The sun is setting, and we wander in the fields touched by the dreamy
autumn.
"Look," says the somebody who holds my hand, and smiles, "there is the
rock where we stopped in the autumn of 1862, and where you behaved with
so little propriety, you remember, sir!"
"I remember the rock but not the absence of propriety. What were a
man's arms made for but to clasp the woman he loves!"
"Stop, sir! People would think we were two foolish young lovers."
"Young lovers are not foolish, madam. They are extremely intelligent."
Madam laughs.
"Yonder is the primrose from which I plucked the bud," she says.
"That sent me through Stuart's head-quarters in April, 1863?" I say.
"Yes; you have not forgotten it I hope."
"Almost; Stay! I think it meant 'Come,'--did it not?--And you sent it
to me!"
Madam pouts beautifully.
"You have 'almost forgotten' it! Have you, indeed, sir?"
"These trifles will escape us."
May loses all her smiles, and her head sinks.
I begin to laugh, taking an old porte-monnaie from my pocket. There is
very little money in it, but a number of worn papers, my parole and
others. I take one and open it. It contains a faded primrose.
"Look!" I say, with a smile, "it said 'Come,' once, and it brings me
back again to the dearest girl in the world!"
A tear falls from the violet eyes upon the faded flower, but through
the tears burst a smile!
They are curious, these earthly angels--are they not, my dear reader?
They are romantic and sentimental to the last, and this old soldier
admires them!
So, conversing of a thousand things, we return to the Oaks wandering
like boy and girl through the "happy autumn fields.
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