The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1902-08-20
n le)oodIand Path.
BY FRANK WALLER ALLEN.

Soon after leaving Pennsylvania ]
married and settled down out there
in Nebraska, on the farm where have
been working for nearly forty years
/ have not been doing much else, in
fact, but drudgfng my life away AT
first occasionally got down Horace
or TheorcrituS, and read a little, but
that was long ago. Years after, when
the boys came home from college for
their vacation, used to tell them what
a student I had been once, and ]
brought in my old books. but-well,
the boys said that / would have to
get pony"
Last winter we decided, my wife and
], to come back to Kentucky, where one
of my brothers lived on the old home
place, and rest all spring, while my
boys put in the crop at home. To
spend spring in Kentucky!
We have been here three days now,
The day we came was one of those
bright, Sunshiny days in early spring
when the warmth of the conquerins
sun is beginning to triumph over the
frost Of winter; when there is just a
faint, lingering hint of the icy season
In the air; When everything seems to
be living and moving; when you feel
like sitting out in the sun and soaking
your soul and body full of the busy life
and sunshine about you. 1t seems as
If the sun had carelessly spilled little
sunshine into your soul. You even
have a warm feeling for the turkeys
and chickens, industriously scratching
and summing in the first dust of the
year. You laugh as you watch the
barefooted, hght-hearted boy who
goes running and whistling down to
the muddy creek and sticks his bare
hand into the cold water to see If 1t
is not about time for "fshin' and
"swimmin'
This was the sort of day, as was
saying, when l came in at noon; and
while the folks were busy getting din
ner | wandered, in haZy, idle dream
of long ago, out into the orchard.
lay down In the grass and in the sun
shine, under the old Early Harvest
apple tree, where we used to swing in
the dear old boughs amid the pink and
white blossoms, and to watch the
white and blue tinted clouds, like ships
at sea, sailing across the blue heavens,
and to wonder when they would come
sailing home to us. I had a notion to
climb that dear old limb, but it was
older than 1T used to be, and looked
rather rotten; SO lay there and peep
ed up through the fragrant, snowy
blossoms to the sky above. Somehow
a sort OF tender, dreamy feeling for
the hills and wood and meadow land
came rushing over me; and somehow,
l thought was lazily wandering along
with the boys and girls again, coming
home from school along the old time
woodland path.
I was back there, this bright spring
day, lettering along with the rest
Madge is the only name / can recall
now; wandering with the path through
sweet-scented, red and white topped
clover; struggling by a field of green
r1yery, ripping wheat; then running
down across the hillside where the
dandelions, peeping out OF. the. grass
here and there, hardy little messengers
of spring, fringed the path with rich
yellow splendor.-.
Next we are in the orchard, where
the apple blossoms, blown off by the
gentle April breezes, are drifting lazily
into the long, green grass. The
drowsy, droning humble and honey
bees stumble and stagger by on lazy
wings, as if loaded down with the
honey stolen from the Astounding bios
SONS. A robin sings in the gnarled
apple tree hard by, while a lazy south
wiGd brings the sweet smell Of an April
showsr5 hardly an hour old. We linger
here a moment, while jump and grasp
Some low hanging bough that brings
a shower of white petals and fresh
rain to the earth. Then climb to the
topmost branch to get that sprig of
pink apple blossoms, like the color in
her cheeks, for Madge.
From the orchard the path winds
pRdsz lQM hanging beech ana elwe