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Mitchell, Donald Grant, 1822-1908

"Dream Life A Fable Of The Seasons"


Nelly is there,--cherished now with all the added love that is stricken
off from her who has left you forever. Nelly meets you at the door.
----"Clarence!"
----"Nelly!"
There are no other words; but you feel her tears as the kiss of welcome
is given. With your hand joined in hers, you walk down the hall into the
old, familiar room,--not with the jaunty college step,--not with any
presumption on your dawning manhood,--oh, no,--nothing of this!
Quietly, meekly, feeling your whole heart shattered, and your mind
feeble as a boy's, and your purposes nothing, and worse than
nothing,--with only one proud feeling you fling your arm around the form
of that gentle sister,--the pride of a protector,--the feeling--"_I_
will care for you now, dear Nelly!"--that is all. And even that, proud
as it is, brings weakness.
You sit down together upon the lounge; Nelly buries her face in her
hands, sobbing.
"Dear Nelly!" and your arm clasps her more fondly.
There is a cricket in the corner of the room, chirping very loudly. It
seems as if nothing else were living,--only Nelly, Clarence, and the
noisy cricket. Your eye on the chair where she used to sit; it is drawn
up with the same care as ever beside the fire.


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