Okolona messenger. (Okolona, Miss.) 1900-current, 1904-05-18


The morning wind auttered his Win
dow blinds. and straight to his bed
side. borne on the joyoasly dancing
curtains that streamed out like q
brides veil. came Polly's voice, lifting,
sweet; And II ever you missed the
sunshine" she sang. you'd ind It in
Polly's hair"
Some little time later Pearson ran
down the stairs and entered the dining
room with aschoolboy swagger. He was
not old: no man was old when Polly
sang for him like that
That night. when Pearson pulled
smoke-rings on the side porch and
looked across the barbed wire at Polly
and her followers, who were very,
very gay, he felt like an aged Peri lis
tening at heavens side entrance.
Pearson had closed the door to his
heart and rolled a big stone against It,
telling himself he was done with wom-
ankind forever. as far back as Polly's
pinafore days.
Polly came to the barbed wire some
times, but she made no attempt to leap
over 1t. Always she was very, very
gay, and after her going Pearson COUNT
ed up his birthdays. ran his fingers
through the hair turning gray on his
temples, and called himself an old, old
fool.
The twilight hour that Polly leaned
over the wire to pm a rose that had
burned in the coils of her golden hair
on Parsons coat she sang something
tender and foolish about'the rose being
her heart
your heart" Pearson ehided; "It's
asleep. little child"
Its his heart that sleeps" said
Polly. The little white guest cham
Der that is mine has its door ajas. but
he won't come in, ever"
Afterwards he crept up to his room
to drop his arms on his desk and his
head on his arms and sat there while
night gathered deep and deeper into
the DON
Pearson stumbled down the stairs,
that echoed to his footsteps, the empty,
lonely stairway over which no wom-
ans soft draperies ever trailed, and
out on the porch, there to find Polly on
the top step.
He sank down beside her. What
becomes Of men who hang around the
side entrance Of Heaven, straining
their ears to catch the music when
they know 1t is never possible for them
to slip in; what becomes of middle
aged Peris, Polly?"
Il don't know" said Polly; "but I
know what should become Of them
scornfully. Why doesn't your Peri go
around to the front? Perhaps she
hasn't any spirit, either, his heroine;
perhaps she sits on the doorstep and
waits, perhaps"
"Polly!"
"He's-he's a wooden Indian" said
Polly. "He lets the girl sit there on
his steps and pretend that she's look
ing at the stars. He doesn't care. He
thinks she's a doll-baby stuffed with
sawdust, that she cares for all the
empty, gay, frivolous things that she
hates; be thinks she likes to be for
ever surrounded by a lot OF pink
checked, light-headed boys that bore
her stiff. And all the time she knows
Pm sure I don't know how, for he
acts so queer-that he loves her, and
that a little question OF arithmetic
troubles him. It doesn't really trouble
her. The arithmetic Of the heart isn't
counted by years. He's lonely and sad,
and she can put into his life all that 1t
has missed, but not unasked. and
sometimes she's wild thinking things
over" Polly's voice trailed on into
silence, and she struggled with a sob.
The sob acted as an accolade on
Pearson. It raised him into q knight
errant, bewildered, it's true, but ready
and eager to go to the very ends Of the
world, if need be, after this derelict
who had stolen his little ehum's hap
piness from her.
He put out his hand and 1t fell on
Polly's bent head. Polly" he said;
"Polly"-helplessly-"if he we're here
beside you"
"He is" sobbed Polly.