The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1921-09-03
Eoening Story
After Many Years.
BY FREDERICK HART.

1t was noon--a hot. sticky noon,
with the sun shining down on the
lowering buildings and populous
streets of lower New York as tho. not
satisfied with the temperature, it was
Indignantly doing its best to add
another three or four degrees to the
length Of the already stretched
mercury. The throngs that flooded
the sidewalks and lodged in and out
among the stream of street cars, auto
mobiles, and trucks that cluttered
about the intersection of Wall and
Broad streets were thinly clad--the
men IN palm beach suits. for the most
part, the girls in. white filnly gar
ments; but even these efforts could
not brin gabout the desired GOODNESS.
The narrow, high-walled streets
caught and held the heat like ovens;
each window turned itself into a
miniature reflector and multiplied the
power of the sun. Only in one square
was there promise of relief-in the
little block where Trinity church
stands, its spire dwarfed by the mighty
buildings that. crowd 1t about, but
sturdily guarding its sacred plot of
Hamilton and Robert Fulton lie
buried. sacred among the booming
thunders of commerce.
Here were winding paths and green
grass for tired feet, weary of the
pound of the cement pavements; and
here was the cool, dim interior of the
church itself. where shadows drove
away the heat and sometimes the dim
notes of the organ took the business
sick mino away from the racket of
typewriters and tickers and gave 1t
soothing melodies to rest and refresh
Tor space before the afternoon, in
exorable, called again to the world u
commerce and trade.
Into one of the bypaths leading
along a row of taking brown stone
slabs which marked the last resting
place OF forgotten pioneers of the city
walked a girl. She was remarkable in
that while obviously dressed with an
eye to GOODNESS and comfort she still
gave the impression of being fully clad
An effect which many of her sisters
a broad in that sultry weather utterly
rallied to attain. Her step was slow,
her eyes on the ground, her face
shaded by plain straw hat: but the
race under the hat was. had any one
cared to notice, a pretty face-nay,
more. beautiful face. She was look
peared to be seeking something.
On bench nearby was sitting a
young man. Previous to the appear
ance of the girl he had apparently
been absorbed in an early afternoon
edition, tho an observer might have
AASeS0 That Ac BAduCCO Ollen dI the
Wrought-fron gate of the churchyard
and occasionally compared his watch
with the clock in the steeple Ap-
parently he was waiting for something,
or some one. When the girl appeared
he had folded the newspaper and
watched her intently.
She carried a tiny bunch of violets,
bought from one of the many flower
hawkers that infest the nearby cor
ners AS she scanned the headstones
she paused; then, apparently finding
what she sought, she stopped above
one of the smallest of the graves,
smoothed the grass on the mound with
| her hand and laid the violets against
| the slanting maidstone. When she
Strengthened up and turned away from
her task her eyes were wet. The young
| man, gathering his courage. arose, ap-
preached her and took off his hat.
ST beg your pardon for my forward
ness in speaking to you in This uncon-
ventional manner" he said. But I
| have seen you, once a week, all during
the summer place flowers on that little
| grave. And IL you will pardon my
curiosity, for which assure you I
| have good reason, should like to ask
you why you remember Janet Cald-
well. who died in 1893, in this way?
Believe mp; am not inspired by mere
The girl looked at him a moment
and then decided to speak.
Have you read the epitaph?" she
asked.
Eyes. but I don't remember all of
| it, except the name and the date"
''We1l, it is such little stone and
SO alone, and it leans over as tho
it were tired. And-come and read
it."
They went together to the grave
and, STOPPING, the young man de-
ciphered the worn inscription:
Janet, Daughter of Ephraim and
Janet Caldwell,
4St Is yrs. 8 mos.
177T-179S
Requiescat In Pace.
think of it," said the girl. "Only
sixteen; and her little grave seems so
! neglected here with all the others. I
was sorry for her; and IL thought
she might like the violets-and +"
The young man was not listening.
Instead he was digging in his waist1
coat pocket. After some search he
|