Shiner gazette. [volume] (Shiner, Tex.) 1893-current, 1908-01-30

"
dull, unable to see the nice points
in his conversation and the original
view he takes Of things-yet he
doesn't seem to mind a bit. In
fact, | sometimes think he loves
me all the better for it.
And how are you getting along
dear girlY How | should like to
pop in on you and your dear hus-
band and just take stock of your
happiness. I know it must be com
plete, almost as complete as mine,
if that were possible-for, you
know, your husband left the key of
his Heart in this very album which
I am returning to you. Whether it
was accidental or designed, don t
know, but, in the pages of the al
bum, you had left the sonnet which
your husband had evidently wrote,
either on your wedding day or, at
least, while all its sweet associa-
tons were warm in his heart. The
man who wrote that sonnet is good
as gold, and means what he says,
because all true poetry emanates
from the deep places of the nature,
however much the superficial char
acteristics may give the lie to it.
Why, dear Isabel, l think / shall
show that last sentence to John He
would never believe I could write
such philosophical remark and
express it so well. Really, l think
he has a great deal to discover in
me yet, and 1 shall go straight
away and tell him so. Good by, dear
heart. Love to you and Mr..
Plummer.
Isabel only glanced through the
latter part of the letter. She was
too much in haste to turn the leaves
of the album and find the hidden
sonnet. Yes, here it was. How diff
ficult to find, for the page in which
it was inserted opened of itself.
Tt was entitled Welded" and,
as she read it, such surge of emo
ton came into her throat that, had
any one been present, he would
have seen her face contorted in the
freight, and a tear, which held
the red glow Of the fires heart in
its center, fall upon the page.
Long she sat in the deepening
gloom, the fire casting leaping shad
ows, behind her. The better
the sonnet written with his own
hand, lay together on her lap, and
her white hands, with no ornament
save her wedding ring, lay listless-
" upon the writer paper. She was
weeping not demonstratively, GER
tainly, but the tears were flowing
fast and unchecked, and she made
no movement to wipe them away.
The very next morning Isabel
commenced her picture, and she
worked steadily on it every day,
more of less, for two months. Since
she first got her inspiration in the
fireglow that January evening she
had had misgivings as to the orig
inality of the subject. THE greatest
masters had done it. What was she
that she should essay to do again
what they had already done Yet
as it grew she made it her own. 1t
was hers, hers, all hers 1t was to
be called "Bonds of Freedom. :" In
the fireglow, sitting backward upon
an easy chair, was a man not I'M
like Charles Plummer. His arms
were extended, and were wound
about a woman who knelt cozily
at his feet, while her arms were
extended also, and half EMBODIED
him in their embrace. The red
glow of the fire lit up his strongly
marked face, bringing out the prom
incnt features and throwing the
hollows into gloom Only the wo-
mans profile could be seen as she
raised her eyes to look up into the
face that overshadowed her, but
inthe expression there was that
high combination of dignity and
humility, of servitude and posses
sion, which makes one woman the
light of one mans life,
The picture was exhibited, of
course. Isabel had a notion that a
mans work had better chance Of
! getting through than a woman's,
but that was not the only reason
she chose the name George Mathers