The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1902-08-20

where the cardinal sits upon the top
most branch, pouring forth his heart
in song of joy. You can tell that he
feels that the skies are blue and the
grass is growing. Here we stop and
gather the first spring flowers, shak-
ing from them the drops of fresh,
sweet rain.
A step farther on and we are walk
ing through stretch of rich open
woods, Where the pale, sweet coWslips,
Madge's favorite flowers, bloom in the
late spring. The delicate white ones,
noddfng gracefully on their tall stems,
always remind me of her. 1t is hard
ly time for them yet, but they are COM
Ing, for the clusters of smooth, dark
green leaves have already begun to
shoot forth from their long bare stems
Next the path winds along the
brookSide where the cattle splash and
drink, and chew their cuds the live
amore where 'Madge" and tom" are
cut, one above the other, deep in
the white bark, and a heart just below
with IT. W. and IN. W." in it. Then,
zigzaggfng through catails and water
lilies, where the lazy bullfrog croaks
at twilight, we pass over old stumps
and rotten logs and old and new black
berry briars, into damp, deep, darker
places; dim, cool moss-covered dells
and fiower-streWn glades, where the
shy chfpmunk peeps from the moss
grown log and the bushy tailed equirreI
springs from the old rock fence to the
young walnut hard by. Here the sweet
blue violets grow around the rocks
and roots or the trees, and the crow
foots ard crocuses shoot out of the
damp tarth-the first pledges of blithe-
some May. Here gathered butter
cups and yiolets for Madge, the violets
to match the blue of her eyes, the but
tercups her golden hair.
Now we lazily climb, resting a mo-
ment on the topmost rider, an old,
Hchen bearded worm fence, with
broken rail- and jump with our bare
brown feet into the cool, wet mud of
the cornfeld. We rake as we go
along, the mud from our toes upon the
long, wet grass that fringes the path.
we stand amid the green corn and
listen to the crow as he croaks from
the dead limb of a solitary oak, and
the bob white" as ne whirls away
from his perch on the old rail fence.
piping his name as he goes.
On goes the path until we let down
the barnyard bars and go UP the lane.
lined with maple and locust, among
the lowing cows that have come up
TO be MIXED and are standing close to
the gate, looking longingly toward the
hungry, risky calves on the other side.
Then we go through the old gate.
with its one hinge at the top, and under
the fragrant lilac bush in front, around
the house and into the kitchen, where
mother is getting supper, and fixing
the table on the porch for the first time
this year Here at the old farm house,
IN the evening twilight amid the low
ing of the cattle and the neighing Of
the horses, with the farm hands Just in
from the field-amid the clash of the
harness and the thump Of the corn
as 1T is thrown into the feed box and
the rattle of the sweep as 1t goes down
into the we'll to fill the moss covered
watering trough, with the mint grow
Ing where the water steals over the
side, and with the smell Of fried ham
from the kitchen-here ends this old
time woodland path, so dear in the
days of long ago.
And what became of Madge? Why
like the apple blossoms the violets
the buttercups and the cowslips she
was q spring flower. When summer
came with it's heat and dust-well,
they have flowers that bloom forever
in heaven.
But this is not romance. Madge
l believe, married young country lad
and went West. They farm now with
their three boys and two girls. Madge
hasn't changed much-and just then
i heard sweet old voice behind me:
tom, my dear, dinners ready"
Why. Madge, how you frightened
me- said "a slowly arose and put