The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-08-15


Some old folks keep their arts green. -
said the conductor to himself He helped
| her out at the proper time and saw that
! she reached the pavement. Her walk was
| quicker than one would have thought as
| she started along the street. She was
| laughing to herself. The idea of her broth
| ers Mortified countenance. OF his wife S
shrill CONSERVATION was very funny.
I 1t was a great street she was in; far down
II she could see the pillars sticking out
| pompously from her brothers door His
! house was the stiffest and most pretentious
| and he resembled it himself. Frances slack
| ened her pace, and enjoyed the anticipation
| of what would take place when she reached
that door.
She was close to the first broad pillar now
| and she looked comically up and down be-
| fore passing under it. There We're a great
| many people walking by. But one, much
| taller, making them look midgets was
| slowly going past, gazing Curfously up at
! the house windows. Frances noticed him,
| standing below the pillar; looked closer
and then started, with a short cry that
| made the stranger glance down from these
| high windows. Then he too, started.
They stood facing each other for a mo-
ment. Colonel Williamson looked as if he
| had seen ghost; and she-she was gasping
| piteously.
rs it you? Is it you. indeed? he cried.
| His aStOniShed look struck her bitterly She
put out her hands. but not to take his
which he was too amazed to offer-only to
| keep him off.
coherently; and as he still stood blankly,
she darted into the passing crowd and dis
appeared. He did not follow her; he was
too stupefied.
Frances rushed out on to the curb and
waved her umbrella. An omnibus stopped,
and the conductor got out to help in the old
lady. She seemed very feeble. When she
was safely in she looked out of the window.
Colonel Williamson still standing
there. Then the bus drove off.
The seven art students had come in when
Frances got back. They saw her from the
window. and opened the door unanimously
and anxiously. Being nice girls they no
| tiCed things quickly, and saw she was up
Were you run over, poor old thing?"
Did you hurry after a TRAMP"
Did anybody
Il am tired" said Frances, and went
They sat together on the sofa, and talked
about the poor, dear old lady. But Frances
looked at herself in the glass.
ooh, my poor hair! oh, I was madH' she
self, and still-after ali the years and the
sorrow-my heart is young
Then she flung herself down again, and
lorg, white clouds Of hair came loose and
fell over her She pushed them away with
sudden horror and sobbed on into the dusk.
III.
There was no awakening for Frances in
the morning She had never slept.
The smooth black gown of yesterday lay
on a chair. She could not bear to put it on,
but pushed through the old maidish gar
ments hanging up till she reached a rough
blue serge that she had not worn since
the change in her looks. For it was not a
suitable frock for an old lady. She put it
on now and looked around helplessly; she
had forgotten to do her hair.
AS the glass brought her face to face with
the lusterless white strands she shuddered.
Her fingers trembled as she twisted it all
into tight knot at the back, leaving a lit
tie as she could to frame her poor miserable
face There was an old portrait of herself
upon the wall; it was reflected in the glass
beside her as she was. She shuddered
again and turned away; she was an old
woman. She had never truly understood
what that was-tilI now.
The art students hurried off nodding gay
ly to her and whispering that the old lady
was looking funny, as is she were going
cracked.
Frances tried to begin busting the draw
ing room, but save in when, lifting the
vases on the chimneypiece she saw herself
in the glass. She dropped the vase and the
buster and wrung her hands.
II was no good. She could think of moth
ing, nothing but yesterdays awful meet
ing, the coionels sacred look and her own
dIsmay; 1t was terrible how young she felt
after that sudden shatterng of forgetful-
| ness. And OH the bitter pain of feeling
young, and seeing ones self-thus!
Taking up her buster. sho tried to go on
calmly. She rubbed tx ,..a,r legs indIstri
ously ana put the cushions cornerwise.
Then she arrived at the window, and a
table with many little birthday books and
pen wiperS. busting them slowly she
stared blankly further out into the empty
street
Somebody was marching by with a quick,
Soldieriy step. Frances could not get any
| breath. She clasped her hands and leaned
forward to the window. Could it be?
The knocker fell.
AS It was early the one servant was not
presentable She squinted sideways up the
| so she would not go as she was. 1t took
long time to get off some smuts and tie
on cleaner apron; then her cap f1uttered
| into the fender while she took another
| glimpse through the area ratings, and she
had TO seek another. All this time Frances
| stood still with clasped hands and waited
| very kind of him. After the first shock
| the first-"Is it possible THAT had made
! him speechless, he had probably called on
rom. ana then, remembering how uncour-
| teously thunderstruck he had been, he had
| inquired her address and was come TO
| apologize and talk calmly about that past
which would seem so very distant and safe
| to talk of when he looked on her. Perhaps
| he would explain those hitter years when
she had waited vanly by some airy phrase
| as out of sight out of mind" You re-
| member our young days, Miss O'Rell," he
| a good, half-fOrgotten joke That would be
| natural. But could she bear it?'
| The knocker fell again, louder and mper-
| ativeiy.
| Oh, if she could escape; she, poor old
woman, with a girls aching heart Could
| she not run upstairs-there was barely time
and say she was i'll? Then he would leave
| his card and go, and feel that he had done
| duty amply by his old love- Was she too
weak to fly?
The door was opened then, and there was
| no fleeing across the passage. He came in
| and she put out her hand She had to do
| that, of course. There was bright color
in her cheek: not of hope, but of agitation
not unbecoming. But the Irish eyes We're
as dark as ever.
Colonel Williamson held that hand tightly
in both his own. He was changed, too But
in her eyes so little. Gray, thin. perhaps,
but himself always. While she Now
for the bitter pain of obsolete recoIlections.
"Frances!"
do you know I saw some one took to
be you when 1 first came home" said the
l left you, half life ago. and | dared not
show myself a broken-down old soldier |
was afraid. So l said l would go abroad
and | took my passage somewhere. 1 said |
just for goodbye. And then 1 saw you,
Frances, you yourself and L thought it was
ghost"
And them" said Frances eagerly.
Then" said the colonel, Il thanked God
that you and I had grown old together, and
that l dared come to you"
But began Frances with a culver in
her voice, while their hands ti3htened on
each other, would you never have come to
me if you had still Thoughtful you had
not seen me yesterday"
II should not have dared" answered Col
onel Williamson.