The commercial. (Union City, Tenn.) 190?-193?, 1902-04-18
would have been once-now freight
ed only with reflected light.

ed only with reflected light.
Well, she had struggled. She hac
fought good fight against this awak
ening trait in her character. 1t hac
conquered. She was done with it now
She would be herself. If this was {
part Of that self it must have it,
growth and recognition "To devel
op to its highest point the best Of ev
erything within us-to give eacl
wholesome trait its full scope that in
dividuality might be strengthened ant
preserved" that was another of Rob
ert's theories. All! but was this 6
wholesome trait? Well, she had done
with it. She was tired of thinking
Of it. She rose from the little red
velvet chair and crossed the room
Seating herself at the piano, she let
her fingers slip into waltz ofRaven's
that had always possessed an unusual
sweetness and plaintiveness for her.
| Oh-but that was beautiful-that lit
tie bit! Railways brought to her mind
a reach of moonlight beach-tiny
waves shimmering in the silver light
and from over the water, some
where, that little strain.
Only ftfully Pickering blaze was
left of the fire that had lighted the
room. 1t covered down among the
blackening coals-then started up
again to bring into relief the furnish
ings of the quaint, old-fashioned par
Tor. Its light played at hide and seek
in first this corner-then that. Once
it played upon the corner containing
the table, and all its fashionable small
belongings and delftware and silver,
then spied out an ancient pierglass
that held in its old heart images of
many bellies and beauties, a long time
dead. 1t joined the little scamp Of a
blaze in its play and reflected the
slender, yellow-haired figure at the
piano, but at that the fire light
abashed, sank, sputtered and died and
the room was dark save for the feeble
glimmering Of the Goals, and the cleo
trio light from thestreet, that forcing
it's way through the filmy lace of the
window curtains, fell above the great
piano. 1t was an oil painting, a scene
in the Al ps-the work Of a renowned
artist-and as the girls uplifted eyes
rested upon it, she likened the white
from the big globe outside to moon
light playing upon the snow-clad
heights, and green valley below. Her
gaze wandered and falling, rested
upon vase of yiolets set upon the
pianos lid. Their purple heads had
dropped in the warmth Of the room,
but the air was redolent with their
fragrance.
Violets! She thought she smelled
violets. Strange she had not no
ticed them before. She loved violets.
She had come to welcome back each
winter more gladly for the sake Of
the tiny flowers than for any other
reason, she told herself. Her friends
knew her penchant for them. 1t was
well-known fact that the ''beauti-
full Miss Raymonde" would use no
other flower. That American Beau
ties never tempted her into appearing
with her arms full Of their gorgeous
se-colored sweetness = that great
shaggy chrysanthemums had never
lured her into forgetting her best
love.
She had loved them since that day
Horton Bruce had told her of a tender
little verse he had run across, some
little trife about girl and violets.
1t had made him think of her when
brought in contact with the flower
in any way. cts suited to you, sweet
heart-you're violet girl'-he had
said, and then had crossed the room
and taken her face between his hands
those warm hands-so big-yes, so
uncouth, but ah-so tenderl
She remembered one rainy Sunday
afternoon Outside the skies were
leaden and the wind blew gustily. He
had sent great bunch Of violets. She
had never seen such royal ones and
the little card tucked away between
the green, glossy leaves said: "For
my little Ray Of Sunshine" ellis
ray Of sunshinef' Yes, she had been
that she knew. It would be sweet to
always remember that little phrase.
If it had been for only year, Her
fingers still rested on the white keys,
but the little waltz theme was for
gotten.
How old-how bent and careworn