The Olneyville times. (Olneyville [Providence, R.I.]) 1887-1917, 1909-01-22
By FIR EOE RIG
3. tSkAM.


At the foot of the crumbling wall
OF the old town of Rottenberg, set
upon the crest of hill. bfoomed
many flowers of many hues. Afar
down stretched the greensward. melt
ing into the misty horizon; above
them arose the historic stone defense,
with its watch towers, mute remind
ers OF the stern old days when the
doughty burghers were called upon
TO defend their homes and firesides
against the armored invaders.
On the other side of the wall bios
somed the tiny park, which, with its
gossiping old ladies, laughing chill
dren and signing swains, was in some
measure an epitome of the town it.
self.
To the rose, the violet and the
honeysuckle, the prattle of the ma
irons, the merriment OF the children
vivid suggestions of what manner of
people were assembled within the
circumference of the antiquated for
tification.
Domestic tragedies were laid bare,
scandals, old and new. rehearsed, un-
til a fairly comprehensive inklins
might be gained of the foibles and
follies, the loves and hatreds OF the
little populace, forced, at is were, to
live together through the exigencies
Cf birth and circumstance. From the
world that lay near at hand to the
world out beyond-out over the smil-
ing valley-seemed a space spanned
by infinity.
"How beautiful It must be beyond
the radiant clouds," sighed the violet.
$50 much lies there that we may
never know" murmured the rose.
"All that we may learn Of the
world Is the paltry bibble-babble in
the little park" complained the
honeysuckle. "Only poor eavesdrop-
pers are we of the clack and cackle
OF garrulous DANES"
Voices A-Yearning For Flight.
"Oh, for a mad fight into the shin
Ing valley" said a glowing poppy.
The violet did not answer, but bent
its graceful head and dreamed.
So the summer days sped by. The
.ain washed the grass and the balmy
winds famed the green slope. The
blue Of the heavens seemed to become
bluer; the mythical distance more
magical, more to be desired. One day
a rainbow spanned the valley and its
hues appeared to inclose a vision Of
some far distant land, unlike any
land near by; golden Atlantic. es-
pecially populated with creatures of
its own.
Shall we never reach the valley?" "
whispered the rose.
Even as it spoke, dangerously un-
folding its leaves, on the other side Of
the wall rose the voices of the ma
irons; voices they so well knew. At
first they listened querulously. ex-
pecting the daily loquacity about
some neighbor's COW that had had a
calf, or some new and surprising
symptoms in the disease with which
the wife of the guardian OF the
Klingenthrum had been stricken.
But to-day the conversation took
new turn. A festival of flowers.
What was this? The annual fete
day! The children would throw the
buds and blossoms into the stream
that ran so gayly down the slope
into the smiling valley and on, on,
into the great unknown!
Eagerly the flowers listened, and
when the good danes at length de-
parted looked with anticipation at
one another. Had they heard Alright?
BY all they had learned. tomorrow
was a day Of days, 10 be observed
with quaint and ancient ceremonials.
One feature, not missed from time
immemorisl was the casting OF the
buds and blossoms by the children
into the current OF the water. Al
ready the little ones were out gath
ering the flowers, and they could hear
the voices on the hillside.
"Ah," said the poppy, what IL
The violet held its breath. what
If"
But the footsteps passed them by:
In the shadow OF the wall they lay,
unobseryed, all save the poppy, whose
glowing color caught the eye OF tiny
tot. A brown hand was thrust forth !:
q moment OF dellrious Joy and pain.
and the poppy was broken from the