The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1902-08-21
kTHE WOMAN
WHO DREAMED
BY L. E. HAYS.

TIE stood under the boughs of an
apple tree in the old orchard
and there never was, perhaps never
could be, another orchard just like
it. with its green hills and valleys
and old apple trees with their moss
grown limbs. To-day they upheld a
profusion of pink and white bloom
against the blue and gray of the sky;
and she stood there while the bees
hum1ned over the clover at her feet.
She was barely II, and beautiful.
The sunlight discovered gold in the
brown of her hair, and there were
golden lights in the depths of her
dark eyes, and she was fair-too fair,
some said who wished to find fault
with her because she was fair.
She lifted one slender hand toward
the apple boughs, and the sleeve fell
back from an arm white and finely
formed. Then she murmured softly:
Mature, love thee, love thee, and
shall devote my life to studying thy
beauty, and nothing shall come be-
tween this love and me"
The VOW was scarcely spoken when
youth of about 10, accompanied by
large setter dog, came over the
hills to where she stood.
Ruth" he exclaimed on seeing
her, and she said, ''Henry!" then
there was silence for moment, and
she said: 81 did not know you were
at home. When did you Gomez"
Yesterday. Grandfather has been
quite sick, but he is better to-day.
Aunt Martha sent for me-
Il did not, know your grandfather
was sick"
mo, it seems you don't care to
know anything about us any more.
Aunt Martha says you rarely come
to the house now. 1t seems pretty
hard when fellows old playmate
gives him and his relatives such a
. stand-off."
"Well, Henry, we are no longer
children, and mother does not ap-
prove of our playing together any
longer"-this with a little smile;
then, seriously: "She never did,
much, you know"
No, but you are making her an
excuse for throwing me off, and you
know, Ruth, that you are the only
one in the world / ever shall care
for"
SITS silly for you to talk that way;
You have never seen the world. What
do you know of it?"
Il know it contains nothing half
SO lovely as Ruth Dartmore."
Without commenting on this as
sertion she continued: Mother says
our stations in life are different.
You are heir to all things desirable,
while I must work for all hope to
possess"
He had pushed his cap back, and
his fair hair lay in wavy mass on
his forehead; most disconsolate
look had crept into his blue eyes,
while his handsome mouth quivered
with mingled expression of scorn
and amusement.
Heir to Gehenna!" he exclaimed.
Heir to tulnbled-down old house"
waving his hand toward the old,
red brick building beyond the or
chard. Heir to an invalid grand
father and maiden aunt; heir to an
orchard whose every tree is mort
gagged! Yes, our stations in life are
different. Your father owns his lit
tie home and earns his living. have
no father, no mother, sister, or
brother; but have hope of making
my way in the world, and sustaining
the honor of my name."
Ruth felt yearning tenderness to-
ward him when he spoke of having
no mother or sister; but she always
enjoyed making him angry. She
loved to see the attitude he assumed.
the fine scorn that flashed from his
eyes, the varying expression of his
flexible mouth. So she stood still
and watched him, and when he lifted
his cap and walked away she still
stood there and said nothing.
After he had gone she gathered some
apple blossoms and walked home-a
little whitewashed box house at the
other end of the orchard-and the old
orchard with all it's bloom and beauty
u springtime, with all its golden har-
vest in summer, and autumn repre-
sented a great grief fixed between the
Whitewashed box and the tumble-down
red brick mansion, because a day Ia.
norer lived in one, and judge in the
other.
Ruth said nothing to her mother
about meeting Henry in the orchard.
one arranged the apple blossoms, took
out her color box and was very silent
ana busy all the morning; but that day
- dinner Ruth's father remarked to
ner mother: II saw Henry Carridine
n town to-day; the Judge sick" Next
morning when Ruth put on her bonnet
ana started out, Mrs. Dartmore said:
think would find something be-
s'oes apple blossoms to paint to-day"
There was an old man who lived il.
suburb OF the town in q little house.
wath his dogs and cat and an old houses
4eeper. He was q painter, and he had
strange theory that painting should
/ % labor ~ lora - -..-- y ],