EPILOGUE.
Five times has Boston Common, old, honored in history’s story, slept beneath its snowy counterpane, all damaskeened by winter sunbeam’s glory.
Five times have brooks in Yankee vales burst icy chains to flee, with gladsome shouts of merriment, on joyous journey to the sea.
Five times have Massachusetts hills and dales been garbed in cloak of emerald, embroidered wide in gay designs of daffodils and daisies since the grand old Commonwealth was shocked by the commission of a horrid crime by one called Burton.
An old sign still swings before an even older building, in one of Boston’s most crooked streets. “J. Dunlap, Shipping and Banking,” is what the passersby may read on the old sign.
Sometimes an old man is seen to enter the building above the door of which is suspended this sign; he is much bent and white of hair, but sturdy still, despite some four-score years. All men of Boston accord great respect to this handsome old gentleman.
The man who is head and manager of all the business done within the old building where that sign is seen, has the tanned and rugged look of one who had long gazed upon the bright surface of the sea. While he is only seen in landsmen’s dress, it seems that clothing of a nautical cut would best befit his stalwart figure.
This head man at J. Dunlap’s office is cavalier-in-chief to three old ladies, with whom he often is seen driving in Boston’s beautiful suburbs; one of these white-haired old dames he addresses as “Mother,” another as “Mrs. Church,” and the most withered one of the three he calls “Miss Arabella.”
He has been seen, too, with a sweet, sad, yet very lovely young woman in whose glorious crown of gold-brown hair silver silken threads run in and out.
“Lucy, I have always loved you.”
A big, jovial naval man periodically drives up before the old sign and shouting out, “Jack, come here and see the latest!” exhibits a baby to the sailor-looking manager. The last time he roared in greatest glee, “It’s a girl, named Bessie, for her mother.”
Kind harvest moon, send forth your tenderest glances, that fall betwixt the tall elm’s branches on that sad, sweet face that lies so restfully against a sailor’s loyal bosom.
“Lucy, I have always loved you!” Jack Dunlap kissed his “Little Princess” and put his strong arms around her.
Everlasting time, catch up those words, and bear them on forever, as motto of most faithful lover.
An old man, standing at a window in the Dunlap mansion, watched the man and woman in the moonlight between the elm trees, and what he witnessed seemed to bring a great joy to his good, kind heart, for he reverently raised his eyes to heaven and said,
“My God, I thank Thee!”