The Forrest City times., 1899-08-18

| s. 'o HIS once in the great S'one building on the corner. When hs
 was seated at his desk it was stilI in h;s
 nana. lie looked at it curiouslv I,
 nau large, oval. dull-green leaves de,;, ea'eiy serrated; pungent. wholesome QUOT rose from it, prevailing over th !. o.n.r ouors Tn the room-odors of Rus.
 sia leather, of tobacco and of the street me gentleman inhaled its fragrance long and deeply.
 what IS it?' he asked himself. .. seem to remember-ah, yes! have if It is-rosemary! Yes. That's wba, <, IS. Rosemary!"
 | lhe steely eyes softened still more ana hxed themselves like those n, ono hypnotized. The full, proud month | grew tender. There was clump of rosemarv |, no'her garden" so ran his thoughts anu near It was a great mat of clover pihks. They bloomed ip June. can smell them now. There was n buoa oush or southernwood there. too. and some tawny lilies, and spiderwort. and monkshood, and striped grass. S.ranoe how the old names come back to ,,o, The lilac bushes in the corner were lik, trees 10 ine in those days. used to sit under them and play at matcbin, blades of striped grass with sister Mary, and wonder why her hands were so white, and why mother never let her work hard. I know now. She faded away ana dled, and there was only me ieft. l remember those Sundays in summer, when was not allowed to play or run about. How long they were, and now not! Like to-day, but with such einerence! Mother always had a spray of rosemary and pink folded in her handkerchief when we started for the meeting house, and some caraway seed Tn her pocket, which she gave me now aHd then during the service when she saw l was almost asleep. I 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 l hear the ereaking of the women's 1ans, and the horses whinnying under the shed behind the meeting house. and she minister's droning voice-now 1t all comes back to me,
 And Abby-Abby Grover-her folks pew was across from ours, and I used to try my best to make her laugh in meeting, but don't think 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, remember.
 Abby generally wore a sprig of rose- mary pinned to her dress when went over to see her Sunday nights in sum- Iner. 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.
 q fancy I did most of the talking, though, for Abby was one of your si- 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, Joeyr Joey! Fancy anyone calling me Joey now!
 And how proud she was of me when I began to get on in the world-and she helped me, too, Abby did. She lent l me her little savings from school-teach- ing, 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 man she loves?"
 At this point the color deepened on the old gentleman's forehead and a deep breath like sigh expanded his glistening shirt front.
 "Of course, paid her back, every dol lar, with interest," went on his thoughts, land I meant to keep my promise of marriage, too. It was Abby herself who broke the engagement when she found out that loved another girl better. It was the right thing. She did not seem to take it much to heart, e1tneT, put Sne never DldrTleu. Al ledst I never heard that she did. 1t is 25 years or more since aw the old place. There was nothing to draw me there after the old folks died. I 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 I, and am not yet turned 65-"
 A clerk came in and laid a 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 fa- tirue and the dread that the police man might speak to her, and she be