and white this
sweet, painful secret that was at once my
delight and my torture? At last resolved
L would throw moro heart-my whole
heart-into my story. I would feel and
mean it all.
II conceived brilliant idea. I would
just run down to Aunt Harriet's for n
couple of weeks, where 1 should be away
from social temptations, and where In per-
feet quiet my story might grow.
"Oh, those precious wceks-so full OF
pain and pleasure, of happy memories, Of
signs and moods, of lifo and love! NY
story grew-nay, it ceased to be "a story
Mt all. was not writing. was thinking,
living, loving, far away in an ideal world
where 1 was happy, oh, SO happy, and 1
merely jottcd it down, just for sweet NOM
ory's sake.
And when had finished my tale, how
"real it seemed! So real, in fact, that l
wondered whether II strangers ego might
not even read between its lines and guess
my secret.
SHOULD I send it? Yes what mattorl
The world would never know There was
only my nom de plume. My hero was not
Ned, nor my heroine Jess. Latin and
French were disguised in music, and Lake
wood would never recognize itself among
tho snowclad hills of New England So
1 sent my story. Where do you suppose?
To Ned. Right plump into tho hands of
Ned"
"Jess" exclaimed. She was laughing,
and for tho life of mo 1 could not tell
whether to believe her or to give hor a
sound shaking for screwing my curiosity
to its utmost limits only to make fun of
me.
Yes, to Ned" jess continued Though.
of course did not mean it so. / ad-
dressed my manuscripts, as usual, to THE
. Editor, but " hat II little world this is,
after all The editor and Ned were one.
My story was accepted and it brought
great price-it brought me Neds heart.
Love, that had pecped over my shoulder
and guided my pen as I wrote, now peepcd
over Ncd's shoulder and whispered in his
ear, in his heart in his soul, and he has
told mo many times how that soft whisper
seemed to flood all his lonely life with
sunshine and to fill all tho air about him
with the song of birds. Through every
disguise he had known mo. Dear Ned, no
had loved me from the first, and had new
ell guessed it. was rich, and he was poor,
with perhaps years of struggling before
him, and he was too noble to speak But
happy turn in his lifc's fortune brought
this editorial position within his grasp.
From that time no felt that perhaps some
day he would meet mo again, and per-
haps- But there, what's tho use of per
hapsing?' For all know, wo might have
been waiting and longing and signing yet
If l hadn't made love flrst-which of
course you'll allow that did"
was about to reply when Jess sprang
up from the hammock, with cry of
There's Ned" Sho forgot all about me
and ran To meet him, and well, what
would you have done under tho circum-
stances?-Grace S. Brown in Monthly H.
illustrator.