A beautiful village maiden was betrothed to a stallwart river driver,
but they had high and bitter words and parted, he to weep into the
crystal stream as he drove his logs, and she to sigh and moan as she
went about her round of household tasks.
At eventide the maiden was wont to lean over the bridge and her tears
also fell into the foaming stream; so, though the two unhappy lovers did
not know it, the river was their friend, the only one to whom they told
their secrets and wept into.
The months crept on and it was the next July when the maiden was passing
over the bridge and up the hill. Suddenly she spied footprints on the
sands of time.
“The river drivers have come again!” she cried, putting her hand to
her side for she had a slight heart trouble like Cora and Mrs. Peter
Meserve, that doesn't kill.
“They _have_ come indeed; _especially one you know_,” said a voice, and
out from the alder bushes sprung Lancelot Littlefield, for that was the
lover's name and it was none other than he. His hair was curly and like
living gold. His shirt, white of flannel, was new and dry, and of a
handsome color, and as the maiden looked at him she could think of
nought but a fairy prince.
“Forgive,” she mermered, stretching out her waisted hands.
“Nay, sweet,” he replied. “'Tis I should say that to you,” and bending
gracefully on one knee he kissed the hem of her dress. It was a rich
pink gingham check, ellaborately ornamented with white tape trimming.
Clasping each other to the heart like Cora and the Doctor, they stood
there for a long while, till they heard the rumble of wheels on the
bridge and knew they must disentangle.
The wheels came nearer and verily! it was the maiden's father.
“Can I wed with your fair daughter this very moon,” asked Lancelot, who
will not be called his whole name again in this story.
“You may,” said the father, “for lo! she has been ready and waiting for
many months.” This he said not noting how he was shaming the maiden,
whose name was Linda Rowenetta.
Then and there the nuptial day was appointed and when it came, the
marriage knot was tied upon the river bank where first they met; the
river bank where they had parted in anger, and where they had again
scealeld their vows and clasped each other to the heart. And it was very
low water that summer, and the river always thought it was because no
tears dropped into it but so many smiles that like sunshine they dried
it up.