Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1898-05-05
THURMONT Frederick County, Maryland Thursday May 5, $685.
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COPYRIGHT; 1897 eY THE AurnoR.


"That big tree trunk is between me
and everything" The song that had
hoated to them across the wasting fields
Of cotton had ceased abruptly, and the
only audible sounds within the shrub
choked inclosure was the swapping Of
died sticks broken by an unseen hand
to feed the new made fire. Presently q
vigorous revealing flame sprang into ex-
istence, giving the entire scene to the
two pair Of eager eyes peering over the
rusty spikes Of the iron graveyard gate
With their lips close to each other g
ears they exchanged items Of excited
comment.
"There are two Of them"
"A black man and white one"
1.-THE white one certainly looks as If
he belonged to graveyard. What
dreadfully hollow cheeksl And, oh, Lii
"a, look! His poor knees. He is hug
ging them so close they are actually
showing through his trousers.
"Iwish he would push his hat back If
I could see his whole face, might
make out who he is. 1t can't be Adri,n
Strong"
"Adrien Strongl Heavens, no! Adri-
en- Strong is dandy. Oh, isn't that
just too heart breaking?'
Without the movement Of q muscle,
with his head still dropping forward so
that nothing was visible but the thin,
hollow cheeks and the long uncared for
beard that almost touched the frayed
knees of his ragged, gray trousers, the
man had begun new song.
A plaintivs, simple ballad, already
grown hackneyed about the campfires,
where countless war weary heroes, rest
ing beneath the sentinel stars, with no
shelter other than the dark blue canopy
Of the midnight skies, let their home
sick fancies wander back to the dear
ones left behind with an exquisite an
guish Of longing that found uttcrance
in song. But to those two listening,
watching girls it was all new and fresh
and thrilling.
"Who will care for mother now"
SING the wan faced wayfarer, resting
there beneath the laurel tree that shed
its blossoms over the silent sleepers in
the little graveyard-sang it in the per-
functory fashion of one who performs a
deed more from force Of habit than from
any conscious effort, but his voice was
clear and sweet, and no Ialse note jar
red upon the music loving cars of his
auditors.
Mamie, silently weeping, softly sub
sided among til" Wutds on III. cemetery
steps and luri-d her head in her lap. 1t
WAS torture, but she would not lose ono
note Of that sweet, weird melody for
worlds.
Liza, bent upon identification, main
tained her stand at the gate. When the
song was ended she would go in boldly
and question that forlorn trespasser
touching Adrien Strong, who was to
come home Ill state some day, panopiicd
In his barrlu worn laurelS. brighter and
fresher laurels than those whose glossy
leaves, stirred by the night wind, now
waved their dark bannercts over that
wandering minstrel IN tatters.
There was II movement on the other
side of the large beech tree that hid u
section of the little camp from her. A
third party had been introduced into
the mystery, and the singer was inter
rupted by slow, deep voiced protest.
"Coms, old chap, that ditty is dole
full enough when sung by Il dozen fol.
lows around roaring campfire, but
just now and just here it is too much
even for my nerves."
The singer glanced up at tho speaker
with knitted brows, as if strenuously
endeavoring to link words and meaning
together, gave up the effort with pa
thetic smile and resumed his grooming
with renewed energy.
"Adrien! Stop that, old man, you'll
soon be where your mother can care for
you. Do you know where you are, old
ohap?"
At this new surprise Mamie had
sprung to her feet and stood by Liza,
whose hands were rigidly locked about
the iron spikes. She was trembling vic.
lently, and her smothered exclamation
of Mortified surprise was barely audible.
my God 1t cannot be! Adrien
Strong come to that? 1t is too horrible!"
but the other one Liza?'
The darkness mercifully hid Liza 8
cheeks from view. They were aglow
with the quickening of her pulses, On
ly her starlike eyes told Of her intense
excitement as she tugged at the rusty
fastenings Of the gate.
II know his voice. 1t is Mr.. Cham
bliss. No harm will come to us, Ma
mie.
They were inside the inclosure now,
and with swift directness Liza was
threading the tangled, familiar maze.
Mamie followed her with laborious un-
certainty, now pushing aside all intru-
sive branch, now stumbling helplessly
over an unsupported root, never once
losing consciousness Of II tall form stand.
ing in soldierly erectness silhouetted
against the leaping flames of the camp
fire.
At sound of Liza's swift advance he
turned his face from the tattered min-
strel and made step toward her in the
gloom.
Liza, my dear little girlp'
And then Mamie caught Liza's re-
sponse to this greeting-a soft, glad
cry.
"Ah, it is you."
And by the light of the campfire she
saw two pairs of hands go out to each
other eagerly, clasp each other firmly,
and so stand, content, there amid the
dark signing pine trees and the moldcr-