Year: 1872

almost blind to what nature might bring
to pass in Alvin's heart. The child and
the man were enviously blended in her
thought He might want a wife some
time, but he was hardly grown up yet.
There would be time enough to think OF
that years hence.


Beyond the pine grove stood the Ray
farmhouse, and there lived Dier Rays
daughter Huldah who had been plain
child, but had grown into a lovely young
woman, with soft voice, and brown
eyes, and long lashes, which when down
cast rested upon pearly cheek. Some
rumor about Alvin and Huldah had come
to the ears of Patience, but she blew it
away like a feather floating in the air.
Dier Rays wife, she thought, was a talk
ing woman, not malicious or bad.hearted,
but foolish about her girl; so she avoided
going to the farmhouse beyond the hill.
! When Mrs. Ray reached over in meeting
to shake hands, with Huldah looking
down from the singers seat, in her pretty
straw bonnet trimmed with pink ribbons,
Patience met the overture rather coldly ;
still she was obliged to confess that the
sweetest voice which rose above Deacon
Spicer's wheezy bass vial, was Hpldah
Rays.


Once when Patience was sick with
| nGI
services, bringing,a loaf of her mothers
snow white bread done up in the cleanest
of towels, she had turned her face to the
wall, and spoken but a few words in a
rather repellent tone. Then if any one
had peeped under the brim of the little
brown hat as she went off the stoop,
they would have seen dimness about
Huldah's lashes. They were things
which the neighbors suspected, if they
did not know for certain, and there were
things which Deacon Spicer, being post
master, thought lie knew, for he peered
at every letter that came in the lean mail
bag from Highlands.


Patience was blind, but her blindness
had both pathos and dignity. Such a
tall, straight, large.eyed woman could not
be easily approached by the gossips, so
they left her alone with the music of the
pine trees signing around her lonely
house, thinking of her boy, getting him
closer to her intense, strong heart, and
skipping all the interval, and living in
the time of his return when they should
grow each to the other as the acorn grows
| to its cup.


1t was leafy, blossomy day in May
when the lilacs were out, and the snow
balls were beginning to bleach, and birds





over the young woods. The great parti-
colored balls of carpet-work lay at
Patience's feet end the Bible, with its
worn, leather covers open at the family
record, and date of her boys birth, was
placed on the stand by her side With
his dry, peculiar ahem and the shuttle
and stumble by which he was wont to
mount the steps, Deacon Spicer got upon
the stoop, and pushed at the half-open
door. He was a shambling old man,
dressed in baggy suit of butternut
brown, that seemed to have been cut quite
by accident


GOOD day, widder, good day" There
was a half-tremble in the old mans voice,
that made Patience involuntarily ask,
"What is it?" as the work dropped from
her hands.


"Now don't" said the old man, in
coaxing tone, as he reached out and al
most toucned her gray hair. "Good news
never killed anybody as I've heard tell of,
and guess you can stand this" He FUN
bled in his capacious pockets, in an aim
less sort of way; but every heartbeat
seemed a century to Patience "You see
there was a scrimmage t'other day, and
Alvin run right into the mess, just like
such hair r-brained young fellow; he must
have fit with all his might and main. You
see the Cap'n he has went home, and
Alvin has got promoted for gallantry.
And the boy, you see-bless my soul, it
beats all what | have done with that let
ter--the boy got scratch on his arm,
and they've give him a discharge. and |
shouldn't mite wonder if he was home
here by tomorrow"


Patience turned upon him, trembling
and pale to the lips.


"You are not deceiving me" she gasp
ed "my boy has not been-sh shot?"


"Deceiving of you, widder? Why, no."
responded the old man, in extreme aston
ishment. "D'ye suppose I'd have the
face to show myself here? Anything un.
fortunate that way would stick in my
throat, and choke me to death. tell you
he's on his way home, and in fortnight
will be as hearty as ever he was in his
life."


1t was indeed true; and Patience put
her hands before her face as if the bliss
coming so suddenly was almost too much
to bear The old man wandered on: II
mistrust there's somebody else, over the
But Patience scarcely heard him when he
took his leave. She sat there in
the red light of sunset, with trem-
ulous shadows spotting the coarse
plaster wall, her bosom heaving, her eyes
dilating, glad young look growing in
her face. She was dreaming of the time
when Alvin was a baby how he played
around her chair, and plucked at her
gown, breaking out into bursts of infan-
tile glee. And now he was coming home,
a tall young soldier, and would kneel
down at her feet, and put his head in her
lap as he had done a hundred times.
She could almost feel her fingers in his
crisp, curly locks, touching his forehead,
and caressing his cheek. And she sat
there in a blissful dream until it grew
dark, quite forgetting she had gone with
out her supper.


That night Patience scarcely slept at
all for joy. She was up betimes in the
pale dawn to busy herself getting ready
for the homecoming of Alvin. She
swept and busted the old house. She
could almost see the grass grow where
the motherly punches of purple lilacs
pushed into Alvin's little room window.
Everything had been kept sacredly, Just
as he left it, the fishing tackle on the wall,
the few books on their swingshelf, the
empty squirrel. cage on its nail, and even
an old, tattered straw hat hanging beside
it. There was cookery to busy Patience's
hands; she remembered all her boys lik-
ings, the seed cookies and favorite pies.
But when these were dispatched a great
margin of time remained, and Patience
was too unquie with happiness to sit
down to any work in the house. She
went out into the pinegrove, where the
tassels on. the old trees all wore fresh,
new green the housitonia and wild
columbine were blowing at her feet and
she could not help lifting up her voice in
a deep, glad chant, "the Lord has been
my dwelling place in all generations"


The path led quarter of mile beyond
the grove, through leafy copses, where the
dogwood here and there had pitched its
snowy tent, on a hanging bank above
the highway. Patience wandered on un.
til she gained a lookout through the
boughs, down the road that wound under
elms and NAPLES IT, WAS a Drettv snot