The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1897-08-28


Mr.. Vivien was talking about t'other
day-that, what's it's name? VALID
MARI There's a home for poet,
says he. And you know those verses
you wrote yesterday. You might take
to writing if you lived there"
why, father, that was only in
game-crambol'
81 don't care. Crambo or no cram
DO, I've my own opinion of them
verses. Amt as good judge as
anybody9 They show what you can
do. I always said you were no fool,
Hubby, And that place"
"But you and I would be lost in
that great house."
"You-you may get married"
81 never shall, father. You must
make up your mind to that" She
took his trembling, shrivelled hands
in her warm clasp. mo one would
care for me, dear, except you and
Rachel"
you can't tell, Hubby. You've
improved wonderful since we came
here. You look real pretty. You
mind me of the Glove pinks mother
used to like. Mr.. Vivien thinks you
are real smart. He said So"
Father
He did. 1 asked him. l says to
him, Frankly, Mr.. Vivien, 1 ask you
what do you think of Huldy?' and
he says, Mr.. Cropsey, she is noble
woman That's what he said. You
mustn't get discouraged. Besides, we
might buy the house and sell it again
and make on it"
1--WE will, if you WISH" she said,
absently. She was glad Mr.. Vivien
liked her. Perhaps he didn't. Tie
compliment had been given under
somewhat equivocal circumstances.
Spring tripped lightly over the
earth. The arbutus thrilled and
blossomed in the woods. Vivien
brought her great fragrant burden,
and watched her fasten dainty knot
in the folds of her pale gray dress.
"Sweets for the sweet" he said, add
ing gently, "you are as fair and still
as the Puritan Priscilla" and the deli
cate face glowed with deeper rose
than that of the blossoms.
Spring drifted into summer. Miss
Cropsey counted the days remaining
in her holiday year." One month
more. She would not think. She
was blind to the regret that must fol-
low, the lonliness which would take
the place of the joy. Vivien came
and went. September wove it's gold
in long sunny days.
"We shall miss you deeply" Mrs.
Forrest said. "You have brought so
much pleasure into our home"
"But we must be getting back
now" Mr.. Cropsey was growing i'm
patient 1.-The old red house is home,
after all. l never said anything
against it."
"But Waldmar is a place for a
poet, father"
81 don't care. The old house was
good enough for your mother and me
It's good enough now.
The last day came.
"Farewells are hard to say, Miss
Huldah," whispered Vivien. "Let
ours be-Mizpahl
"You have helped me more than
you know. shall never forget"
She sat beside her father in the
crowded train. They were going
home, home, home. The wheels sang
the words shrilly. From the new life
back to the old, from the warmth and
brightness to the old monotony; from
the helpful friendships to the old for
malities. But over and over again in
the pauses of the loud refrain rang
the music of his parting whisper.
Her father broke the mingled hope
and fear of her dreaming.
"There it is-the old red house!
See, Huldyp
There were lights in every window.
Laughter and song fosted out on
the night air. She drew closer to his
side.
What does it all mean, father?"
at means we're rich folks now,
you and me. They've come to receive
u.s."
The door was flung open. A crowd
of smiling faces peered out into the
darkness. Eager voices cried:
"Here they are! Welcome home!
Welcome homep
Kind hands met theirs in greeting.
They were hurried into the parlor
now transformed into bower of low
illness. Miss Cropsey found herself
the center of an enthusiastic group,
and heard her fathar evDroaa;no, h;