Year: 1873

lite pleas was the home we could make


for you, little sister, and / was finally


won to consent. Still, it remained


to set the time, and form a plan for


elopement"


Why did you not do as Charlie and


did-just walk off to the minister and


get married, and then let Uncle james


rave as much as he pleased p


" L don't know. We didn't. You
know the old gate post, Matte, that
had the loose top?''


Yes"


/" Douglas and l used that for post
office. We would slip the top off a
little, and there was a space under it
where letters could lie secure from
wind or rain, or what was more import
ant, prying eyes. Just at the time
had given my promise to Douglas to
be his wife, Uncle james was informed
of our meetings by some officious
friend, and kept so strieta watch over
me that it was impossible for me to go
the village at all. The old gate post
became our only medium of commu-
nication, and Douglas urged me still
more earnestly to leave the farm and
become his wife. He wrote me one day
that he must soon leave Seaton, and
begged to write upon a slip the time
and place where / would meet him,
and the train by which we should
leave Seaton after / become his wife.
Darling, he wrote me, / am rich,
and Matte shall come to us as soon as
you will Tell me where to meet you,
and | will have clergyman ready to
make you my wife. Trust your life
to me, Edith, and you shall never re-
gret it. Matte, l wrote him letter
appointing time and place of meet
ing. l went there. He did not come
Three days l went almost hourly to
the gate post for some word of expla-
nation. None came; and when next
heard from Seaton, Douglass Fisher
had gone away"


Without writing?"


Without one word. He had
written that the letter 1 told you
Of was his last appeal. L have urged
you SO often, he wrote, that if you
do not reply favorably to this. l shall
know it is coquetry, not love, that
makes you smile upon me-"


Coquetryi" said Matte, disdain-
fully, As if you ever knew the
meaning of the word"


Probably he repented, Matte, and
thought poor country girl would not
grace his city home But whatever
his motive, he left me, and l confess l
shrink from meeting him"


Certainly you do. | will not urge
you to do so now, dear; but after we
return from Newport, where l suppose
Charlie wilIhave Douglas for his guest,
you will come home again?"


"We will see, Matte. Let me 90
now"


6 I am afraid you will find Hill farm
just as horrid as ever"


Just as horrid as ever Edith con-
cluded it was, after weeks sojourn at
the dismal farm she had called her
home during girlhood. Her uncle did
not domineer quite so much over the
digni6ed, stately lady, who came, after
FIVE years of city life, to replace the
Uniformed girl who had left him, but
he was morose and ill-tempered as
ever, and the dreary house had no ad-
ded charm. Edith found there were
servants to do the churning, baking
and house work she had shared with
Matte, and rambled about the place,
wondering little how many weeks of
it would suffice to fit her for lunatic
asylum.


In one of these rambles two weeks
after her arrival, she came upon a
group of men who were repairing the
tumble down fences and riclety gates
about the place. They were at work
upon the old gate-post she had turned
into pOstoffice, and she stood listless-
ly watching them as they loosed the
earth around it, to lift the rotten wood
work from its place. The loose top
was gone, and there were wide cracks in
the wooden slap under it, where the
love letter of five years ago had lain
waiting for eager hands and eyes.


Edith felt her heart beating fast, her
eyes filling with tears, as blow after
blow fell upon the hollow post, crack
ing, bending till it fell to the ground
justas the MONDAY bell called the hands
to dinner.


When the curious eyes that might
have seen her were safely in doors con-
templating meat and vegetables, Edith
went close to the old post, and looked
into the hole where it had stood for
so many years. In the dark damp
earth she saw folded paper, evidently
shaken from the hollow post by the
recent blows. A strange suffocating
feeling held her fast for a moment, then
she stopped, reached over and secured
the letter. 1t was not dainty missive,
such as she sent to Newport, for it was
not easy for her to find scented paper
and tinted envelopes at Hill farm 1t
was sheet of coarse paper, folded,
sealed and stamped with thimble-top,
directed in round, girlish hand, to
Douglas Fisher; the letter she had
written to appoint time and place for
and elopement-the letter he had never
seen, that her hurry and agitation must
have slipped through one of the wide
cracks down into the hollow post.


She opened it carefully, her heart
pitying even then the simple girl who
opened her whole soul to her lover.
The very words were so different from
those she would use now. Nopolished
courtesy of address, no polite evasion
of the tender questions, but frank,
girlish outpouring of her happy con-
sent to leave her hard, bitter life, and
accept the sunny future her lover
promised her. Edith was cold, impas-
sive and stately in the days when she
shared her sisters home. 1t was
rare event to see her show emotion in
any way, and Charlie had wondered
more than once at his cousins admir-
alton of her stauesQue beauty.


But as she read now the secret of
her lovers apparent fckleness, the re-
cord of her own young heart, the tears
fell fast upon the yellow sheet, and
sObs shook her whole form. There
was no one to see her, and she knelt
down by the fallen gate post. and wept
for her own lost youth and broken i!
hopes.


She was still kneeling there, the
open letter in her hand, when she
heard foOtstep turn from the road
into the narrow lane leading to the farm
house. In a moment it would be at
the gate. She sprang to her feet, and
faced tall heavily bearded man, who
paused for moment, looking search
ingly into her face-only for a moment,
and then he opened his arms.


Edith !" he said. in deep tender
tones, | never saw your letter"


She was resting against his breast,
as she put it now into his hand, and
told him how she hand found it.


Matte told me all" he said, "and