Crittenden press. [volume] (Marion, Ky.) 1879-1907, 1901-11-14

sharp rcproof. He was in public gall
lery with a publisher who had just re-
| iected the best piece of work he had
ever done.
"Do you ever read Sianton's
poems? >" he asked, in tone That held
hint of twilight in its tenderness.
"All of Them" she returned, with
out lifting her eyes.
"Thcy are wistful things"
eyes" she interrupted, 'bu; it is
the usefulness of strength, not
What an absurd subject for q phvsi-
ologist and publisher TO be wasting
time over! That misty bit OF moon-
/ light must have gone to our heads"
1T is eNquisitcly true to nature
he returned, setting aside her change
/ of manner.
"Is it? Wen, my holiday is over.
! I"
Don't say good-by," he interrupts
ed, quietly. 81 am going honc with
YOU"
at will not be worth whilc. If it
had been possible to handle the bool,
with any promise of profit, the house
would have accepted it at once.
/ We"
81 don't want to discuss the book"
he interrupted, impatiently.
She looked at him, frankly puzzled.
"Wcn." She said, las you like and
then led the way toward the en-
trance.
Stanford followed with sturdy de-
|
den flower or bantam? lie was re-
solved to know. And if-if-? His
thought broke there and ne fell TO
studying the passcrs by with quiet
intentncss.
The head of the concern had not
| forgotten his presence, but that
serene moon above the darkCncd
trees came between her and all prac-
teal thoughts. She attempted to
reason upon the cause Of his pres
cncc. to remain alert. But in mo-
mcnt her thoughts slipped from her
control and ran back to those dim
pines masSCd against the eastern
sky. Could ii be possible that il was
only ten years ago? Vt IS she had
been a poet of limitless ideals; at
2S she was a hard working woman,
given to testing by the sordid stan
dard of dollars and cents.
Stanford took her arm 10 guide her
over crossing and she smiled invol-
UNFAIRLY.
"What is ito" he asked.
Nothing" she returned.
81 did not know YOU were the wom-
an to smile at nothing. and" he con-
tinucd. as they reached the door. II
don't believe you are" lie rang tho
bell and faced her or the steps.
"What were YOU smiling at?'
"Why. only AT the thought of my
being guided over a crossing"
stanford followed her into the Ii
brary before he spoke again.
I "Youmeau." he said. earnestly. "you
have been a bantam so long that YOU
have quite forgotten the garden flow
er's love of sunshine and Shelter?'
He placed his hand on the back Of
the chair and hesitated a moment be-
fore dragging it near hers.
"Do YOU think that You can per-
suadc me that you are bantam
quite to the heart-that all your
womanly tenderness has been lost
beneath determination to bring the
house through?'
"Why, yes"
"You think that you can quite con-
vince me of all that-and yoursclt?'
"Why. yes. | assure you feel
quite strong and woody" but she did
not meet his eyes. The memory of
that moonlight was troubling her,
that. ana other things.
"You quite believe that? Then You
will not mind reading this for me-
and he laid Stanton's Even Song on
her knee.
She took it up at once:
pear heart life is not long,
The shadows deepen and the waning
light
Drifts TO the music Of the even song
And then-GOod night.
Dear heart, though love may live
In loftler realms through Gods eternal
| years,
It's here we heed the Joys that it may give.
Its tenderness, its tears.
And yet such barriers rise
To keep the outstretchec, surdered hands
apart,
/ What Is fulhllment In the far, faint skies
When earth is dumb, dear heart"
Stanford's hands closed over hers.
Tell me- he whispered, lis the
garden flower quite dcad?"
The hands in his quiyered and he
stopped to kiss them passionately.
"'My queen rose of the rosebud
garden of girls"
Garden flower or bantam, stern
hearted or tender, love knocks alike
at the heart of all, and to each that
opens unto him he brings a flood of
light, soft-tinted and glad.
One of Twain's Digs.
They tell n good many stories of
| Norl, Twoiu'S doinUS while i'm Ion.