The true northerner., 1899-08-16
COINCIDENCE.


hearted. That is what 1t did for JON
athan Harrod. In the early days we
had roomed together in college, was
going to say slept together, but Jona-
than seldom slept He smoked and
drank coffee and worked instead. and
blOssomed into winner of prizes. AS
Jonathan was In love as well as in
debt and just as prone as | TO substi-
tute pipes for meals when the larder
was low, we learned TO love each other
during those four years with an affec-
tion that was firm and conhding.
Jonathan used to advise me to fall in
love. too. II tell you, old man." he
would say when opening letter OF
familiar blue when you're not feeling
well, and the world CRATES on you like
a camers-hair shirt. there is nothing
so good as an old-fashioned love let
ter"
The writer of the old-fashioned mis-
sives lvedout West, in Harrod's native
town, and although l never met her,
came to know her almost as well as
Harrod did he spoke of her so often.
And then | used to watch his face
when he read her letters. They must
have been tender and sympat thetic. but
withal dash OF ambition and inspira-
ton i'm them. No tale of village gossip
could have brought that light into
Jonathan's eyes. nor that flash Of color
to his cheek. At their conclusion he
would dream awhile. perhaps. then
A. n 4. l. 4
He showed me her picture one night.
She was dark-with high forehead
and shadOwy eyes. The mouth and
chin were both well formed. but rather
masculine. 1t was beautiful face
though not pretty.
Although Harrod had loved the girl
all his life-and she him, if there be
aught in the signs of the zodiac-vthey
had misunderstanding of some sort
or other during the summer that fol-
lowed his graduation. When he re-
turned East the following autumn he
was quieter than ever before and. if
possible more gentle and sympa-
thetic. He and l had rooms together.
where. in lieu of other inexpensive
evenings working and reading. l saw
from the first that something aile1
him; and, as he no longer received the
blue envelopes nor counseled me 10
lose my heart, | guessed the reason
and asked no questions. He did not
become pathetic-Jonathan didn't.
His old habit of work was stronger
than ever. And now his stories began
to appear o cas- .Onally In the magazines
and the dear public to recognize his
name and 10 read what went with it.
Two years passed away before jon
athan made even the slightest refer
ence to this love affair of his, and that
was when he came into my room one
cheerless, gray November afternoon,
the picture of abject melancholy. In
his hand was a crumpled piece of pa
per. This he placed in silence before
me on the table. then he went and
seated himself before the fireplace
where l could not see his face. The
paper was clipping from some inland
journal describing in tlorid terms the
wedding of Miss Winifred Conover to
one Amos Schenck. Only half the ar
ticle had been clipped, evidently and
this had been pasted on a half sheet
of note paper. | read the tawdry ef-
fusion through. then twisted it to
pieces and dropped it into the waste
basket.
Jonathan, my boy" l said, going
over and seating myself on the arm Of
his chair, who sent you this thing
IL do not know" and there was "A
world of sadness in his voice, ''the en-
velope was addressed in strange hand
and not a word accompanied it,"
We were both silent for a moment
The logs were burning cheerily, out
side the wind was blowing a gale.
Jonathan sat with his face in his
hands. "When | came here to you just
now," he said. Il was chilled and lone
ly-the day is So somber-and l had
been trampling all over the country,
and-well, | came to say good-by. |
wanted to leave this life and wait for
Winifred in the next, for'-his voice
went straight to my heart-"ah, Billy,
1 love her sor' | regarded him with
compassion. You lie down here on
the lounge by The fire and go to sleep"
commanded him, land stop this con-
founded brooding." pushed forward
the couch as | spoke, and he dropped
on it like an obedient child. He gave
me one grateful look, and then, under
the influence of the genial warmth,
and the fatigue OF many vigils, fell
fast asleep.
There are days in the lives of us all,
fancy, when a vague and subtle sense
of mystery invests the commonest OBJ
jects; when our minds cognize new
qualities in common things; when the
look In the eyes of child, the CLINT
of sunlight in "A woman's hair, the
sound Of a distant church bell, stir
feelings deep within us we have never
known before That afternoon there
was white carnation in the vase on
my writing table, and as sat there
pondering Jonathan's sorrows its per-
fume stole into my brain like sweet
and potent anodyne. 1t conjured up