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Show ' As the wish had been father to the thought it chanced that Mlw Walker's friends in London, where Rose was a governess a"hd John a rising englneft-, had, acting on gentle promptings, put these people in one another' way as much a possible. The result was what had been foreseen and hoped for, and Miss Walker wu inwardly much rejoiced. re-joiced. She had now made Rose spend a long vacation with her in the pleasant old Surrey home, and John had more than once come to stay a week or so, ostensibly with' an acquaintance in the neighboring village. But something had gone wrong. There had come the little rift within the lute. On the previous afternoon her nephew had left the house suddenly, he having before that been with Rose In the garden; and he had not since called. And, Rose's sudden change of manner from llght-heartedness to utter ut-ter dejection, with other evidences of her secret sorrow, told Its own story. Miss Walker wondered what exactly had occurred, and indulged In a dozen anxious conjectures. She paced the garden until the advancing ad-vancing evening brought the breath of chilliness, which Miss Walker at her age did not like. Then, with a last look at the window of Race's room,' and a deprecatory shake of her handkerchief at he retreat of that presumably pining young lady. Miss Walker turned her face toward the house. Just as she stepped into the sitting-room her nephew was shown In by the other door. "Well, well!" said Miss Walker, cheer- ' ily for she saw reconciliation in the visit "why have you deserted ua for a whole day, you negligent young man?" "Very sorry, aunt, but it Wasn't quite my fault." he returned, speaking rather gloomily. Then he added, with some show of embarrassment, "but my visit will be very short now. The fact Is, I have decided to go back to town by this evening's train." "Dear, dear!" exclaimed Miss Walker, In open dismay. She bad not imagined that things were quite so bad, and at the moment ehe was flurried, and did not know what to say. Then, after regarding re-garding him with a faraway look of dismal dis-mal abstraction for a few seconds, she 6ald, somewhat agitatedly: "But you really must not go away like that!. It would not be kind to to me. No, no; you roust not go oft so discourteously There is something wrong. I pee it in fact, I know it. I want to think a while and so, I am sure, do you. There, like a good boy, go and walk in the garden for half an hour or so." " And she demonstrated dem-onstrated the imperative nature of her advice by gently but firmly shoving him toward the window, through which he passed out Into the garden in client obedience. The quaint old garden soothed him; yet it aroused many tender recollections which made him all the more sorrowful now to harbor. He had come with a grim determination to merely say au revolr to his aunt, as duty and Inclination Inclina-tion prompted, but not to pee Rose; or. If he could not help seeing her. then to bid her a formal fart welt Rose and he had differed bitterly, and, he decided finally. When he mentally re-enacted the scene, as he had done a score of times since that angry parting, he said to himself each time that he had been right in every word he uttered, and fully Justified. He said this to himself, with suspicious emphasis, for he knew In his heart that he had been a great deal other than right. His thoughts gradually became more gentle as he walked through the old garden, and' swtet memories came to him to chase away anger and bitterness. It was perhaps not quite involuntarily that he turned towards the side of the house from which Rose's lattice looked. He raised his eyes to it somewhat wistfully. wist-fully. He felt convinced somehow that Phe was there, behind that lattice; but she thowed no sign, and be dared not make advances. He sighed and turned away. Just then he saw something white on the grass border. Stooping, he picked It up. It was a neatly folded piece of stiff paper, and on opening it out he paw by the twilight it contained writing verse of some sort, as far as he could Judge. Stepping aside, he got Into the shelter of a bufh, and by the light of a couple of vestas, he with some difficulty read the' Mnes. They were addressed "To John." and signed "R. W." In the bad light the individuality of the handwriting handwrit-ing escaped him, and his heart throbbed with mingled happy emotions as the rreining dawned on him. Sublemely Indifferent In-different to the technical merits of the verses, he thought them perfect in every respect, and their sentiments fired his heart. Dear, sweet Rose! That was doubtless her loving overture for peace, he said to himself with rapture. He retraced his steps to the path beneath be-neath her window, and gently, called her by name, but