The day book. [volume], July 15, 1915, LAST EDITION, Image 19

About The day book. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917

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

                
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It was a warm July afternoon when
the two sat side by side outside Mrs.
Anderson's house. A humming bird
was flitting among the flowers, there
was a sense of mellow peacefulness
in the air; everything seemed to in
dicate that the crucial moment had
arrived. Miss Anderson's little hand
lay invitingly upon her lap. The cur
fete took it
"Don't you wear rings, Miss An
derson ?v he Inquired, smiling.
"Not on that finger, Mr. Brown,"
answered the girl, blushing with con
fusion as she realized that he was
holding the engagement ring finger.
Rev. Aloysius slipped his hand into
his pocket and pulled out a diamond
solitaire. The girl looked at it and
her eyes sparkled.
"I bought this," said the curate,
"for the girl I hope to marry. I have
not told her yet Do you consider it
a rash speculation, MlssAnderspn?"
"Indeed, you know the proverb,
'None but the brave deserves the
fair " replied the girl.
"I am going to risk telling her the
next lime I have a chance," said the
curate. "I value your confidence, Miss
Anderson, more than I can say. I
don't believe I should have mustered
up courage to speak to her if you
had not encouraged me. I hope you
two will be the best of friends."
And, raising his hat he went away,
leaving Miss Anderson gasping with
humiliation and mortification upon
the stoop.
The girl could not conceal her agi
tation. She ran into the house, and,
f flinging herself on the bed, gave way
A fto angry tears.
She would never speak to the cur
ate again! She would leave the vil
lage! She had been deliberately
mocked, her love scorned. The girl
- had quite forgotten her light raillery
-wjth her friend upon that occasion.
She had come to feel a deep regard
for the young curate.
- In the room which he occupied in
the rector's house Rev. Aloysius
Brown flung himself down heavily
Into his chair. Somehow revenge did
not taste as sweet as he had imagined
it would. And then, he was conscious"
that he had acted in an unchristian
manner.
"Go to her and ask her pardon,'
said the curate's conscience.
"But I shall make myself a laugh
ing stock," urged the curate.
"All the better. It lAir duty to
make atonement ShsHBew it was
deliberate and that you were not so
simple as you pretended to be," said
conscience.
"Go to the Bahamas!" answered
the curate.
"Thanks, but I prefer to remain
with you," rejoined the curate's con
science. Quietly the curate rose and went
back to Mrs. Anderson's house. It
had grown dark and he had had no
supper, but that imperative voice
within him would not be restrained.
Rev. Aloysius' mind worked quickly
and by the time he had reached the
house he had already review what
he was going to say and found it sat
isfactory.
He was going to tell Miss Anderson
the whole miserable story from the
day when he overheard her remarks
to Miss Bowen. He would tell her
how he had planned the whole thing
and he did not mean, to spare him
self. Then he would ask her wheth
er she preferred to let forgiveness en
shroud the matter in silence or
whether she wished him to leave the
village.
Somebody was seated alone upon
the stoop. The cuarte raised his hat
"Well?" came a muffled voice, and
the curate sat down beside Miss An
derson. "Miss Anderson," he began, "I have
come back to tell you something, to
make a confession. I er I bought
the ring for you and I want to, ask
you to marry me."
The curate stopped In consterna
tion. Was that his voice? He had
not intended to say that at all.
But suddenly he found that MIm
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