Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1900-06-14

1
Ter to. If you viii enlighteu me, l an
quite prepared TO speak OF them, She
said, reading as she spoke.
"Oh, you never used TO ask Waldo
like that" said Gregory In a more sore
ly aggrieved tone than ever. You used
just TO begin"
"Well, let me see" she said. closing
her book and folding her hands on It,
There at the foot OF the 'kopJe' goes q
Kaflir He has nothing on but q
blanket He is splendid fellow-siX
feet high, with q magnificent pair OF
legs. In his leather bag he is going to
fetch his ratIons and l suppose to kick
his wife with his beautiful legs when
he gets home. He has n right TO. lie
bought her for two oxen. There Is a
lean dog going after him, TO which. |
suppose. he never gives more than Il
bone from which he has sucked the
marrow. But his dog loves him, as his
wife does. There Is something Of the
master about him In spite of his black
ness and wool. See how he brandishes
his stick and holds up his head
"Oh, but aren't you making rIn#
said Gregory, looking doubuully from
her to the Kaffir herd, who rounded the
"kopJe"
NO; | am very serious. He is the
most interesting and intelligent thing
can see just now, except, perhaps,
Doss. He is profoundly suggestive
VIII his race melt away IN the heat OF
ha mo
of the future to see his bones only in
museums, a vestige of one link that
spanned between the dog and the white
man? He wakes thoughts that run far
out into the future and back into the
past"
Gregory was not quite sure how to
take these remarks. Being about n
Kaffir, they appeared TO be of the ma
ture Of a Joke; but, being seriously
spoken, they appeared earnest, so be
half laughed and half not, to be on the
safe side.
"Pve often thought SO myself. Its
funny we should both think the same.
| knew we should If once We talked.
But there are other things-love, now,
L
alike about that | wrote an essay on
love once. The master said 1t was the
best ever wrote, and can remember
the first sentence still-'Love is some
thing that you feel in your heart
THAT was trenchant remark. Can't
you remember any morer
NO" said Gregory regretfully. I've
10 Int fall mo d a
do you think about love|
A look, half of abstraction, half
amusement, played on her lips.
II don't know much about love-" she
said, "and | do not like to talk OF
things | do not understand, but | have
heard two opinions. Some say the dew
il carried the seed from hell and plant
ed 1t ON the earth to plague men
and make them sin, and some say
that when all the plants in the gar
den of Eden were pulled up by the
roots one bush that the angels had
planted was left growing, and it spread
its seed over the whole earth, and its
name is love. | do not know which Is
right, perhaps both. There are differ
name. There is a love that begins In
the head and goes down to the heart
and grows slowly, but 1t lasts till death
and asks less than 1t gives. There is an
other love that blots out wisdom, that
is sweet with the sweetness of life and
bitter with the bitterness Of death,
lasting for an hour, but 1t is worth
having lived whole life for that hour.
l cannot tell. Perhaps the old monks
were right when they tried to root love
out; perhaps the poets are right when
they try to water 1t. 1t Is blood red
flower, with the color of sin, but there
is always the scent Of god about it"
Gregory would have made q remark
but she said, without noticing:
There are as many kinds of loves as
there are flowers-everlasting that new
er wither, speedwells that wait for the
wind to fan them out of life, blood red
mountain lilies that pour their yolup-
tuous sweetness out for one day and lie
in the dust at night. There is no flow
er has the charm of all-the speed
wells purity, the everlasting's strength,
the mountain lly's warmth. But who
knows whether there is no love that
holds all-friendship, passion, worship?
"Such love-" she said In her sweet
est voice, will fall on the surface of
strong, cold, selfish life as the sunlight
falls on a torpid winter world; there,
where the trees are bare and the
ground frozen till it rings to the step
like iron, and the water is solid, and
the air is sharp as a two edged knife
that cuts the unwary. But, when Its
sun shines on it, through its whole
dead crust throbbing yearning wakes.
The trees feel him, and every knot and
bud swells, aching to open to him. The
brown seeds that have slept deep under
the ground feel him, and he gives them
strength till they break through the
frozen earth and lift two tiny, trem-
bling green hands In love to him. And
he touches the water till down 70 Its
depths 1t feels him and melts, and Ii
flows, and the things-strange, sweet
things-that were locked up In It, it
sings as 1t runs, for love of him. Each!
plant tries to bear ut least one fragrantj
little flower for him, and the world;
that was dead lives, and the heart that
was dead and self centered throbs with
IN upward, outward yearnlng, and 1t
has become that which 1t seemed i'm
possible ever to become. There, does
that satisfy your" she asked, looking
down at Gregory. ais that how you
like me to talkr'
"Oh, yesw said Gregory. That is
what l have already thought We have
the same thoughts about everything.
How strange!'
Very" said Lyndall, working with
her little toe at a stone In the ground
before her.
Gregory felt he must sustain the con-
versation. The only thing he could
think of was to recite q piece Of poet
ry. He knew he had learned many
about love, but the only things that
would come into his mind were the
Battle of Hohenlinden" and Not a
drum was heard" neither of which
seemed to bear directly ON the subject
on hand.
But unexpected relief came to him
from Doss, who, too deeply lost in con-
Of his crevice, was surpris-
ed by the sudden descent Of the stone
Lyndalrs foot had loosened, which,
rolling against his little front paw,
carried away a piece Of white skin.
Doss stood on three legs, holding up
the paw with an expression of ex-
treme self commiseration. He then
proceeded to hop slowly upward In
scnrch of sv1nnnthN