Year: 1872

nothing left Of it but a line of black
smoke which went sliding off over
the tree.tops.


"Who was he?" III


"What was his name?"


81 don't know"
sDon't know? Why didn't yon
find out?" came in concert from nv
questioners.
Il never thought to, girls"
ssOh, you mortal goose! And
don't he know who you are, OF what
your name is?''


''No, I guess not; at least he did
not ask me-"


"And how in the world are you
ever going to meet again, as he said
you would?"


The enormity Of our mistake came
over me crushingly. How should
we ever meet again, or find each
other? 1 tried to tell them what
little did know about him, but
they declared it simply amounted to
nothing And as we walked home,
they loudly and mournfully bemoan-
ed my simplicity in not letting him
know my name.


81 have not the least doubt he
would have written to her." Nettie
said to my cousin, quite ignoring so
weak-minded and efficient crea-
ture as myself in the conversation.


"Of course he would have written
to her. Did you notice how he
looked at her when he said good
bye2"


eyes, I noticed; l don't think in
all my life l ever saw such hand
some eyes," sadly soliloquized Mel
lie.


ooh, he was handsome beyond
description" answered Allegra.


And SO they went on until we
reached home, torturing me by
praising what l had allowed ''to
slip through my fingers" They
had always considered me hopeless
ly impra> ticable, and now they
S"'o 'hc UP eAtAiciy.


The pleasure of once more being
at home, and talking over the in
cidents OF my long visit, made me
think less of the stranger who had
so interested me. Still every day /
saw more clearly how much / had
liked him, and how thoroughly de-
lightful the two hours l spent with
him had been. Probably if l had
met him in the usual conventional
way in which l had met all the men
l knew, l should have forgotten him
at once; but there was something
unusual-just tinge Of romance SO
dear to every feminine heart-and
so | remembered him.


For a week or so the girls, my
! prosecutors, talked continually of
him, and l took mournful pleasure
in listening to them, even repeating
much of the conversation | had
with him, parts of which, they said,
convinced them more than ever that
he was greatly interested in me,
and, in the proper hands, might be
made to "come to something" For
lack ofa better name, we knew him
as Mr.. A., using the initial letter of
his native city, and many were the
plans We made as we sat at our
sewing. The favorable and most
probable one was that he would
come to look for me, for that was
what he must have meant when he
said we shall meet again.


One evening, about a month after
| had returned home, | had wander
ed in an idle and restless state
down through the garden to the
gate, where l stood in the soft twi-
light listening to the sounds of the
dying summer. The late insects
were still shrill-voiced and alert,
and the low wind which swept
through the trees had begun to take
up the minor strains into which ma
ture seemed to have fallen. A mel
ancholy chilliness had crept into
the air, which made me feel that the
pleasant, happy summer belonged
to the past. The evening depressed
me and l wondered why 1 had come
out into it, and was just turning to
60 back to the house when l saw,
far up the road, one of our little
neighbor boys coming whistling
along. l waited for him idly, not
knowing why, perhaps to catch the
tune he was whistling. He was
coming from the village and as he
approached me he called out: "I've
been to the postotfice, Miss Lucille,
what would you like to have?"


"Whatever you have for me, Jack;
q letter first, and if not that I'll be
content with paper"


"Well, here is letter for you,"
and he put q solid white envelope
into my hands. The light was not
too dim to prevent me reading my
name in a familiar yet unknown
hand, and in the corner, clear and
black, the postmark Albany. l
don't think that l even stopped to
thank Jack, but flew into the house
and up to my room, where bright
fire was burning on the hearth
Like a thirsty person who has
longed for water, and when it is
reached adds zest to the pleasure of
drinking by looking into the cool
depth Of the dewy goblet, SO / held
my treasure in my hand for mo-
ment with the seal unbroken. Then
as I opened it, I said: 81 will not
read it straight through, a word at
a time, just as he wrote it; will
not even look at the name until l
come to it," / only allowed myself
to see that there was a sheet and a
half of closely written paper, then
began:


"MY DEAR Miss LUCILLE: hard
ly know whether l shall be pardon
cd for the liberty l take in writing
to you, and yet l tell myself shall
be, for l feel SO sure you-whom l
know so well, and yet may not know
at all-will understand me, will
know by intuition how deep my in
tercst in you is.


| xtVXyl I l.