The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1902-08-14
! NY POE

fail removal from my uncle's house
in the country to the marble front
ed hotel on Broadway that num-
bered me each winter among its in
mates when my cousin Adelaide
came dancing into the room and
commanded me to give up all
thoughts of a journey for three
months at least.
ssAnd why, pray p I asked. .sYou
know | haye.to go out west after |
reach New York Come what may,
/ must see an Indian summer on
the prairies. "
Bother the 4prairies and the In
dian summer, tool" cried Adelaide,
taking letter from her apron pock-
ct and waving it in the air. "Look
at the signature"
| did look, and [ might have been
looking to this day for all the in
formation I got; but Adelaide grew
impatient and, snatching the letter
from my hand, exclaimed, "Listen,
you goose!' and read the letter
aloud.
My Dear Friend-I am coming into the
country for a month or two. My doctor
positively forbids my staying in New
York during the fall. Remembering our
old schoolboy league, I have selected w.
as the place of my exile ard shall be
there on the goth, wind and weather per-
hitting.
"What do you think of that ?o
asked Adelaide, making large eyes
at me over the top of the letter.
81 have not heard anything yet
to make me postpone my journey.
''Wait a moment; I'll finish. I
am, as ever, yours faithfully
swell, GO on"
So James Quitman.
James Quitman! You are mad,
Addie. He can never be coming
here"
There is the letter. Father has
always known him, it seems. It is
the poet, and we are to have him
stay here all the time. Father is to
meet him at the station tonight
and not let him go to the hotel on
any account. Won't people stare
when we walk into church next Sun
day
y I closed the lid of my trunk in
the twinkling of an eye. The poet
1 had so often longed to see, the
nan over whose tender verses I had
made myself Niobe scores of times
was it possible that the same roof
was going to shelter US both?
d Dinner was thing unthought Of
in the house that day, and my uncle
lunched meekly at one Of the china
closets off cold meat and bread and
preserved strawberries, while Ad-
die and I actually ate rose leaves
and sugar and cream as suitable
pendant to the work in which we
were engaged. Nothing less ethe-
real would we partake while fitting
up that poets chamber. BY 4
o'clock that afternoon our labors
were ended. The house was like a
bed of roses.
Of course the train was late that
night. Trains always are late when
we are expecting any one by them,
and Addie and [ had time to work
ourselves into a feverish state that
gave US some very becoming red
cheeks. We heard the whistle of
the train, and five minutes after
ward carriage stopped before the
gate. The poet had come!
He climbed out Of the carriage
like crab, sidewise, and, coming up
the graveled walk toward the front
door, presented to our admiring
eyes the figure Of a stoutish, middle
aged man, with dark eyes and hair
and very pleasant smile. He did
not wear a Spanish cloak and a
sombrero. He was clad in linen
garments and matched with a rough
straw hat that had evidently seen
service. We heard him as he came
up the walk.
every pretty house, Tom; very
pretty house. Those girls your
daughters, hey? I see they've got
those horrid city fashions low
neck and short sleeves. If I had a
daughter, I'd sew her dress to her
ears"
Addie and / looked at each other
IN CONSERVATION and barely man
aged to give him a civil greeting as
he crossed the threshold. Was this
the man who had raved about his
Lydia?
That bosom, white and fond and fair,
/ would were the enamored air
To faint and fall in passing there.
Low necks, indeed! I sat beside
him at the tea table, as had been
previously arranged, and saw that
all things were within his reach.