The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1904-10-07

paced slowly back and forth in front
of his poor log cabin, and Rex, his
Russian dog, lay on the doorstep
watching him with dumb, faithful
love, his head resting on his crossed
paws.
A letter had come to the village post
office with a foreign postmark to his
address that day-a long-hoped-for
and passionately desired letter-and,
while fierce light of triumph burned
in his eyes and in the culver of nos
tril and tight compression of lips,
there lurked other and strange feel
ings in the strong lines of that hand
some face, sorrow and regret visible
to the watchful sympathy of eyes
which followed his restless steps.
"We'll go back again into the great
world, old fellow Well take our place
in the surging battle of life Gree more,
and this time We will hold our own"
said Smith, stopping to caress the
hounds head.
I'VE will forget-if we can-our life
in the melancholy forest, the sough of
the winds at night and that beautiful
wild flower which blooms by rushing
waters of yonder stream.
But who knows
Going away? Well, | always knew
you would leave us some time or other
l guess you have work to do some
where in foreign country now.
Charcoal burning is not what you
were born for" said John Henderson,
cheerily, while wringing his hand to
tell him good-by that afternoon.
We'll miss you this winter l guess
better send Gretchen back to her
folks for a change. She's not quite
herself lately.
mo; you will forget us when you've
gone back to your people. Wish you
good luck and no more work in the
forest. You've got lots of grit and
pluck, but it don't suit you.
Il told Gretchen what / thought
when | first saw you.
''She's down at the cottage
You must excuse me if 1 don't go
with you, There is a storm brewing
and l must watch the dam. The bayou
plays scurvy tricks sometimes"
Leaving John Henderson, who wrung
his hand, then strobe off to examine
the weir, Smith, whose letter received
that morning, bore a crest and the
signature of great and Influential
name, went slowly down the narrow
the rose vine of the porch.
His voice shook and faltered as hold
ing her hands in his he said the part
ing words
Silently she listened, anu closing her
eyes, those soft brown eyes he was to
see in memory in long after years.
Gretchen leaned against the door sill.
He turned and left her.
Plunging into the forest he strobe
along with Rex towards the railroad
station, II miles distant.
Nor ever again did Paul, Comte
de - see the dim my sterious soil
tudes of the forest which stretched
along the banks of the bayou, hear
the rush of water and the hum of the
wheel of John Henderson's sawmill,
feel the cool breath of the woods laden
with the scent of wild thyme and
honey-suckle, or see a face beautiful
and sweet, except in dreams.
Gretchen went back to the distant
home of her childhood,
Then John Henderson joined a regi-
ment and went to the front.
He fell mortally wounded in the
seven days fighting around Richmond.
The old mills days of usefulness
were over and only memories of those
departed days, John Henderson's
CHEEKY voice, Gretchen's beauty and
the strangers presence mingled with
the dust upon the rotting flooring and
melancholy hooting of an owl at night
as it sits over the open doorway,
watching the moon as it flickers on the
pIrling waters of the bayou.-N o.
Times-Democrat