The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1907-12-15

slant. She sighed. almost impercepti-
bly,.
Il am very sorry for what 1 said
that night" 1 began. You can't think
how 1t has troubled me ever since. /
have suffered a great deal-er-and I'm
deucedly miserable, Miss Thorne."
Il forgive you" she said sweetly.
why did you not ask me before?''
Because, said l. being an idiot l
didn't dare"
ut made me very unhappy" she said.
Il should not have spoken So"
"Oh, you were quite right" 1 cried;
''it was my fault entirely"
mo, indeed"
1T was, really"
And to think / should have spoken
so after the trout you gave me and the
Serenade-''
IF the music had been as good as
the trout"
ut vast was charming: and you
said some things that first afternoon
under my window
L meant themI-I mean them now a
| thousand fold!''
The crimson stained her cheeks. She
| half turned toward the river.
II think" she said, that I am late
| for luncheon"
Very humbly produced my flask of
Bordeaux, my cold chicken, bread, and
dollhouse pears. She looked at them,
her head on one side.
1T is not very much" ! ventured-
for two"
Il think it will do" she said reflect
lively; there are some crosses by the
brook. / am fond of crosses. Have
you pepper and salt?"
I rummaged in my pockets, produced
the harmonica. a package of tobacco. a
spare reel, knife, a steel hunting
watch, a cigarette case, a box of dry
flies, a match case, a box of leaders,
and finally a neat little parcel of pep
per and salt.
She watched me with perfect gravity.
IF you please she said, "you may
go and play on your harmonica under
that oak tree while / arrange the ia
BILE. Will you?"
Cant help you?" murmured, gid
dy with happiness.
mo. Go and play sir Daniel O'Don-
nell. "
1 watched her. footing f1tfully the
while, and presently she called to me
that luncheon was ready, and asked me
to lend her my handkerchief to dry her
hands.
We drank in turn from the flask,
graveiy begging pardon for the goutte
sans facon.
But the luncheon There never was
such a luncheon served in the palaces of
Stamboul, l ate ambrosia-some name
it chicken-and l drank nectar-fooiish
people would have called it Bordeaux.
and sat opposite TO and looked in the
blue eyes of the sweetest maid in the
world.
And so we sat and chatted on, I
knowing little of what was said save
| that it was her voice, always her voice
in my ears and every word was mel
ody. The swift droop of the long lashes
on the pure curved cheeks, the gentle
caress in every movement, the light
glinting on tawny hair, on stray curl
ing strands blown across her eyes
these l remember.
The shadows came and laid their long
shapes on the sands of the shore, the
trees darkened where the massed fol-
iage swept in one unbroken sheet above
the moss; the red west blazed.
Once a fish splashed among the
weeds: a woodduck steered fearlessly
past, peering and turning sousing its
gorgeous neck in the shallow stream.
At last she sprang up, touching her
hair with light swift fingers, and shak-
ing her skirts full breadth.
II must go"
so soon?"
Yes. Shall say goodbye now for
tomorrow"
Say it."
Goodbye, then"
"Is that all?"
Good bye
Nothing more?"
"Oh. what-what else?" she muir
INJURED; '1 can say no more"
I
"You mean not-ah, do you mean it?'
Yes. l love you"
Then we will go back-together," she
said, innocently, and came close UP to
me, laying her white hands in mine.
"Ah," said I, as we entered the road
by the dormitOry, 'the trout is noble
one. but, May, it was murder that was
done on Clovermead water"
"And theft" she said, with a faint
smile, where is my heart, If you
please?"
And we looked long, smiling into each
others eyes.
It all happened years ago. I have
never touched bait to hook since, but i
confess that I do still, at times. play
''Sir Daniel O'DonnelP' on the harmon
lea. May permits it, especially when
the children beg me; and, as they are
teasing me now, 1 shall probably play
n tonight