The Kendrick gazette. [volume] (Kendrick, Idaho) 1892-1968, 1908-06-19
mot at ALL" she said. "Please 30

house where the dance was held. 1t
was a beautiful ride, too, through two
lines of ambitious katy-dids and other
night insects l 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. l recall that l
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, u was only minute or two
until we were in the farm house, dane
ing, laughing, enjoying ourselves. Some
how l don't remember Of having heard
| laughter that meant as much as that
heard at country dance.
"And the music-you know there
| wasn't much to that music; just two
fiddles and bass fiddle saving away,
but somehow there was lightning in It,
We danced, the little girl in white and
L. Her cheeks and lips were glowing
and her eyes seemed to have stolen the
glow from the lamps. Once a curl on
her head touched my cheek I-why,
can't begin to tell you how real it
all was.
"Hhen came the ride over the starlit
road, with the 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 l was just
wishing that l might ride on like that
forever, for it seemed that the little
cir, in white must have felt herself
tiny and frightened in the big, still
night for she unconsciously nestled
close to me.
II did rot 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 l drove to-
ward home, somehow the night was
black and lonesome and there were nc
pictures in the shadows Of beauty in
the yellow light of the moon. When
unhitched my horse and turned him Out
to pasture stood for long time, witt
the bride in my hand and leaning
against a corn crib When at last
slowly walked to the house knew tina
something had come into my life
loved the little girl in the white dress
l had known for a long time that
cared for her greatly, but l never be
fore knew how much.
81 guess 1 must have been passin
the first station beyond my stoppin
place." he laughed, interrupting
story he realized was being told in
voice growing more and more ferven
and passionate.
with a suddenness that seemed PEI
fectly reasonable to me, l found m!
self the day after the dance talking
the old gentleman who owned the whit
house; of hearing him advise me not
hope to win the hand of the little cir
Of hearing how, since oil had made tt
old man rich, his girl would not
married to any man in the farm lam
Hers was to be a grand social success
After that the dear old familiar place
- no longer held beauty. The countl
DE- was as dreary to me as If 1t had bee
- swept by war or something else.
"And then-and then l woke up"
~ said, laughing, jerkily, awkwardly.
She rose, went to the window, loo
ut ing into the street
"And the rest?" She did not tut
o. and she spoke softly.
He arose and stood just behind he
II need not tell you who was t
little girl in white" he continue
N. speaking quickly and impulsively. IS
zy has been before me ever since l Il
sc. my home and came to New York. S
was engaged to marry Sam Willetts.
~, cursed the fate that brought about
ur discovery of oil on my own land aft
it was too late. Wealth was nothi
to me without the girl in the VIII
ne dress"
w "But--but you never told the girl
'in the white dress?'
W. NO" he said bitterly. II didn't. TT
was a great mistake, but l was 81
'ei ple-hearted fellow in those days
thought the decision Of her father ell
ed my hopes"
~ "And Sam Willetts? He did not m
ry-"
"a NO. ne interrupted hastily. 81 do
-. know why, but l have often thous
nv that she would discover that her
'A ture would not barmOnize with his
soon as she saw him continually.
~ "Shall we-shall we go back tn
in a more substantial manner than
~ reverie.-you and I?' he pleaded, w
fully and tenderly.
"o She did not answer, but slowly, t
derby, she extended her hands.
''' "Poor father" she said, "he told
before he died. He was sorry, VI
sorry, that sudden wealth had so ne
ly upset his better sense. He wanted
49,. well, just this" she said impulsiv'
her head resting lovingly on his she
der.-Philadelphia Bulletin.