The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1897-10-28

from her satchel, and appeared greatly
absorbed in 1t. A very dear old lady
in the section back of her had been
watching all the proceedings. and nov.
| glancing over the shoulder of the little
lady, she noted that the leaves of the
book were never turned. and she said
to herself with a kindly smile, Poor
children! a lovers quarrel" Soon the
| book boy came through the train with
his armful of books he paused at sec
| tion nine. and laid volume of poems
! on the seat beside the little lady, as he
said, THE gentleman in the smoker
said ] was to hand this to you, ma'am.'
Edith glanced at the book, then out
of the window for a moment, then
again at the book. She saw that q
leaf was turned down, and her hand
went slowly out towards the little vol
ume, and the very dear old lady in the
, next seat looked on and smiled. Edith
| turned to the indicated page, and
| found a verse marked. II was part of
a poem that the pleasant voice of the
tall, dark man had many times read to
her, and now it came to her as mes
| sage, and this was the message:
| Alas, how easily things go wrong;
n WORD unSunE IN lovers song,
There comes a mist and a binding rain,
And life is never the same again.
| ALAS, how hardly things go right!
| A storm may come in summer night,
| The stars will fade in the gloom away,
| And the summers night is a winters
| day"
She read the verse softly through, and
/ 4 I,y. .lNA
| saw something was written on the fly
| leaf; turning to it. she read: Edith.
from Philip, Merry Christmas" writ
| ten in the strong. manly hand that had
written her so many words of love.
| If Fhilip could have come to her then
| all would have been we'll; but such is
| the perverseness of fate, we do not
| know when to come back and be for
| given" and in the smoking compart-
ment Philip sat, glowering out of the
window, twisting his mustache fierceiy,
| and saying to himself:
| Poor little girl, she is awfully hard
| with me. and all about a beggarly dog:
| Confound the beast, anyway, | always
! did hate little dogs"
And the car wheels still whirred and
sung, and all their song was Peace
on earth" and at every station the
! passengers leaving the train, laden with
| their pleasant-lOoking parcels, We're
| met and greeted by those who needed
| them to complete their Christmas cir
| Gle. and the train hands We're greeted
! by their friends in passing, and every
| one was happy, and full Of holiday
| cheer, save only the little lady in Sec
| tiOn number nine, and the tall, dark
| man in the smoking compartment.
| Philip made another effort at luncheon
| time; he came slowly down the aisle,
and said: Edith. shall get you some
| luncheon?" The little lady, seeing him
approaching, had seized her novel; and,
in response to his question, glanced
| coldly up from its pages, just long
| enough to say, with extreme frostiness.
Thank you, no."
| Philip noticed the book of poems on
| tho seat, apparently untouched; but he
| gained some trifling comfort from also
noting that the novel in Edth's hand
was upside down. He returned once
more to the smoker and Edith throw
ing her novel pettishly down, sat Eaz-
ing out of the window. Presently she
had the porter bring her cup of tea,
and, just as she had finished it, she felt
a light touch on her shoulder, as Il
sweet voice said: MY dear, don't you
want to come and talk to a tired old
| lady?"
After they had chatted awhile the
very dear old lady said; IL have been
watching you all day, my little girl,
ana you must pardon an old lady if she
asks you some questions. Is the tall
young man your lover?"
NO" said Edith, II am sorry to say
he is my husband"
Sorry" said the old lady, "oh. no.
my dear. not that; and / am sure he is
! still your lover as we'll as your hus-
band; don't you want to tell the old
| lady all about it? / have had a lot of
experience, and perhaps l can help
you"
! Edith looked into the very dear old
| face for a moment, and then said:
| "Oh, thank you so much; yes, / will
| tell you; but it is too late to help us;
l can never forgive Philip"
And then she told to this sympa-
thetic listener the whole story; of her
marriage six months before, of her dear
little home in New York, of her happy
life with Philip until-and here she
paused, with slightly shamefaced
expression well, until she had one day
spent an absurd sum for a fancy ter
rier. Philip had objected, half laugh
| ingly, half seriously; then things COM
menced to go awry; the little dog car
ried off Philips slippers, chewed up his
| razor strap, knocked his silk hat about
the floor. and had done a thousand
other annoying little things, and every
time anything happened Philip was
| disagreeable, and Edith had retorted,
| and so the little rift in the lutte Wild
| ened. Then there came a day-and
here the eyes of the little lady flashed
! when Philip, in a burst of temper,
had said Edith, either that dog
leaves this house, or l do" and Edith
had-in fine temper also-answe cred:
do as you please; Dandy shall not
go;" and Philip had packed a satchel
and left. and all that was a week ago
Edith had waited two days. becoming
more alarmed and less bad-tempered
| all the time, and had then paid a visit
to a cousin I'm Brooklyn, where she re-
mained until deciding to go, on the
day before Christmas, to her mother
i'm Chicago. What Edith could not tell
because she did not know it, was that
| Philip, after three miserable days at a
| hotel, had returned. penitent and low
| ing, to the little apartment, to find
| Edith gone, the servant gone, even the
4 gNs.l.Z IL.