"And for bonny Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and dee,"
sang the famous singer softly and the proprietor turned his head away.
"It gets damn lonesome sometimes," he said huskily. And at that a
toil-worn hand touched his arm in healing sympathy and a little
shoemaker who had come out into the night with anger in his heart said
with a huskiness that rivalled the proprietor's,
"My God, man, don't I know!"
The minister played other tunes, then he pulled out his watch and
laughed and that ended the party. In a few minutes he was alone with
the proprietor.
When the last footstep had lost itself in the still streets the
proprietor turned to the big young man who was sitting on an ice-cream
table, carelessly swinging his feet.
"I feel so damn funny," said the proprietor, "and all shook up
to-night. And I don't know whether it all really happened or whether I
just dreamed it--the little woman with the blue eyes and the soft-faced
little guy. Say, parson, what were they after, anyway?"
"Williams," the parson made grave answer, "I rather think those two
were looking for their children." And Cynthia's son told the story of
Joe and Hattie and Mrs. Dustin and Peter as Green Valley had told it to
him. And when it was told the two men sat still and listened to the
little wind mourning somewhere outside.
Pages:
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237