Pocket Island: A Story of Country Life in New England — John Shaqi
Pocket Island: A Story of Country Life in New EnglandMunn, Charles Clark
General
Pocket Island: A Story of Country Life in New England
Munn, Charles Clark
New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"I realize what it all means," he answered, after a long pause, "and you
can trust me, for so long as God gives me strength you shall have all
the blessings I can win in life."
They sat in silence until the lowering sun had left the valley in shadow
and smiled only on the hilltop where they lingered. Perhaps the dread
parting that was near seemed creeping toward them with the shades of
night, for his arm stole softly about her waist, and her hand crept
into his. They watched until the last ray of sunlight had vanished, and
when they arose he once more gathered her close in his arms and
whispered:
"Promise me, my darling, that if I never come back you will visit this
spot alone, once a year, in June, and if there be such a thing as a life
beyond the grave, I will be here in spirit."
"I promise," she answered solemnly, "and no man shall ever have the
right to stop me."
When they were ready to leave the place he had to lead her to the
carriage, for her eyes were blinded by tears.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.
With bayonets flashing in the sunlight, with flags flying and keeping
step to the martial music, Southton's brave Company E marched full one
hundred strong to the depot the next day, ready to leave for the war.
Almost the entire town was there to see them off, and hundreds of men,
old and young, filled the air with cheers. Mingling in that throng were
as many mothers, wives, sweethearts and sisters with aching hearts,
whose sobs of anguish were woven into the cheering. Strong men wept as
well. As the train rolled away, Manson fought the tears back that he
might not lose the last sight of one fair girl whose heart he knew was
breaking. When it was all over, and he realized that for months or
years, or perhaps never, would he behold her again, he knew what war and
parting meant. He had obeyed his conscience and sense of duty, and now
he must pay the price, and the payment was very bitter. Of his future
he knew not, or what it might hold for him. He could only hope that when
his hour of trial came that he would not falter, and if the worst must
come that he would find strength to meet it as a soldier should.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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