The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1908-05-16

with the white dress Il now with me,
you know. We made good 1time to the
house where the dance wAs held. II
was beautiful ride, too, through two
lines Of ambitious katy-dids and other
night insects. remember we talked
about the habit OF some birds an In
sects singing only at night The girl
In the white dress set me to thinking
by remarking that night time seemed to
be sweetly sorrowful, and SO was the
best time for song. recall that I
thought about it at the time and re-
membered that it was true that there
was more singing In the evening than
any other part Of the day.
well, 1t was only minute or two
until we were In the farm house, dane
Ing, laughing, enjoying ourselves. Some
how I don't remember Of having heard
laughter that meant as much as that
heard at a country dance.
"And the music-you know there
wasn't much to that music; just two
f1ddles ana a bass fiddle saving away.
but somehow there. was lightning In It.
We danced, the little girl in white and
I. Her cheeks and Hips were glowing
and her eyes seemed to have stolen the
glow from the lamps. Once curl on
her head touched my cheek. why,
can't begin to tell you how real 1t
all was.
'Then came the ride over the starlit
road, with tae wild crab apple blossoms
scattering incense before US, with the
night birds singing In harmony with
the song in my heart. The moon drop
ped lower and lower toward the fringe
of trees on the ridge. and was just
wishing that might ride on like that
forever, for it seemed that the little
girl in white must have felt herself
tiny and, frightened In the big, still
night, for she unconsciously ~aestled
close to me.
II did not want to release her hand
when l left her at the door to the big
white house; did not want to take my
eyes away from her, and, as drove to-
ward home, somehow the night was
black and lonesome and there were no
pictures In the shadows Of beauty in
the yellow light of the moon. When l
unhitched my horse and turned him out
to pasture stood for long time, with
the bride in my hand and leaning
against corn crib. When at last l
slowly walked to the house knew that
something had come into my life-I
loved the little girl in the white dress.
had known for long time that
cared for her greatly, but never be-
fore knew how much.
II guess must have been passing
the first station beyond my stopping
place." he laughed, interrupting a
story he realized was being told in
voice growing more and more fervent
and passionate.
with suddenness that seemed per
fectly reasonable to me, l found my
self the day after the dance talking to
the old gentleman who owned the white
house; of hearing him advise me not to
hope to win the hand of the little girl
of hearing how, since oil had made the
old man rich, his girl would not be-
married to any man in the farm land.
Hers was to be a grand social success.
After, that the dear old familiar places
no longer held beauty. The country
was as lreary to me as II it had been
swept by war or something else.
"And then-and then woke up" he |
said, laughing, jerkily, awkwardly.
She rose, went to the window, look.
ing into the street.
"And the rest?" She did not turn
and she spoke softly.
He arose and stood just behind her.
II need not tell you. who was the
little girl in white" he continued,
speaking quickly and impulsively. "She
has been before me ever since left
my home and came to New York. She
was before me even after heard she
was engaged to marry Sam Willetts.
cursed the fate that brought about
discovery of oil on my own land after
it was too late. Wealth was nothing
to me without the girl in the white
dress"
"But-but you never told the girl in
the white dressY
mo-" he said bitterly. II didn't. Tha,
was great mistake, but was sim
fellow In those days
Thought the decision of her father end
ed my hopes"
sAnd Sam Willettsa He didno mar.
ry-?'
NO.: So ne interrupted hastily. II don't
know why, but have often thought
that she would discover that her ma
lure would not barmOnize with his as
soon as she saw him continually.
"Shall we-shall we go back there
In more substantial manner than In
reverie you and 1?' he pleaded, visit.
fully and tenderly.
She did not answer, but slowly, ten.
DERBY, she extended her hands
Poor father" she said. she told me I