The Minneapolis journal. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn.) 1888-1939, 1905-10-29
Magazine Section.

pastur', nobody knows how; belize
somebody was eatin' an apple and
throwed the core down,like. I IN 60
ing to plant little orchard here next
spring, but the colonel and me, we
reckoned this one 'ud be too old by
that time for moving, so thought ia
it. It's powerful thrifty chunk Of
saplin''."
'tYes. I speak for the first peck Of
apples off N it.. Don't forget. Good
morning. ~ A. - "
"Hofd on minute, Miss Susan, twell
I git my coat. IL walk down a piece
with you. I have got something to say
to you.'
Miss Susie turned little red and a
entirely unknown in her short expert
ence. Of life. When young men in the
country in that primitive period had
something to say, 1t was something very
serious and earnest. Allen Golyer was
a good-looking, stalwart young farmer,
well-to-do, honest, able to provide for
a. family. There was nothing presump-
tuous in his aspiring to the hand Of the
prettiest girl in CLANCY Creek. In
childhood he had trotted her to Ban
bury Cross and back hundred times,
with kisses and the music of bells. When
the little girl was old enough to 90 to
school, the big boy carried her books
and gave her the rosiest apple out Of
his dinner basket. He fought all her
battles and wrote all her compositions;
which latter, by the way, never gained
fifteen and he twenty he had his great
reward in taking. her twice a week dur
This was the bloom Of 1ife-nothing be-
fore or after could compare with it:
The backing of shoes and brushing Of
stiff, electric, bristling hair, all on end
with frost and hope, the struggling into
the plate-armor Of his starched shirt,
the tying Of the portentous and un-
comfortable cravat before the glass,
which was hhcpelessly dimmed every
moment by his eager ,breath-these
beautiful and unreal by the magic Of
youth and love. Then came the walk
thru the crisp, dry snow to the Widow
old lady while Susie "got on her e +
things, and the long, enchant1ng
tramp to the "deestrick schoolhouse. -
There is not a country-bred man OF
woman NOW living DuI WILL Ccll you
that life can offer nothing comparable
with the innocent zest Of that old style
of counting that was done at singing
school in the starlight and candleSght
Of the first half of our century. There
are few hearts 50 withered and old but
they beat quicker sometimes when they
hear, in old-fashioned churches, the
wailing, sobbing, or exulting strains of
EBradstreet' or HChina' or "Coro
nation,' and the mind floats down on
the current of these old melodies tc
that fresh young day of hopes and
illusions-of voices that were sweet, nc
matter how false they sang-of nights
that were rosy with dreams, no matter
what Fahrenheit said-of girls that
blushed without cause, and of lovers
who talked for hours about everything
but love.
i j. +
I know I shall excite the scorn Of al
the ingenious youth Of my time whe1
[ say that there was nothing that ou1
superior civilization would call love
making in those long walks thru the
winter nights. The heart Of Allen Col
yer swelled under his satin waistcoa1
with love and joy and devotion as hi
walked over the crunching roads will
his pretty enslaver. But he talked Of
apples and pigs and the heather ant
the teachers wig, and sometimes ven
tured an allusion to other people y
firtations in a jocose and distant way
but as to the state of his own hear
his lips were sealed. It would NOV,
q blase smile on the downy lips OF