News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1921-11-30

see clearly, spoke In Voice that wal
thickened with tears. Strangers, o
almost strangers, had been touching
Peters hand respectfully, timidly, hat
been praislng AlM. She had beef
good" to this one, good" to that one
they told him; she had always been 81
interested" and so happy"
Her coffin was buried In flowers
many of them the plain flowers SHE
loved, the gillies and stock and YER
Dena, and even the sweet, sober wall
flowers that were somehow like her,
self. But it was the roses that scented
the whole world for Alix today, and
fresh creamy buds had been placed
between the waxen fingers. And still
that radiant look of triumphant love
| fingered on her quiet face, and still
| the faint ghost of a smile touched the
once kindly and merry mouth.
They said good-by to her at the
church, the villagers and old friends
who had loved her. and Peter and
two or three men alone followed her
down along the winding road that led
to the old cemetery. Cherry was
hanging over the bedside of her hus-
band, who still miraculously fingered
through hours of pain, but as Peter
responsive to q touch on his arm
crossed the church porch to blindly
enter the waiting motor car, he saw,
erect and grave, on the front seat,
in his decent holiday black, and with
his felt hat held in his hands, Kow,
claiming his right to stand beside the
grave of the mistress he had loved
and served so faithfully. The sight of
him. in his clumsy black, instead of
the usual crisp white, and with a sad
and tear-stained face shook Peter
strangely, but he did not show a sign
of pain.
The twisted low branches of oak
trees threw shadows on the grave
when they finally reached it, and sheep
were cropping the watered grass of
the graveyard. The soft autumn sky,
the drift of snowy clouds across the
blue, the clear shadows on brown
familiar. But Peter still looked dazed-
ly at his black cuff and at the turned
earth next to the doctors headStOne,
telling himself again that this was for
Aix. How often he had seen her sit
ting there, with her bright face sobered
and sweet, as she talked lovingly,
eagerly of her father They had of
ten come here, Peter the more willing
ly because she was so sensible and
happy about it she would pack lunch,
button herself into one of the crisp
blue ginghams, chatter on the road
in her usual fashion. And if, for a
few moments, the train of memory
fired by the sight of the old doctors
grave became too poignant and tears
came, she always scOlded herself with
that mixture of childish and maternal
impatience that was so Characteristic
of her. and that Peter had seen her
use to this very father years ago! Y
He remembered her, a tall, awkward
girl, with a volume of Dickens Slip
ping from her lap as she sat on a has
SoCh ny tHe IRE, ledSlllS leT -IdlucT,
scolding and reproaching him. Blazing
red on her high cheekbOnes, untidy
black hair, quick tongue and ready
laugh; that was the Alix of the old
days, when he had criticized and pat
ronized her, and told her that she
should be more like Anne and little
Cherry!
He remembered being delegated one
day, to take her into town to the den
tist and that upon discovering that
the dentist was not in his office, he had
taken her to the circus instead. She
had been about thirteen, and had eaten
too many peanuts, he thought, and
had lost petticoat in full sight of the
grandstand. But how grateful and
happy she had been.
Dear little old blue petticoat !" he |
said. Dear little old madcap Alix-" !
There was silence, the silence of |
about him. He came to |
himself with a start. He was up on |