OCR Interpretation


The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, June 14, 1913, NOON EDITION, Image 20

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1913-06-14/ed-1/seq-20/

What is OCR?


Thumbnail for

114
w
IV
"A month if the shooting is
good."
The landlord scratched his ear re
flectively. "Lemmesee," he mused;
"wasn't you a doctor? I heard tell
that you made up pieces for the
paper about the idjits an' loonyticks
of Rome an' Russia an' furrin
climes."
"I have written a little on European
and Asiatic insanity," replied the doc
tor, good humoredly.
The landlord said : "You look a lit
tle peaked yourself. Take it easy the
fust, Is my advice."
His guest nodded abstractedly, lin
gering jon the veranda. Autumn-tinted
hills closed the vista; beyond them
spread the blue sky.
"The cemetery lies that way, does
it not?" inquired the young man.
"Straight ahead," said the land
lord. "Take the road to the Holler."
"Yo you" the doctor hesitated
"do you remember a funeral three
years ago?"
"Whose?" aslced "his host, bluntly.
"I don't know."
"I'll ask my woman; she saves
them funeral pieces an' makes a al
bum. . . . Friend o yours buried
there?"
"No."
The landlord sauntered toward the
barroom.
"Waal, good luck, Doc," he said,
without intentional offense; "supper's
at six. We'll try an' make you com
fortable." "Thank you," replied the doctor,
stepping out into the road, and mo
tioning the white setter to heel.
"I remember now," he muttered, as
he turned northward, where the road
forked; "the cemetery lies to the
westward; there should be a lane at
the next turning "
He hesitated and stopped, then re
sumed his course, mumbling to him
self. "I can pass the cemetery later;
she would not be there; I don't think
I shall ever see her again. . . . I I
wonder "whether I am perfectly
37eU " ., ,
The words were suddenly lost In ft
sharp indrawn breath; his heart
ceased beating, then throbbed on vio
lently; and he shook from head to
foot.
There was a glimmer of a summer
gown under the trees; ai figure passed
from shadow to sunshine, and again
into the cool dusk of a leafy lane.
The pallor of the young man's face
changed; a heavy flush spread from
forehead to neck; he strode forward,
dazed, deafened by the tumult of his
drumming pulses.
When at length he reached the hill,
he found her seated in the shade of
a pine. She looked up serenely, as
though she had expected him, and
they faced each Qther. A moment
later his dog left him, sneaking away
without a sound.
When he strove to speak, his voice
had an unknown tone to him. Her
upturned face was his only answer.
The girl leaned back, supporting
her weight on one arm, fingers al
most buried in Hie deep green moss.
"It is three years today," he said,
in the dull voice of one who dreams;
"three years today. May I riot,
speak?"
In her lowered head and eyes he
read acquiescence; In her silence,
consent. (
"TIrree years ago today," he re
peated; "the anniversary has given
me courage to speak to you. Surely
you will not take offense; we haye
traveled so far together! from the
end of the world to the end of it, and
back again, here to this place of all
places in the world! And now to
find you here on this day of all days
here within a step of our first meet
ing place three years ago today!
And all the world ?e have traveled
over since, never speaking, yet ever
passing on paths parallel paths
which for thousands of miles ran al
most within arm's distance "
She raised her head slowly, look
ing out from the shadows of the pines
into the sunshine.
-!'iWilLyou-speakuto.TOe?"4i?gkfidr

xml | txt