Montgomery County sentinel. [volume] (Rockville, Md.) 1855-1974, 1924-09-12
NOT LONG
ENOUGH
TO FORGET
By II. LOUIS RAYBOLD

ii-f.fi-i--t-'ft-f-f't-f'i''F
20. 1874, Mcclure Newspaper syndicate.)
Frances Meredith laid down her
towel and sank down on the soft pine
needles through which she had been
working to make hole deep enough
to take the lower part of the stake
which backed the small white sign.
She sighed and looked wistfully down
one Of the shadowy corridors made
by evenly planted rows Of slender
young pines.
Like one Of these very trees. Tall,
straight, aspiring heavenward," she
murmured. "That was John. Cut
down in the strength of his youth. oh,
but life-and death-can be cruelr"
And because 1t was warm and sweet
there in the grove, she sat quietly on
for many minutes and traced through
from the beginning her romance which
had terminated. like so many others,
on the battlefield in France.
John StOddard and she had grown
up together and drifted into love and
wedding plans so naturally that Meth
er one could have told when the other
ceased to be only friend. Nothing
p evented an early marriage, for John
was advancing rapidly In his chosen
field of engineering, and Frances was
both alone in the world and lnan-
cially well provisloned. John, also,
oddly enough, was without any rela-
tives that mattered. That, Frances
now sometimes thought, made his
early death all the sadder. She alone
could keep his memory green. If
only she had married him before he
went But John had refused to let
her take the chance Of becoming
widow before she was fairly wife,
and she had tried to acQulesce as
senslbly and cheerfully as possible.
So he had gone across, and for
some months his letters had come reg
ularly. Then had followed dreadful
silence to be broken only after weeks
Of suspense and agony by The tele-
gram which told her he had passed
away from the effects Of q wound. She
had made no effort TO have him
brought home, respecting what she felt
would have been his wishes, but the
longing was often heavy upon her to
erect some memorial to his memory.
Just what form It should take did not
occur to her until the circumstances
arose which decided her to break up
her home and go East.
An advertisement in n magazine
caught her attention one evening, Of
ferlng splendid opportunity for a
young woman to go into partnership
with a not unknown landscape gar
dener. herself an older woman. II had
appealed to Frances, who was begin
ming to wonder just how she would
fill the years which seemed to stretch
before her so emptlly.
A correspondence had followed, and
when Frances wrote that she was com
ing that part would be ended. To
night Frances planned to send that
letter. which would suddenly uproot
her from the existence she had al
ways known.
And she was feeling the wrench of
parting with the house In which she
had been born, the little garden In
which she had learned TO walk, but
most of all, the wonderful grove of
pines set out by her father before his
death. While her mother lived she
had taken her daughter almost daily
to trudge along the sweet-scented car
pet and to gaze wonderlngly at the
blue sky patches far up through the
tree tops. AS she grew older Frances
had loved to gather mp her sewing or
reading and run up to the hill where
the grove began. II had come to sym
b1izc for her much of that which she
had missed-her parents companion
ship and their affection. Then rs her
love for John blossomed, each sepa-
clean young manhood. This was more
than ever true after his departure and
failure to return.
And today she had come up to the
grove to give expression to a desire
which had come to her in the night.
She had been wishing for means to
commemorate his memory. Suddenly
the words Of Charles Dickens had
flashed through her mind: Lord,
keep my memory green" And with
them had come the inspiration. She
would dedicate her wonderful pine
grove to his memory, instead Of selling
It as she had thought she must. No
other memorial could possibly be more
fitting.
In the morning she lost no time
going down to the village and having
the sign made up. I'm memory Of
John Stoddard," II read, "Died in
France" Then she came home, hunt
ed up her trowel and climbed the hill.
The sun was well past It's zenith
when Frances rose, brushed off her
skirts Of the clinglng needles, and
looked at her handlwork Yes, II was
poignant in It's simplicity and, placed
at the groves edge, would be read BY
all passing along the road. And the
trees would continue their steady
growth, increasing their strength and
beauty.
without looking back, Frances went
slowly down the hill. She meant II to
be her last visit to the grove before
going East Her thoughts, however,
fingered in the fragrant spot she had
Just left, and absent-m indedly she
went about numerous little errands in
the village before taking the path that
led home.