|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 43
Ah! she must be a witch, and the magical spell
She has woven about me has done its work well,
For the morning grows brighter, and gayer the air
That my landlady sings as she sweeps down the stair;
And my poor lonely garret, up close to the sky,
Seems something like heaven when Polly goes by.
"P. S. Tony has returned to the university. He asked after the health
of the 'sunset-haired goddess' yesterday. You 'd better hurry back and
take care of me! No, joking aside, don't worry about me, little
missionary; I 've outgrown Tony, and I hope I don't need to be reformed
oftener than once a year.
"Yours ever, EDGAR.
"P. S. No. II. I saw you twice after--you know--and I was dumb on both
occasions. Of all people in the world I ought to have been able to say
something helpful to you in your trouble, I, who lived with you and
your dear mother through all those happy months before she left us. It
will be just the same when I see you again: I shall never be able to
speak, partly, I suppose, because I am a man, or on the road to
becoming one. I know this is making you cry; I can see the tears in
your eyes across all the distance; but it is better even that you
should cry than that you should think me cold or unmindful of your
sorrow. Do you know one of the sacred memories of my life? It is
that, on that blessed night when your mother asked me to come and live
under her roof, she said she should be glad to feel that in any sudden
emergency you and she would, have a near friend to lean upon. There
was a 'royal accolade,' if you like! I felt in an instant as if she
had bestowed the order of knighthood upon me, and as if I must live
more worthily in order to deserve her trust. How true it is, Polly,
that those who believe in us educate us!
"Do you remember (don't cry, dear!) that night by the fireside,--the
night when we brought her out of her bedroom after three days of
illness,--when we sat on either side of her, each holding a hand while
she told us the pretty romance of her meeting and loving your father?
I slipped the loose wedding ring up and down her finger, and stole a
look at her now and then. She was like a girl when she told that
story, and I could not help thinking it was worth while to be a tender,
honorable, faithful man, to bring that look into a woman's face after
eighteen years. Well, I adored her, that is all I can say; and I can't
_say_ even that, I have to write it. Don't rob me, Polly, of the right
she gave me, that of being a 'near friend to lean upon.' I am only
afraid, because you, more than any one else, know certain weaknesses
and follies of mine, and, indeed, pulled me out of the pit and held me
up till I got a new footing. I am afraid you will never have the same
respect for me, nor believe that a fellow so weak as I was could be
strong enough to lean upon. Try me once, Polly, just to humor me,
won't you? Give me something to do,--something _hard_! Lean just a
little, Polly, and see how stiff I 'll be,--no, bother it, I won't be
stiff, I'll be firm! To tell the truth, I can never imagine you as
'leaning;' though they say you are pale and sad, and out of sorts with
life. You remind me of one of the gay scarlet runners that climb up
the slender poles in the garden below my window. The pole holds up the
vine at first, of course, but the vine keeps the pole straight; not in
any ugly and commonplace fashion, but by winding round, and round about
it, and hanging its blossoms in and out and here and there, till the
poor, serviceable pole is forgotten in the beauty that makes use of it.
"Good-by, little scarlet runner! You will bloom again some day, when
the storm that has beaten you down has passed over and the sky is clear
and the sun warm. Don't laugh at me, Polly!
"Always yours, whether you laugh or not,
"EDGAR."
"P. S. No. III. I should n't dare add this third postscript if you
were near enough to slay me with the lightning of your eye, but I
simply wish to mention that a wise gardener chooses young, strong
timber for _poles_,--saplings, in fact! _Mr. John Bird is too old for
this purpose_. Well seasoned he is, of course, and suitable as a prop
for a century-plant, but not for a scarlet runner! I like him, you
know, but I 'm sure he 'd crack if you leaned on him; in point of fact,
he 's a little cracked now! E. N."
The ghost of a smile shone on Polly's April face as she folded Edgar's
letter and laid it in its envelope; first came a smile, then a tear,
then a dimple, then a sob, then a wave of bright color.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|