Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-08-07
THE EVENING STORY.
The Last Rose.
foopyrisht, 1918, By ". werner.)

Geraldine had had tea in the company
OF Mira Wreath. her housekeeper, COM
panion and dearest friend They had
lived together seventeen years and had
arrived at the point where they felt
themselves talked out"
Geraldine felt this tonight as never be-
fore. Her whole soul cried out In pro-
test against what was and longing for
what was not And she knew that II
had been crying a long while.
She laid down the book she started to
read after q while, found her knit shawl
and. throwing it about her shoulders,
went out OF doors. There was a faint
her. She stood up on the steps and look
ed about with dull eyes.
What met her sight was as vague and
cold as herself. The great yard sloped
away from the worn, old house down to
the road in neglect and confusion. Every
thing that had ever been growing there
grew there still at its own sweet will.
She went down the steps and through the
yard As she went all sorts of curious
things caught detainingly at her dress
ana the floating fringes Of her shawl. 1t
was as II the old yard put forth a hun
dred hands to hold and keep her. But
she went on. not noticing. Geraldine
made her way to bench and sat down
upon 1t. She looked at the sky. which
made a pink background for the old gray
house. And she looked at the house it.
self Above her the monster branches
OF great tree swayed. She looked up
at them, then back again along the
wilderness OF plants and shrubbery. And
she shivered, though not from cold. Bar
renal barren" she thought.
CLEAN of color caught her glance.
She leaned forward. looking harder. ST
believe" she thought, there's a rose on
that old bush. And I thought they had
all vanished days ago."
The bush was not ten feet away yet
she made her way to 1t with difficulty.
SO intricate was the tangle that inter
vened Under the bush lay a yellowed
sitting OF fallen petals, but on the bush
just opened that morning, but sweeter
than all the other roses had been. 1t
was the last.
Geraldine bent over it. IT will take it
Tor myself. 1t is the last rose I shall
have until next summer" she murmured.
with tender. careful fingers she broke
the stem, scarcely Earring a petal. She
lifted 1T to her face, walked back to the
bench under the tree and sat down. The
evening was growing very still. Nobody
passed up the white road that curled
downward. In the old gray house Mrs
Wreath was quietly intent upon affairs Of
her own. 1.-THE last rose of summer"
thought Geraldine. dreamily. II, too, am
q last rose"
Her thoughts began to trail backward
along the ways OF her own secluded life
The old gray house that seemed so vast
now that she and Mrs. Wreath were
alone in 1t had once been almost too
small to house the gay crowd that filled
it. There had been six OF them-girls
and boys. besides the father and mother
and an aunt or two. Then there were
always young friends coming and going
Lights In every room, music, dancing,
chattering-how well she remembered it
all! She had been as gay as the rest.
She could dance as we'll, sing, hold her
own with anybody when 1t came to rep
artee. One by one they had married
and gone away-so far away! But Ger
aldine had scarcely realized what the de-
partures meant, so absorbed was she in
like happiness of her own. She had
never dreamed that she would not marry
as her sisters had done and have the
same chance to win woman's normal des-
tiny. Heth had not said he loved her,
but she overlooked that fact in loving
him so much. Then came an evening
when they sat on this same bench under
the Norway pine together The roses
were out She had placed one in his but
her hair. He seemed absent-minded and
more silent than usual. At last he got
up to go and held out his hand. Good
by" he said. Giving her hand. she look
ed up at him, startled. "Good-by?' she
repeated, blankly. He looked away from
her. Yes, good-by for a long, long time
1 am going to Russia with my father to-
morrow
She had, Of course. known. that his