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Transcriber's note


Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original.




THE LOVE STORY OF ABNER STONE




   THE LOVE STORY

   OF

   ABNER STONE

   _By_
   EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY



   NEW YORK
   A. S. BARNES AND COMPANY
   MCMII




   _Copyright, 1902_
   BY A. S. BARNES AND COMPANY
   _Published June, 1902_

   ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

   REPRINTED JULY, 1902

   UNIVERSITY PRESS. JOHN WILSON
   AND SON. CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.




TO HER




Preface


It seems a little strange that I, Abner Stone, now verging upon my
seventieth year, should bring pen, ink, and paper before me, with the
avowed purpose of setting down the love story of my life, which I had
thought locked fast in my heart forever. A thing very sacred to me; of
the world, it is true, yet still apart from it, the blessed memory of it
all has abode in my breast with the unfading distinctness of an old
picture done in oils, and has brightened the years I have thus far lived
on the shadowed <DW72> of life. And now has come the firm belief that the
world may be made better by the telling of this story--as my life has
been made better by having lived it--and so I shall essay the brief and
simple task before my fingers have grown too stiff to hold the pen,
trusting that some printer of books will be good enough to put my story
into a little volume for all who would care to read. And I, as I pursue
the work which I have appointed unto myself, shall again stroll through
the meadows and forests of dear Kentucky, shall tread her dusty highways
under the spell of a bygone June, and shall sit within the portals of an
old home whose floors are now pressed by an alien foot. Now, ere I have
scarce begun, the recollections come upon me like a flood, and this page
becomes blurred to my failing sight. O Memory! Memory! and the visions
of thine!




THE LOVE STORY _of_ ABNER STONE




I


It is a long path which stretches from forty-five to seventy. A path
easy enough to make, for each day's journey through life is a part of
it, but very difficult to retrace. When we turn at that advanced
mile-stone and look back, things seem misty. For there is many a twist
and angle in the highway of a life, and often the things which we would
forget stand out the clearest. But I would not drive from my brain this
quiet afternoon the visions which enfold it,--the blessed recollections
of over a score of years ago. For the sweet voice which speaks in my
ear as I write I have never ceased to hear; the face which the mirror of
my mind ever reflects before my eyes I have looked upon with
never-tiring eagerness, and the tender hand which I can imagine betimes
creeping into my own, is the chiefest blessing of a life nearly spent.

There is no haunting memory of past misdeeds to shadow the quiet rest of
my last days. As I bid my mind go back over the path which my feet have
trod, no ghost uprises to confront it; no voice cries out for
retribution or justice; not even does a dumb animal whine at a blow
inflicted, nor a worm which my foot has wantonly pressed, appear. I
would show forth no self-praise in this, but rather a devout
thankfulness unto the Creator who made me as I am, with a heart of mercy
for all living things, and a reverent love for all His wonderful works.
The beauty of tree, and flowering plant, and lowly creeper abides with
me as an everlasting joy, and the song of the humblest singer the forest
shelters finds a response in my heart. Without my window now, as I sit
down to make a history of part of my life, a brown-coated English
sparrow is chattering in a strange jargon to his mate on the limb of an
Early Harvest apple tree, and I pause a moment to listen to his shrill
little voice, and to watch the black patch under his throat puff up and
down.

It is the fall of the year, and the afternoon is gray. At times an arrow
of sunlight