THE PATHOS OF LIFE
When June had again clad Sandgate's hills and village with green, and
spangled its meadows with daisies, there occurred two events of sacred
import to four young people, but of little interest to the rest of the
world.
The first was a wedding in the village church where the sweet voice of
Alice Page had oft been heard, and where now as a bride she walked
timidly to the altar.
Her pupils, aided by their parents, had turned the church into a bower
of green, brightened by every colored flower that grew in field or
garden. Even the old mill-pond contributed its share, and the altar was
white with lilies. Almost every resident of the town was present, and
the aged miller sat in one corner and watched with wistful eyes. The
Nason family, with Aunt Susan and Albert, shared the front pew, and the
little girl who once upon a time had said, "Pleath may I kith you,
teacher," was accorded the proud privilege of strewing roses and
violets along the aisle in front of the bride.
When the parting came, Aunt Susan made a brave effort to bear up until
the train carried the wedding-party away, and the little miss who
scattered flowers was inconsolable after Alice kissed her good-by. The
old miller returned to his toil with a heavy heart, for he had known
Alice since, as a child, he held her up that she might see the wheel go
around and laugh and crow at its splashing. Many times each summer she
had come there to gather lilies, and now she had gone, perhaps never to
return. One by one the summer days would come and go, the mill-stone
rumble, the big wheel splash, the old boat float idly beneath its
willow, and the water-lilies bloom and fade; for sweet Alice would come
no more to pluck them.
Two weeks later occurred the other event, when the 'Gypsy' steamed into
the Cape harbor and a select party became the guests of honor at Uncle
Terry's home. Long tables decked with flowers and loaded with the best
that Aunt Lissy could prepare stood under the trees in front; the little
porch was a bower of ferns and clusters of red bunch-berries, and every
man, woman, and child that dwelt on the island was there.
Then after Albert and Telly had halted in the fern-covered porch to
utter the simple but sacred words that bound them for life, the gladsome
party gathered and made merry at the tables.
The sun was low in the west ere Telly kissed the tear-wet faces of Uncle
Terry and Aunt Lissy and the 'Gypsy' sailed away. Far to seaward the
purple line of coming night was slowly creeping in, and side by side on
the little knoll where stood a low white headstone, those two sat and
watched her pass out of their lives. When only the wide ocean was
visible and the line of shadow had crept up to the wave-washed rocks
beneath them, Uncle Terry arose.
"We'd best go in, Lissy," he said.
And looking into his saddened face she saw that she must lead him, for
he was blinded with tears.
THE END.