The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1910-04-27

our window was a song. The gnal
old boughs were lines, blue sky fl
all the spaces, and the apple blosso
themselves, were notes which the
winds skillful fingers touched into
gentle melodies. Then, suddenly, there
was a CLINT of blue in the sun.
The bluebird,' l cried. l leaned far
out of the window. There, in the midst
OF the blossoms, was a pretty brown
nest. 1t swayed lightly like a little
candle.
Il must tell someone l whispered.
But there was only Granny, old, deaf,
should know first. And Paul was away
all day at work in the big mill in the
valley. How could l wait?
AS best l could, put my secret into
a little song and sang it over and over
as | worked. When it was almost time
for Paul to come home, ran down the
trail to meet him. AS soon as he saw
me coming, he ran, too.
What is it, Margery, dear?" he
called
"Oh Paul." / cried, as ran into his
arms. Il thought you never would
come"
1t was always so good to have Paul
come home. But tonight
I've been waiting cried, lever
and ever SO long for a day just like
this one-all apple blooms even to the
clouds-to tell YOU
But it looks solemn, Margery, DEAR"
laughed Paul. your eyes are SO big
and dark and mysterious"
1T is solemn" l said, land glad,
too.'' l put both hands on Paul's
shoulders. l raised myself on tiptoe
just as high as | possible could. Paul
kissed me again Then l told him
Never until that moment had l
known what a boy Paul is, even yet.
He looked as if he wanted to shout and
toss his cap. But he only said:
Margery, dear?'
Its true, Paul"
"A little, little baby cried Paul
softly. He took off his cap and stood
bareheaded under the pines. "All our
very own. Ours-our very own, Mar
gerry, dear!"
The apple blossoms faded and fell.
But the apple tree was still song, for
pale pretty leaves unfolded and sang
in the wind. BY and by there were
little hard green spheres of apples,
which, every day, grew more and more
sun-streaked with color One morning
saw scarlet bough in the big mapl
same day, sewing in the window, | he,
OF the first apple on the grass.
Autumn" l whispered, and my f
land then winter"
There never was, never will be, ano
quite like that one. Paul and | fairly
forest. We drank great draughts of gol
and crimson and scarlet and rose col
last day came, all golden skies and e
with golden leaves falling everywhere
1t was so lovely, we knew it must be I'll
sure enough, next morning, when | 10
my window, there were only bare bou
like slender brown fingers toward era
Winter sets in early in our mounta
Christmas, snow lay thick and deep il
The evergreen trees were softly powde
seen hands had decked them for the Ct
little Child.
A Sunday morning came Scurries of
were followed by CLEANS of pale sun
snow flakes, more sunshine. About noe
messed the horses and started in haste
tor.
He could scarcely have reached tow
storm broke. Snow fell in big white hui
The wind rose. The road was utterl
fences disappeared Granny and and
where old landmarks showed strange f;
torted shapes shrouded in ghostly whit
knelt down close to our window.
apple tree tossed and writhed in tn
seemed to reach out desperate hands
chung 1t was filled and fringed with S
Poor little empty cradle,' l whispers
Over and over / told myself that Pau
come. But the storm ragged more and !
And darkness was coming. With ca
all, n1 Of 1;sr1,{ ;n1, ,1o n