Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1911-05-11

were to fall and crush the life out Of
the body. everybody would be glad
r ~ wen to remember the puppies and
parrots and kittens that have oeen
owned and the sad fate meted out 70
them sooner or later. In about half an
! hour it is high time to begin to write
the poem.
Miss Dora began. Once she was
ready she struck boldly out with:
ooh. the world, 1t is drear, and the
world, 1t Is sad. !.
IT'S world Of nothing but SORROW
And there she stuck. That's most al
way the way with sad poem. II ~ be
gins on the jump, 1t comes to sudden
stop somewhere and the poor poe'
grits his teeth in vain.
After half an hour spent In trying to
! finish verse number one OF q ten verse
poem, the paper and pencil were laid
aside and Miss Dora strolled about. She
was feeling better. There we're winter
green berries growing In the dell. She
gathered and ate some.
Then she went down to the creek
to watch the little fish, and finally
went back to the house feeling a great
deal better. Not until evening did she
remember the two lines OF poetry left
on a fiat stone in the dell. She would
recover them next day. Perhaps she
would build on-perhaps not.
Something took place up In that
dell within an hour after Miss Dora
left it and she was in ignorance Of 1t
until the next afternoon. She strolled
that way again, humming to herself.
instead Of signing, and when she
picked up her two lines Of poetry
behold! In neat but masculine hand
some one had added the two lines:
"And 1t fills me with grief, and makes
me so mad
That I'll HE me for home on the
morrow"
Was 1t masculine hand? Had she
finished the verse without realizing
1t? Had she written that she was
mad when she was only sad? Here
was a mystery. The girl looked all
around, but Sherlock Holmes was not
/ there. She sat down and thought
and stood up and cogitated, but 1T
was a quarter of an hour before the
bright thought came. Then she sat
down and wrote two more lines:
"'Tis a struggle to live-'tis easy to
die
A sigh and a gasp, and it's over
Then she laid the paper down and
weighted it with pebble, and laid
the pencil across. II a ghost had
come after her the day before and
written those additional lines, she
wanted to make sure of it. If it was
a man, then he had trespassed on
- I'm mr.
dent thing, and she would lay trap
thought of him.
Just the minute she had bolted her
MONDAY lunch the next day, Miss
Dora set off for the dell. She was
two hours ahead of time. She ap-
preached the spot on tiptoe. No
one there! She sat down behind q
bush to wait and watch. Half an
hour passed, and then-Ha! ha! A
young man appears on the scene. He
is trim of figure and rather good
looking, but he smiles like villain.
He advances to the stone and picks
up the paper and reads and chuckles.
Then he sits down and adds two
lines to complete verse number two.
and blow yourself up some forty
rods high,
And land in the thistles and clover"
He replaces the paper on the stone,
smiles and chuckles, and Is about to
take his departure when he feels the
presence of grizzly bear or tiger
or good-looking girl-near him, and
turns.
For a moment he and Miss Dora
look into each others eyes. Then
she steps forward and picks up the
sheet and reads what he has writ
ten, and turns on him with:
"Sir, how dare you do such q
thing!"
T-I-beg your-your pardon"
But you are trespasser here!"
I'll didn't know it,
"And you are impudent, sir-very
impudent!''
Il didn't mean to be, you know,
Truly, Miss
Don't say you didn't know. You
knew you were adding those lines,
didn't you? Impudent? Why, It's
far worse. don't see how you can
excuse yourself"
The only excuse have is that I'm
also a poet
II came out here to write a poem
on grief" said Miss Dora, as she
stepped back pace, "and you come
along and make fun Of IT.
But l don't think did so very
badly he defended, as he reached
for the sheet in her hand. Let me
read the verses aloud and see If the
rhymes and the sentiment are not
maintained"
In a well-toned voice he started out
and finished the first verse, but be-
fore he could begin on the second,
the girl stopped him with the ingen-
uous query:
do you really and truly think that
is poetry?"
mo, l really and truly DON'T he
laughed.
II was sad when wrote my part"
And was in hurry to get away
when wrote mine. think you are
Hiss Harden. am Mr.. Archer
Wayne. The family lives on the hill
mile waya, but have been travel
ing, and just got home. AS for
poetry"
"Yes?"
Il think we are both poets, but we