The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1904-09-15
ed daily by the physician, and hourly

by a :yray-haired little woman who
| always wore in the folds of her dark
gown G. single white rose.
Three weeks from the night that his
| neighbor made her first call he lad
improved so rapidly that Miss Phoebe
ceased from her visits. though each
day she sent Dinah with little delica-
cies and cordial inquiries. Finally.
| one golden autumn evening, Mr.. Lor-
ing took his first walk down the road;
an occasion long remembered by the
neighbors. who remarked with delight
the old kindly smile and his wonted
pleasant though short bow Of greet
ing.
Miss Phoebe had no thought of his
return until she looked up and saw him
pausing before the gate. AS his eyes
met hers she flushed ever so slightly,
stammered some little phrase of pleas
ure for his recovery and then turned
toward the house.
"Phoebe," said Mr.. LOrton.
"Well, John?"
He put out his hand in which she
allowed her own to rest for moment.
phoebe, it's twenty-five years since
since we used to stand and talk here
together at sunset; butts the little
postoffice still open in The old gate
post:"
1T is open now: but. oh. John:' e1-
claimed Miss Phoebe. burying her fac>
in her hands, II did not get your last
letter until the day before I found you
ill.,
phoebe. Phoebe!' cried Mr.. Lorton,
gently drawing her hands away from
her face. The tears stood in her eyes,
and John thought them a gentle show
er that frcshened the springtime beau
ty of her life.
"Have you got the letter now? Let
me see it?'
. He drew open the gate and went in
side, while Miss Phoebe took the lit
tie scrap CT paper from her bosom and
gave it to him.
The letter was undated and read:
"My Dear Phoebe-You tell me you
are going away in the morning to be
gone a whole month, length of time
that to me will seem a whole year. I
feel that cannot let you go away with
out some token. have tried to ex-
press, not only in words, but in thou
sand other ways. my consuming love
for you. Now, o Phoebe, blest angel
of my dreams! send me simple token
before you 60. Will you be my wife?
May I hope? If. may, then send me
a pure white rose; if must no longer
hope, then send me the blood-red rose,
that may see in it my own poor bleed
ing heart. Your ever devoted
JOHN"
Mr.. Lorton's hand which held the let
ter dropped to his knee.
"And, Phoebe, you sent me a red
rose that evening"
ooh, John, how could I know? 1t
was by chance that I sent it as tok-
en-. of remembrance. Then for some
reason we went away that night in
stead Of the next day, so that I never
thought to look in the letter box. When
I came back a month later the blue
birds had settled there, and it was
only by accident that I ever received
your letter, twenty-five years after it
was writtenp'
Then, in few broken phrases, she
told of how the long concealed bit Of
paper had been discovered, and Of how,
on the afternoon she found him i'll, she
had covered the withered petals Of the
red rose on his table with a fresh
white one.
But before she could finish Mr.. Lor-
ton: was close at her side, his hand out
stretched.
phoebe" he said hoarsely. Gift it
was for mere common charity you
brought me that rose, then give me
give me now the answer I've missed
all these years."
Without word Miss Phoebe reached
out trembling hand to nearby rose
bush. Plucking the flower slowly,
carefully, she held it out-still without
word. Quite as silently the man
closed his fingers about that symbolic
blossom and about the hand that gave
it. And straightway in the face OF
both there dawned the look Of those
for whom the world had suddenly
turned back through twenty-five years,
and for whom the bluebirds sang with
all the ecstasy of long past springs
Nou York News