when he had called her three time" she appeared at ttie lattice with a timid response. A few minutes, ' after a tender reconciliation, John Walker Wal-ker left the garden to have a further snd immediate interview In the drawing-room with hie lady love When he came Into the house, singing to himself and looking radiant, his aunt, encouraging him. Immediately snd intuitively in-tuitively understood that all was well or.ee more. She smiled and spoke a kindly word. Then she addod suddenly: "By the way. John, I have Just missed a small er piece of writing that was In my pocket. To be quite candid, it was a trifling old poem of mine I had Just copied, and I think I lost It when taking out my handkerchief In the garden. Do j " ' i DA1LY 1 j SHORT STORY j A THICK OF CUPID'S. Miss Ruth Walker had made a find. Going through the contents of the im-1 im-1 menoe old-time escritoire which had held the minor treasures of a few generations gen-erations of the Walkers, she had found In the bottom of a so-called secret drawer a little scrap of paper which, through some chance, had for years escaped es-caped examination. It was what, many years ago when it was written, she had believed to be a poem, and possibly she believed bo still. But It was nearly forty years since he for whqm those lines were penned went, away fiom her, and met with his death not long afterwards In India; and Just thirty years ago her mofher had died, and she, Ruth Walker, the last of the family, hVd remained to grow old alone in Suncroft. the old family home. But now, as ehe pondered over all this, and conjured up a hundred thoughts o: which we knew nothing, nor have a right to, rhe found that the markings oi nervous fingers on the tear-stained scrap of paper had done It Irreparable Injury; so ehe produced from a drawei a clean eheet of fancy paper, chose s pen with a great show of fastidiousness, and. adjusting her spectacles, commenced com-menced to copy out the poem in her antique, an-tique, prim, Italian oallgraphy. Miss Walker replaced. In her escritoire the relic of her long-burled romance, to-' gather with one of the two copies rhe tV,.,jmj, fr flOfcaf cut into bar iocket, Just to have it by her, then she Hdled her hair with a few pats of her hand, adjusted her mob cap, wiped her spectacles, and ieft her room. Arrived downstairs, she had a temptation tempta-tion powiblj- the outcome of re-aroused sentiment tt walk in the garden. Prom the rtttlng-room the old-fashioned garden gar-den looked lr.vltlng In the waning beauty beau-ty of a perfect summer's day. She was Just about .to step through the French window wften some one entered the room. "Ah! Roiie," she said, "I am going Into the garden to enjoy the last moments of the exqul'Ute evening. Come with me, child." The breaking In upon Miss Walker's meditations had evidently been accidental, acciden-tal, for the intruder made as though to retreat h.iMily. She was a pretty girl of about 25, brown-haired and frank-looking, frank-looking, but there was an expression of trouble clouding her usually sunny face, and she shrank back as she said quickly: quick-ly: f "No, no do pleare excuse me; I am not feeling very well, and shall go to my room to lie down for a short time." And then he vanished. The Wnvk of MIps Walker's benevolent countenance hardened, and ehe pursed up her llp:s and puckered her brows In perturbed thought. Was romance, when It came to) Suntroft, always to turn to Dead sea Sirult? The world had taught even her, tjuiet and uneventful though her life held been, many bitter lessons of the undulfllment of hearts' desires; and yet elie had at the same time appreciated ap-preciated tinose lessens, and kept Intact the tendeif faith that most men and women ehibuld love and be the happier and betteij- for it. And this belief bad made her take a special Interest In. and do everything to encourage, the sentiments senti-ments she had seen arise between Rose Warden a nd her nephew, John Walker. Rose was I the daughter of a long since dead frieid, and John was the only child' f MYss Walker's younger brother. - w you recollect having reen a piece of paper pa-per on any of, the paths? At any rate I must seek it now, as, really" "By Jove, aunt fo that was your?!" exclaimed the young man with a look of dismayed bewilderment that quickly, however, turned Into a laujsh. "Well. I thought It was somebody's else. In fact as rmch It has already played a good part and worked a little rriracle." "Dear, dear! I am ro glad." said Miss Walker, with rapid comprehension. And . then she added anxiously: "But r.ow that you know your mistake?" He went up to her and klrsed her. "That doesn't matter at all r..v. Aunt Ruth. Tou have done by chance what you would have endeavored to do with Intention, and I am now to happy to say any more. Here comes Rose." |