Tombstone epitaph., 1917-04-08

vid and Toinette. fingered on, they knew not why, under the mooD- drenched trees.
 toward him in the moonlight, tell me how you like Corydon-as much | as you know of us"
 He was so happy at seeing her that It was easy for him to fall into her own lightness of speech. "Ah. fell in love with America years ago-on the day reached Cory know if America likes me-" 'Why, of course she likes you-look what she has done for you already" Her glance rested on his healthy, vigorous form approvingly.
 "Yes; but her favors reproach me now; am afraid can never accom- plish what this country expects of her young men"
 She pretended to look at him thoughtfully. "No. I don't suppose you can ever climb very high" She laughed teasingly. "How do you like your workT"
 Selling toys to the Indians and laces to the ladies? Not very roman tic"
 q should think the ladies would be romantic. even If the Indians are not.
 "Oh, but they all want soldiers; I'm only a weaver by trade"
 ''That reminds me-you've never told me about your life in England. Please do 1t now-but wait, I'll tell you myself" She half closed her eyes and began refectively:
 Let me see-Tm looking into the past. You may not know 1t, but I'm real Irish soothsayer." She let the ghost of a delicious bit of brogue lin- ger on her tongue. 'Tm beginning to see your ancestral estates now. Gra- cious. a ducal palace takes shaper
 There's no doub: about your being ar Irish sOothSayer," David com mented sarcastically, '.the ducal castle was certainly there, but unfor- tunately 1t belonged to the duke of Newcastle. Our ducal castle was be- hind St Johns palace in Bottle lane; it had one room in 1t and no ficor."
 That's nothing to be ashamed Of half the cabins in the woods here are no larger, and their floors are earthen too"
 "Ah, but every settler here has as much land as the duke of Newcastle! Air to breathe. freedom !"
 "Ycu interrupted me-be quiet, or I won't finish. You idled about the estate all day long or you rode over the countryside with your hounds"
 His name was Timon, that one mongreI of mine; he had friends who lived on him-I beg your par don"
 "HorrorsI VIII you be quiet! And at night you lay on silken cushions in front of the great fireplace, reading some tale of the court"
 'I know 1t was wrong, but one Is naturally idle after twelve hours at the loom. I did read a good deal with Harry White"
 "Who was Harry White?"
 Harry White was my best friend. Henry Kirke Whlte-the son of MT. White, the butcher. He was just my own age. We worked together at a stocking loom when we were fourteen, making stockings, but the next year his father appreniced him to q firm of attorneys"
 And you kept on ss a weaverT
 q kept on as a weaver. But he lent me his books at night. He was as poor as I was, and he drove him self into his grave with study. He died when he was twenty-one, five years ago. But Mir. Southey, the poet laureate, collected all the poems | Harry had written" - A poet? A butchers son?"
 "He had won sizarship at Cam l got his first poems printed the year before. That was how he attracted | Mir. Southey's attention"
 And he's dead! Oh. I'm so sorryw
 He told ne once that a friend he | had made at Cambridge. a boy named | George Gordon, Lord Byron, said that | his poems would never die"
 "He was a poet tooY
 q think SO. He Is living yet. He's only twenty-three."
 Why. you're only twenty-six, your self! Don't talk like a grandfather !"
 T feel like one"
 "Why?'
 The sympathy in her voice was as sincere as that Tn her eyes. David had never known such a woman-had never known what it was to have the divine sympathy of womanhood. He began to tell her of his life, of his suf- fetings. of his hopes for the future, of his aspirations; and through it all the girl listened, a white rose in the moonlight, and poured the balm of