Pine to Potomac

by E. K. Cressey

Mr. Blaine’s resources had never been drawn on before in any real, business-like way. But it was an experience he was ready for, and he liked it. He next had a class in Latin, and then in United States history. He could not have been better suited in studies. They were just the ones that delighted him. Christmas seemed to come that year on wings, and soon the spring-time was on them, and the picnic season.

He had shut himself up closely to his work. Visitors had abounded, but he accepted but few of the invitations that were given. He did not even accept any one of several invitations to spend the holidays with students at their homes. A short trip to Lexington and Frankfort satisfied, and he was back at work.

The literature of every subject connected with his recitations must he read up carefully, and every spare hour was devoted to these lines of study.

But he did go to the annual picnic. He was part of the school, and he must go. Everybody went, seemingly. It was a sectional affair; other schools were there. He met a familiar face: it was a lady’s; who could it be?

She recognized him, and bowed. He returned it. He awoke as from a revery, he had so lived in his work; and being worried with the question, “Where have I seen that face,” traced it at once to the stage-coach. They were introduced.

It was Miss Hattie Stanwood, of Augusta, Maine. She also was teaching school, not far away. It was quite the thing in that day for well-educated New England girls or young ladies to go South and teach school.

They had remembered each other through the winter, but neither knew the other’s name, address, or occupation. Now all was clear. Thoughts and dreams were actualized. It was a marvel, almost a miracle, that they should meet.

The picnic had no further charms for them. They quietly strolled away together over the hills after the lunch was served, and for three full hours they lived in each other’s lives. They seemed strangely near to each other, and a peculiar peaceful joy seemed living in their hearts. It had evidently come to stay. None other ever seemed to be so needful to life itself. No formal words were spoken, only cards exchanged and carefully preserved. In two weeks her school would close, and she would spend the summer northward at her home, and he would take a long trip southward through various states, and see what could be seen as far down as New Orleans. They spent two afternoons in each other’s company before the time of departure came; correspondence was agreed upon, and in the autumn they would meet and renew acquaintance in the old posts of duty. Some slight tokens were exchanged, and as they must they nerved brave hearts for a long and perilous separation.

When the time for their departure came they were found seated side by side in the same old coach, for Louisville. The ride was much shorter and far more pleasant in that rich and beauteous spring-time than in the ripe and luscious autumn before.

Politics was a barren subject now. Homes were admired as they passed along; bits of sentiment indulged; snatches of song and lines of poetry; much sober, sensible talk filled in the hours which served as a needed respite to minds kept hard at thought throughout the year.