The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1914-11-21


border, was gone. In his stead was
a gentle, white-haired dreamer, who
forgot the present and remembered
only the happy past. Some curtain
had fallen over portion of his brain
which mercifully shut from view
certain night in June when Love had
first blinded and then betrayed him.
Betty, too, had gone from Millsmere.
And in her fathers memory she had
no distinctly-reali2ed abiding-place.
She existed as a little girl, whom the
other Betty, his dying wife, had said
he must keep Every close" to him
always.
They we're always Every close" the
dead Betty and the little baby-girl,
often moving about with him among
the flowers, or standing by his chair
when he rested, tired, on summer
evenings and smelt the. scented ger
aniums which the dead Betty and he
had planted in their garden to re-
mind them Of their own love-story
He forgot that story had not been
without its shadow; forgot his Betty
had broken her mothers heart when
she ran away with the handsome
young craftsman who owned the tim
I'ber yard which ran at the bottom of
the fine lady's own garden. But he
remembered the happy parts of the
story; remembered the day when he
had first spoken to her-about the
sticks she was wanting for her climb
ing geraniums.
"Mr. Lloyd" she had said, in her
low sweet voice, SO different from the
thigh-pitched voices Of the villagers,
| do your men cut sticks for climbing
lplants? am wanting some for my
geraniums and mamma thought.
might get them there"
/ Often as he lay in his long chair,
half-dozing, half-dreaming, the pic
Iture formed on his curtained brain Of
the little biscuit characterized lady,
with the soft brown Spahish-looking
eyes, tripping daintily across the tim
Eber yard to where he worked in his
Ejoiner's shop. A pink-sprigged mus
Fin gown she was wearing. He could
Railways see the pattern when he
thought Of that day.
But the Betty grown SO like her
mother, who had kissed him fondly
and with tears, knowing she was de-
sorting him, of her he had no memory.
She lived on the other side of the
tcurtain.
I In the Beech House kitchen, with its
Eopen door letting in the scent of many
tJune flowers, old Susan was busy
Ecooking. Old Susan had managed the
household in the double capacity of
nurse and ,housekeeper ever since the
day of her old mistress's death, and
since that almost sadder day of her
young mistress's disappearance.
/ ''1'll take the master his supper out
in the rose-garden tonight" thought
Susan, moving with affectionate solici.
tude among plentiful supplies of but
| ter and eggs and cream; 'he likes
it best there, fine evenings"
t AS shaE turned from the dish she
WAS preparing she uttered a. startled
exclamation. For, framed by rsthe
Il greerery overhanging the open door
was a pitcuro which carried the old
woman back. over twenty years OF
memory.
i Miss Betty! Eth, it will surely be
Miss Betty? Well aye, and so il
surely is! And a sweet little maid
too. VIII she be yours, Miss Betty:
| Will the little darling be yours?"
I "Oh, Susan! How good to find you
| here stilf!a Yes, that's my little Eliza
| beth. I've brought her to see
| Susan, where is he, Is he well, is
father quite we'll, Susan?"
Il The old woman closed the dool
| with quite unnecessary caution, draw
ing forward the comfortable, rooiny
arm chair. Fl
Nov, Miss Betty, dearie, shan
Susan make you a cup of kitchen tes
like she used to? And there's some
J | cakes on the griddle just ready
| Just a nice hot cup Of tea before yot
;. 60 and asee dear father?"
Why? Susan, there's something
J | you're keeping from me. VIII.
muSIAt L 30 dL OHG0' "uSt0 40 la
tther? Is he ill?" s4
"0h, no, Miss Betty dear, not il
! the master isn't. I'LL he was, but tina
was long ago. And glad he'll be Il
II see you. But, If, Miss Betty, dear
If he shouldn't seem, at first, to know
you
mot know me, Susan? VIII!
shouldn't he know me?-There ii
something you're keeping back
i I'm not too late, am I? Tell me
Susan, at once"
i Old Susan took the hands of thu
child she had mothered and he1t
them tightly in her own wrinklet
| hands.
Il ''Eh, I'm glad you've come, dearie
!. I've longed for you to come.
Perhaps he'll know you, perhaps he1
, understand. Dear fathers forgotten
Miss Betty-forgotten you ever hur
him, but twas like his heart wal
, broken when he found you'd gone
And when your letter came WI
couldn't show him, and Your brother
Mr.. David, he wouldn't let no word b,
sent. And yon never came, though
nRhy's the time I've prayed yol
would. Dear father had bad. bat
illness, Miss Retty, a fever of tn,
brain the doctor said-afld now he'i
otIite well again. only he's forgotten