The Chilhowee echo. [volume] (Knoxville, Tenn.) 1899-19??, 1900-04-21
HlSORCHARD BOUGHS
BY IDA KENNIsTON.


been kept at home by wretched cold.
To-day he felt almost himself again, but
whistling, driving snowstorm, fierce biz
card, such as sometimes strikes New York
in the latter part of February, was raging,
and forbade him to venture out Tired with
the unwonted inaction of the past two days,
the editors thoughts turned to his work, and
he began to consider the makeup OF the
number now in preparation.
"Tm not quite satisfied with the May num-
ber," he murmured. cts little heavy for
May; there ought to be more of the light and
life and poisoning of May in it. Now, those
'Pastelles haven't any really good
spring story in them"
The "Pastelles," new department of the
magazine, were short sketches, with hardly
plot enough to be called stories; sometimes
light character study--a delicate word
painting of some aspect of nature.
He has given that same May number
much previous consideration, but as yet
has been unable to get the issue into the
shape which he wishes it. Fred Ashcroft has
the reputation of being careful editor, one
who studies the demands of the public, and
the Nowadays Magazine has the reputa-
ton of being the best on the market for that
very reason. 1t is always timely, and that
is what attracts the public 1t never prints
a Christmas story in July, but its contents
are always appropriate to the season. 1t is
for that very reason that Fred Ashcroft is
giving it his attention to-day. The number
that is just ready for the press lacks time
ly story that it should have, one that savors
of the spring flowers and kindred topics.
So as the driving snow beats against his win
dow the editor is thinking Of the flowers of
May, and wracking his brain to evolve
Maytime story.
Mr.. Ashcroft took an art calendar from the
wall by his side and turned the leaves until
he came to the May page. The picture was
an excellent copy of a water color painting.
It. represented an orchard of apple trees,
covered with their pink and white bloom. A
young girl stood under one of the trees,
leaning gracefully against the gnarled trunk,
her hands clasped loosely before her. The
whole was delicately tinted, and seemed al,
most to carry with it faint fragrance of the
blossom-laden May.
His thoughts went back to the village of
Raynor, where he had spent few months
years ago. Some college prank had brought
L1IQ 1DLO IFOuDlc Will Vic ldCulty, ahu LIZ
had been suspended for four months. His
father had sent him to the little Connect
cut village to spend the time with an old col
lege classmate.
One of the village girls, shy little Faith
Thorne, had from the first held captive his
boyish fancy. As he came to know her bet
ter her influence increased, and he said to
himself that he had found the pearl among
women. Brought up in Quaker household,
for Faith was an orphan and lived with her
grandparents, a certain quaintness, child
like simplicity and directness, made her seem
unlike the other merry, chattering country
lasses.
Little by little he and Faith came to be
more and more to each other; the wild rose
flush in her cheeks deepened when he was
by, sweet shyness made the blue eyes
droop before his.
She would not let him bind himself by any
promise they were both too young, she had
said. He must go away now, finish his col
lege course with honor, and then, when he
had taken the place waiting for him in his
fathers office, he might come again to Ray
nor, and he would find her waiting for him.
So, on this afternoon, with the February
storm raging without, Ford Ashcroft's
thoughts went back and fingered on the
springtime idyl of those long ago years.
Could it he II years-Faith would be 30
now, but somehow he could not think of her
as looking much older than the young girl
he had left in the orchard Surely she had
not lost that pure, chidlike face-a little
older, perhaps, little sadder, but still with
those innocent, wistful eyes, And we'll
he was 81; he had lived in the midst of the
rush and whirl of city life.
ct would make a good Pastelle,'" he
finally remarked, and turned to his desk, took
| up his pen and began to write. Slowly at
first, then, as the past seemed to come near
err, his pen moved more rapidly over the page.
He told of the college youth in the little vii
lage, of the shy maiden who won his boyish
heart; he described the old orchard with its
glory of apple blooms; he seemed almost to
inhale their delicate fragrance as he wrote.
The whole pretty idyl was told in simple
words, but with such exquisite art that
one who read might also see the pretty
picture of the girlsh Faith, with her pure,
trustful eyes, and the boyish lover who bent
to kiss her cheek beneath the orchard
boughs. Then the story of the young lover
who went away, who grew older and sterner,
who struggled and won-and forgot.
After awhile he took the pen and wrote
again.
A month later the editor was startled to
find among his personal mail at the office an
envelope bearing the postmark of Raynor.
"My Dear Ford: l have read the story,
Under Orchard Boughs,' in the Nova
Days, and though you have changed the
names of the people and of the place l knew
at once that it was our story. But, dear, you
should not have ended it as you did. When
Fred Reynolds falls asleep in the little rail
way station, where he is waiting for his
train, and the young girl comes in with her
armful of apple blossoms, whose fragrance,
stealing into his dreams, makes him fancy
himself once more in the old orchard; when
he wakes to find it buta dream, and knows
at last the one thing his life has lacked in the
midst of its seeming prosperity; when, seized
with sudden heartsick longing for sight
of the Faith he had known, he rushes to the
ticket Office and asks for ticket to the little
village; ah, Ford, why did you not let him
carry out his first impulse, why did you
make him hesitate and turn his back on the
hope he might have made his own?
II cannot say more than this-if you care
to come to Raynor you will find me waiting
in the old orchard, and you will find me still
FAITH THORNE."
Ford Ashcroft crushed the letter in his
hand with muttered imprecation. Cow
o,JI h. IL l. J. o.