The Laurens advertiser. (Laurens, S.C.) 1885-1973, 1903-03-18
CHAPTER XIV.


I"1HERE was more left in that
il grave than old man Nelson's
@fSSSSTSJ dead body. 1t seemed to me
N1 that Graeme left part ut least
of his old self there with his dead
friend and comrade in the quiet coun-
try c~hurchyard. 1 waited long for tho
old careless, reckless spirit to appear,
blu he was never the same again. The
change was u~nmistakable, but hard to
define. He seemed to have resolved
his life into n definite purpose. he
was hardly so comfortable a fellow to
be with; he made me feel even more
lazy and useless than was my wont,
but / respected him more and liked
hin one the less. AS a lion he was
not q success. He would not o a
This was disappointing to me and to
his friends and mine, who had been
waiting his return with eager expecta-
tion of tales of thrilling and blood
thirsty adventure.
His first days We're spent In making
right, or as nearly right as ne could,
the break that drove him to the west.
His old firm-and l have had more re-
| spect for the humanity Of lawyers ever
since-behaved really well. They prov
ed the restoration of their confidence
in his integrity and ability by Offering
him n place In the firm, which, how
ever, he would not accept. Then, when
he felt clean. as lie said, he posted Off
home, taking me with him. During
the railway journey of four hours he
hardly spoke, but when we had left
the town behind and had fairly got
upon the country road tha(oad toward
the home ten miles away his speech
came to him in n great flow. His spir.
its ran over. He was like n boy re-
turning from his first college term. His
very face wore The boys open, inno-
cent, earnest look that used to attract
men to him in his first college year.
His delight in the fields and woods, in
the sweet country air and the sunlight,
was without bound. How often had
we driven this road together in the
old days!
Every turn was familiar. The swamp
where the tamaracks stood straight and
slim III of their beds of moss; the
brule, as we used to call 1T, where tho
pine stumps, huge and blackened, were
half hidden by the new growth of pop
lars and soft naples; the big hill,
where we used to get out II walk
when the roads were bad; the orchards,
where the harvest apples were best
and most accessible-all had their
memories.
1t was n of those perfect after
Moons that so often come in the early
Canadian summer before nature grows
weary with the heat. The white gravel
l rno6 Iuoc frfrnp,oI IN atfla. atfa 18th
turf of living green, close cropped by
the sheep that wandered in focks along
its whole length. Beyond the pictur-
esque snake fences stretched the fields
of springing grain, Of varying shades of
green, with here and there q dark
brown patch, marking n turnip field or
summer fallow, and far back were the
woods of maple and beech and elm,
with here and there the tufted top of n
mighty pine, the lonely representative
of n vanished race, standing clear
above the humber trees.
AS we drove through the big swamp,
where the yawning, haunted gully
plunges down to it's gloomy depths,
Graeme reminded me Of that night
when our horse saw something in that
same gully and refused to go past, and
I felt again, though 1t was broad day
light, something OF the grewsomeness
that shiyered down my back as I saw
In the moonlight the CLEAN Of a white
thing not far through the pine trunks.
AS we came nearer home the houses
became familiar. Every house had its
tale. We had eaten or slept in most
Of them; we had sampled apples and
cherries and plums from their or
chards, openly as guests or secretly as
marauders, under cover Of ~night-the
more delightful way, I fear. All, hap.
py days, with these innocent crimes
and f1eeting remorses, how bravely we
faced them, and how gayly we lived
them, and how yearningly we look
back at them nowi The sun was Just
dipping into the treetops Of the distant
woods behind as we came to the top
Of the last hill that overlooked the val
ley in which lay the village of River
dale. Wooded hills stood about 1t on
three sides, and where the hills faded
out there lay the millpond sleeping and
smiling in the sun. Through the viii
lage ran the white road, up past the
old frame church and on to the white
manse hiding among the trees. That
was Graeme's home and mine, too, for
I had never known another worthy Of
the name. We held up our team to
look down owe the valley, with it's
rampant of wooded hills, it's shining
pond and it's Nesting village. The
beauty, the peace, the warm, loving
homeliness. Of the scene, came about |
o~urwh6dSt%, but, being men, we could |
find no words.
Lets goP,. cried Graeme, and down
the hill we tore and rocked and sway
ed, to the amazemeRA1of the steady |
est~ ye Sse| asS IMPRESSED a5Ss fssll,
minds the e%rimsnslisg.o OF a~ttea1Rting to