"Nan, I promised mother to be silent till I was sure I loved you
wholly,--sure that the knowledge would give no pain when I should tell
it, as I am trying to tell it now. This little shoe has been my
comforter through this long year, and I have kept it as other lovers
keep their fairer favors. It has been a talisman more eloquent to me
than flower or ring; for, when I saw how worn it was, I always thought
of the willing feet that came and went for others' comfort all day
long; when I saw the little bow you tied, I always thought of the
hands so diligent in serving any one who knew a want or felt a pain;
and when I recalled the gentle creature who had worn it last, I always
saw her patient, tender, and devout,--and tried to grow more worthy of
her, that I might one day dare to ask if she would walk beside me all
my life and be my 'angel in the house.' Will you, dear? Believe me,
you shall never know a weariness or grief I have the power to shield
you from."
Then Nan, as simple in her love as in her life, laid her arms about
his neck, her happy face against his own, and answered softly,--
"Oh, John, I never can be sad or tired any more!"
* * * * *
THE OLD DAYS AND THE NEW.
A poet came singing along the vale,--
"Ah, well-a-day for the dear old days!
They come no more as they did of yore
By the flowing river of Aise."
He piped through the meadow, he piped through the grove,--
"Ah, well-a-day for the good old days!
They have all gone by, and I sit and sigh
By the flowing river of Aise.
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