The Meeker herald. [volume] (Meeker, Colo.) 1885-current, 1909-07-10

ward.
.I've Just slipped down to smell
your lavender" said the minister's
wife. How l love it," She held her
girlish face towards the delicate lilac
bloom Il wonder II you won't sell me
Just one little root, Mrs. Field. I'd
IKE to try it in my garden"
Il amt going to part with one of
them roots, Mis- BQwden. But I'll give
you some cuttings, If you want me-"
"Oh, thank you. I'm just wild to
do something with that garden. We've
been here a month, and we haven't
seen flower in 1t yet. How long
has that hedge been growing. Mrs.
Field"
Some of It's twenty year-old,
MAYBE more. The last planted was
eleven year ngo."
Mrs. Bowden drew a long breath.
"How dear and oId-timey and stray
ely it is! Now II my cuttings grow
and You must show me how to manage
them. Mrs. Field,-I'll be the proudest
woman in the world. And when you
sit in church and smell the blossoms.
they'll be SO sweet you'll think 1t
your own lavender, and not mine at
all?"
II don't go to church," said Mrs.
Field.
| On one side OF the fence rose the
graves, very distinct in the clear yell
low OF the west, and beyond them the
church. distinct and dark. On the
other stood the narrow old house. q
side window one sheet of quiet ra-
dance. The hedge looked dim and
| cloud-like, and seemed to float away
into the softened space. Beyond the
hedge stretched acre after acre of
market-garden, whose already fur
rbwed levels were filing with phan-
tom mist. and out of this ghostliness
was blown primeval aroma that
could be subtly detected under that of
the lavender.
! Il don't go to church," repeated Mrs.
Field. Il got tired of hearing preach
ers talk about Mary Magdalenes and
the thief on the cross. You'd think
there was only two kinds of com
| mandments that ever got broke"
| Mrs. Bowden looked rather vague.
Il guess everybody gets tired Of
preaching sometime" she said. Then
she laughed. 1t seemed easy for her
to do 80.
Her neighbor gone. Mrs. Field stood
. moment gazing out into the church
yard. If she had put her hand over
the sunken palings, she could have
touched her husbands Tombstone. He
had been q hard man. A certain rig
idity Of conduct had brought him an
enviable reputation. which. after his
death. had ripened and mellowed into
that Of the saint. Some fleeing recol.
lections of their early youth. when
they had both lived away from the
| neighborhood. came into his wife's
mind. Then some later and keener
ones that reused and stung her. All
at once she spoke out sharply. you
helped to drive her to it, John
Field, and then, Just like a man. you
had to go and die, and leave me to
bear It," Her voice rang out, pelting
ner. sinner. sinner!"
She went back to her humble task
of tying the lavender stalls, but the
light grew DINNER, the yard began
to melt away into the gathering dark
ness. and presently she flung her
apron over the unfinished heap on the
little table and looked around and
about her. II wonder II she'll come"
she said. An added breathlessness
took possession of her. Her body ap.
| peared to strain forward In an atti.
tude of almost painful watchfulness.
Il wonder II she'll come tonight" she
repeated, as she went into the house.
Out in the lane each tree was a soft,
blurred black, behind which stretched
the distant and exquisite west The
road itself was a half-blotted track.
! There were the old. shrill noises in
the hidden grass.
Mrs. Field came out to her front
door. JEAN" she called softly.
1t seemed to her. so sharp was her
longing, that the girl must rise up be-
fore her out of the brooding dark.
All hopes, her desires, her schemes,
her ambitions. had resolved them.
selves into that one cry Of her forlorn
heart. She had given up church, mar
ket. friends. all the petty but absorb.
ing threats Of country life, and lived
eleven lonely years in . lonely house
that she might be at home whenever
Jean returned. Against that hour the
chamber had been kept ready. the
garden pruned and tended in the old
fashion. There should be nothing
new. nothing accusing and strange.
JEAN" and her voice struck into
the dusk with passion that was like
a flame. III you're dead. come back!"
A step came faltering along the lane
outside.
"Jean!"
There was no answer.
Old Mrs. Field went swiftly down
the gravel path.
The step began to draw nearer.