The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891, August 01, 1887, Page 600, Image 19

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a clock. He'll be on hand tomorrow." ever-blooming trees, and the warmth of
Bnt the inevitable tomorrow came unceasing sunshine usurps the place
only to prove lo Mr. McGrew the fallacy of costly raiment? Where "
of his prediction. George was not "on " There, there! What an avalanche
hand," and though his ear caught every of questions! You surely can not ex.
footstep on the stair, throughout thr pect me to answer them all, do you?"
long, long day, yet the one tread, for Mr. George Stanley sprang to a sit
which he listened, came not Ere the ting posture, and gazed, with unmiti
sun had crossed the meridian, the " hook " gated astonishment, into the face of the
was empty and the printers were de- speaker. Lying there at full length,
manding " copy." half buried in the long, green grass, and
" Copy! " ejaculated Mr. McGrew, vi- the shadow of overhanging foliage, with
ciously, while unwonted clouds gatheied the murmuring Willamette at his feet,
and lowered upon his broad expanse of and the softest of September sunshine
brow. "Think ye that copy grows upon peeping at him through the branches
trees, to bo gathered at will? Insatiate overhead, he had deemed himself secure
fiends, be gone; and trouble me not! " in his isolation from the haunts of men;
Affrighted, cowering, the poor typos had reveled in the delicious sense of
slunk away and hid themselves beneath freedom from all restraint, and in his
their cases, while, over the office of the apostrophic appeal to the spirit of re
Champion, settled a pall of gloomy si- pose, had been as unconscious of the
lence, broken only by a mysterious presence of a human auditor, as though
"tnip, snip, snipping" sound, coming buried deep in the coral caves of the sea
from the depths of the editorial sane- nympha Yet there, not four paces dis
tum. Manager McGrew had found a tant, seated composedly on a mossy log,
pair of scissors, rusty from long disuse, was a figure, robed in a very matter-of-and
was doing all that a brave man could fact looking brown dress, a coronal of
do to supply his printers with " copy." bronze-brown hair surmounting a small,
well-poised head, and a face of darkened
"Oh, rest! Sweet rest! Hast thou tints, whose sole power of attraction ap
come to me at last? Fain would I reach peared to lie in the odd bits of light and
out, and, clasping thee, hold thee for. shadow reflected from some hidden flame
ever! But thou knowest well how to within, through a pair of clear, earnest
elude the grasp of such as L 'Tis but brown eyes. All these details, Stanley
a flutter of thy soft wings about me, a took in with that first, long, straight
breath from thy fragrant lips upon my stare of astonishment Yes, she was hu
brow, and thou wilt flit, leaving mo man distinctly, unmistakably human.
nSRin to There she sat, looking straight into his
u . , The toil of wondering eyes, with the shadow of a
AlZ I ! in"u 6mile lg around the corners of her
Ani gruw ing old in drawing nothing up. gmaJJ mouth
" Sweet spirit of repose, bend closer " You are not perceptibly glad of my
while I ask thee-Is there no land, this presence," ohe remarked composedly, in
side of tho grave, where tired mortals a clear, bell-like voice,
may woo thee at will, nor ever woo thee With a look, strangely mingled, of
in vain? Where the ceaseless struggle chagrin, displeasure, and the instinct of
for bread, for name, fame, and wealth, common politeness, Stanley slowly arose
is unknown? Where manna grows on and bowed, without uttering a word.