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Daviess, Maria Thompson, 1872-1924

"Rose of Old Harpeth"

He
bent over the General's little cot, across which lay a long shaft of
the white light from the hilltops, and was about to press his lips on
the warm, breath-stirred ones of the small boy, but he restrained
himself in time from offering to the General in his defenseless sleep
what would have been an insult to him awake, and contented himself
with a most cautious and manly clasp of the chubby little hand.
"Ketch it, Tobe, ketch it--don't let Aunt Viney's vase be broked,"
murmured Stonie as he turned on his side and buried his head still
deeper in the pillow.
"No, General, Aunt Viney's vase--is--not going to be broken, thank
God," answered Everett under his breath as he turned away and left the
General, who, even in sleep, carried his responsibilities sturdily.
"Rose Mary," he said a little later as he stood on the bottom step
below her, so that his eyes were just on a level with hers as she sat
and smiled down upon him, "for a woman, you have very little
curiosity. Don't you want to ask me where I've been, why I went and
what I've been doing every minute since I left you? Can it be
indifference that makes you thus ignore your feminine prerogative of
the inquisition?"
"I'm beginning at being glad you are here. Joy's just the white foam
at the top of the cup, and it ought not to be blown away, no
matter--how thirsty one is, ought it? Now tell me what brought you
back--to save me," and Rose Mary held out her hand, with one of her
lovely, entreating gestures, while her eyes were full of tender tears.


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