The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1899-08-24
law willing on the hot curpstone. Th

4
had large, oval, dull-green leaves, deli
cately serrated; pungent, wholesome
odor rose from it, prevailing over the
other odors in the room-odors of Rus,
STA leather, of tobacco and of the street.
The gentleman inhaled its fragrance
long and deeply.
what is it?" he asked himself. 81
1t is-rosemary! Yes. That's what il
is. Rosemary"
The steely eyes softened still more,
and fixed themselves like those of one
hypnotized. The full, proud mouth
grew tender.
There was clump of rosemary in
mothers garden" so ran his thoughts,
land near it was a great mat of clover
pinks. They bloomed in June. 1 can
smell them now. There was huge
bush of southernwood there, too, and
some tawny lilies, and spiderwort, and
monkshood, and striped grass. Strange
how the old names come back to me!
The lilac bushes in the corner were like
trees to me in those days. used to sit
under them and play at matching
blades of striped grass with sister
Mary, and wonder why her hands were
so white, and why mother never let her
work hard. l know now. She faded
away and died, and there was only me
left. l remember those Sundays in
summer, when was not allowed to play
or run about. How long they were, and
how hot! Like to-day, but with such
difference! Mother always had
spray of rosemary and pink folded in
her handkerchief when we started for
the meeting house, and some caraway
seed in her pocket, which she gave me
now and then during the service when
she saw l was almost asleep. taste
them now and smell the rosemary and
the pinks, and the pine odors coming in
at the open window, and the varnish
on the pews, all mingled together. And
/ hear the crealiing of the wonen's
fans, and the horses whinnying under
the shed behind the meeting house,
and The minister's droning voice-now
it all comes back to me!
"And Abby-Abby Grover-her folks
pew was across from ours, and used
to try my best to make her laugh in
meeting, but l don't think l ever sue
ceeded. She was nice girl, Abby was.
Not pretty, but with something about
her that was better than beauty. And
her eyes and hair were really lovely, I
remember.
ABBY generally wore sprig of rose
mary pinned to her dress when went
over to see her Sunday nights in sum-
mer. That was after we grew up. We
used to sit on the orchard wall and talk
until the whippoorwills began crying,
and Abby's mother would come to the
door and say the dew was falling and
she guessed we better come in.
II fancy l did most of the talking,
though, for Abby was one of your ST.
lent, deep sort. l told her all my plans
for getting away from the farm and
making my fortune in the city. And
she would listen patiently, though I
must have been terrible bore, and
look at me with her nice clear eyes and
say: How ambitious you are, Joey!'
Joey! Fancy anyone calling me Joey
now!
"And how proud she was of me when
| began to get on in the world-and
she helped me, too, Abby did. She lent
me her little savings from school-teach-
inc, and, later on, when the farm came
to her, she raised money on that to start
me in business. Is there anything a
woman will not do for a man she
loves?"
At this point the color deepened on
the old gentleman's forehead and
deep breath like sigh expanded his
glistening shirt front.
"Of course, paid her back, every dol
lar, with interest,"" went on his
thoughts, "and / meant to keep my
promise of marriage, too. 1t was Abby
herself who broke the engagement
when she found out that loved another
girl better. 1t was the right thing. She
did not seem 10 take it much to heart,
either; but she never married. At least
1 never heard that she did. 1t is IS
years or more since l saw the old place.
There was nothing to draw me there
after the old folks died. / wonder-I
wonder what become of Abby! Dead,
probably. She would be an old woman
if she were living-not so very old
either. She was two years younger
than /, and am not yet turned 65-"
A clerk came in and laid telegram
on the desk. The old gentleman took
it. The steely look came back to his
eyes.
The old woman in the black shawl
was still standing on the street corner.
She looked tired and anxious, and the
plants in the basket had wilted sad
ly. The cars looked more alike than
ever, and she did not dare to stop one.
A policeman on the corner had scowled
at her unpleasantly two or three times,
and Aunt Abby felt almost ready to
drop, what with the heat and the IA
tigue and the dread that the police
man might speak to her, and she be
hopelessly disgraced thereby.
Suddenly her face broke into a de-