The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 18??-1935, 1897-02-05
LOVES REWARD.

ever since Sne came mere, u little, rose
Tipped child. He drew her to school on
his little cart, he taught her to ride
when older, and when her favor was no
longer to be won by snowy kittens or
sugared sweetmeats he had laid at her
feet mans strong love, heart that
was brave and loyal and true as steel.
And she--she thought of the face she
had seen for the first time but one short
month before, the dark, handsome face
that had lighted into look of involun-
tary admiration at sight of her, the face
of the wealthy city stranger-Edgar
Reynolds.
Only one month ago, and already the
lustrous eyes had learned to watch for
his coming, already the girlish heart
had learned to throb at his voice.
And he? No wonder be was fascinated
by that fresh young face, and as the
days went by he smiled to see how the
love of the woman crept into the inno-
cence Of the child. And so when Philip
Howard asked her for her love she had
no heart to give him. She told him so
with womanly tenderness and pity, and
he had left her presence very sad, very
silent man.
The following day broke fair and
bright, with golden sunlight on the hill
tops and June time mists in the valley.
Along the white, winding road lead
ing to the village, in the GOODNESS of the
dewy morning, walked Florence Thorne.
The birds are singing their mathis in
the tree tops; the brook is laughing as it
ripples Ger its pebbly bed. In the midst
of all this glorious, sylvan beauty the
elasticity of youth reasserts itself, and
the girls step grows lighter, her heart
happier, till she almost forgets her little
troubles.
In the village she posts her letters
and turns to retrace her steps. She meets
many laborers on their way to work,
and each man touches his hat and smiles
pleasantly on seeing the bright, pretty
face, for, young as she is, she has spent
many hours helping with kindly offices
and gentle pity their wives and little
ones.
Coming home, she passes house that
stands in its own grounds-a house
with snowy curtains, stretching veran-
das and we'll rolled tennis ground at
tached. 1t is far more pretentious than
her own cozy house. And well it may
be, for it is the boarding house of this
rustic little village 1t is filled with
fashionables just now who have fed
from the crush and heat of the city,
and, among others, Edgar Reynolds.
AT the gate a sudden thought strikes
her, The housekeeper's little child is
very i'll. She will go in and inquire for
her. No one save the servant can be up
yet. She pushes open the gate and noise
lessly fits up the garden path to the
rear of the house.
She accomplishes her mission and is
returning, when she sees futtering on
the path before her a sheet of creamy
note paper. She picks it up and glances
around. 1t must have blown from a
window left open on retiring. Yes,
there is one directly overhead
She is about to take it to the house
keeper to return to its owner, when hel
eyes chance to fall on two words written
in firm, bold hand, FLORENCE Thorne, u
1t is but short letter, and the girl, for
getting all honor in the intensity of hel
surprise, reads every word Of it almost
before she knows what she has done.
Dear WILL" it runs, "expect me
back on Thursday. Am tired of rusti.
eating. 1t would have been an unbear-
able bore were it not for an awfully
pretty girl, flirting with whom has
helped to pass the time. She is the
daughter of Allen Thorne, the million
aires brother, you know. Made foo
of himself by marrying school teach,
er's daughter years ago. Florence
Thorne is shy, wild rose-poor, pretty
and proud as princess-but couldn't
afford to ruin my prospects for her, yor
know. Much as could do to keep from
losing my heart in earnest. Had half {
mind to throw over Agatha Vere's thou
sands, but-pshaw, the bank account
carries the day.
There is little more relating to bust
ness matters, then the letter closes witt
the hastily scratched signature, "Edgal
Reynolds.
The girl stands stiff and rigid in tn,
bright morning sunlight, a great startled
horror in her eyes. All the pretty, child
ish beauty dies in the strained intensity
of that gaze.
Hark! Is that some one coming? Fol
a moment she lifts her hand to her heaC
in confused, helpless way. Then, crush
ing the letter into her bosom, she turn
and flies fast as her leaden weighted
feet will bear her down the path
through the gate, along the dusty high
way-home.
Her uncle came to her on receipt O
Philip Towards letter, stating how il
she was, his lonely old heart warming
with love toward his brothers. orphan
child. As for Edgar Reynolds, he haC
heard Of her illness with his usual wei
bred Indifference
Poor little thing! Perhaps it's tn
best way it could have ended after all,
he said, and 80, congratulating himself
he had gone back to town, while Philil
Howard, far out on the broad Atlantic