Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1910-05-04

Middle Village. He has built fine
house on his lot. 1t Is called the
Naples"
Dorinda laid the letter aside and
went about her household tasks with
a strange pressure on her heart
The Maples-how bright and sun
shiny that sounded. She knew how
strong and vigorous the naples grew
in Gilbert's new dooryard-just like
Gilbert himself-protecting and shield
ing, letting the warmth Of the sun
shine filter through upon her starved
existence.
As the spring advanced Dorinda
grew restless under the close confne-
ment Of city life, and she thought
wistfuIly Of the budding countryside
where she had always lived.
When she could no longer Withstand
the call Dorinda begged holiday and
took a late afternoon train for Little
River. Dusk was falling when the
train drew into the familiar station,
and, pulling her veil closely about her
face that she need not b recognized
by old acquaintance, Dorinda hurried
down the long yellow road toward the
Cedar House. II some one was living
there she might stay among the trees
for a few minutes, inhale their ira
GRANGE and listen to the throbbing call
Of the whippoorwin back on the HILL
side. After that she could catch the
evening train to town.
II the house was vacant she would
steal inside and spend one night among
the old familiar rooms. now empty
and untenanted save by memories.
Dorinda uttered a stified sob AZ she
trees pointing black against the even
ing sky. She passed Gilbert Fane's
new house without noting the bright
Lights In the windows Home was be-
fore her, the only home she had ever
known.
Up the familiar path under the &C.
dars and then-nothing! Dorinda star
ed with unbelieving eyes at the empty
hole In the ground vaguely outlined In
the semidArkness. Where was the c.
dar Housed What had become Of her
homer
The barn In the rear was intact She
could see the black vertical line Of the
weather vane on the cupola, but the
house was gone, probably burned to
the ground. She might never buy back
the home now.
She threw herself down on the dry
needles under the cedars and cried Bit
terry. The trees seemed to bend pro
tecttngly over her, and she chung to q
gnafied trunk with passionate affec-
ton.
A strong hand lifted Dorinda to her
feet and drew her from under the
shadow Of the trees into an open space
flooded with the pale radiance Of q
rising moon.
|. Observation-Disclosures" Gilbert Fane's
voice was very tender as be looked
into her tear wet face; you must
have known l wanted you. have
been to the city to bring you home
and found you had gone an hour be-
fore. have just got back again and
came here first knew would md
you here"
The color flooded Dorinda's pale
face as recollection returned. and she
shrank away from Gilbert's embrace.
you must not! Let me 60 away.
pleased First tell me when the house
was burned l did not known
Gilbert held her closer in spite Of
protest 1.-THE house did not burn,
Dorinda, sweetheart Come with me.
and win show 1t to you"
Wondering. she went with him
across the yard and through the fence
into his own large domain. A house
crowned a little eminence, a larger
house than her old home. yet with
strangely familiar outlines. Soft turf
starred with dandelions was under
foot, and a little breeze stirred the
thick Ieaved naples. Every window
sent forth q welcoming light
There Is your home" said Gilbert
Fame
1T Is yours" faltered Dorinda.
where IL the Cedar HouseT
ut Is here. have bought the old
place and moved the house up here
and added a wing on either side. We
VIII need more room some day. All
your furniture Is in the house, dear.
and today went to the city determin-
ed to marry you and bring you home
tonight. This IL home for us both
to me. It II nothing without you, Do
rinda. WIN you stay? I win send
for the minister" He paused and
took Dorinda's answer from her trem-
uIous lips.
Az they moved toward the lighted
house Dorinda looked back toward
the dark cedarS that had always
marked her home Il am glad you
did not cut them down, Gilbert" she
said softly.
II shah never do that" the man re
piled gravely. when tree has stood
for Eixty years and sheltered . scors
Of human lives from cold and heat
who am l to lay it low from purs
wantonness or caprice7 I am ashamed
that I ever considered doing 20. Thu
cedar grove shall always stand there
Dorinda, to mark your old home. Thu
birds win haunt the branches a. they