The Free Lance.
His good blade carves the casques of men, for the Free Lance
thrusteth sure."
Vol. XVII.
THE SECRET OF A CUSHION.
About two years ago, when I was deep in the first happiness of
being engaged to Charlie, I would have attacks of the most severe
melancholy, and they generally came on days that I (sailed
“straightening up days.” On those days I would sit down before
a little cupboard, I'll call it that for want of a better name, for it
had in turn served as dolls’ dish clipboard, dolls’ wardrobe, case
for school books, receptacle for quilt blocks and examination
papers, and ,finally, for a treasure box for my letters. Little by
little I had thinned out my papers and letters, burning each time
all that I sorted out as the poorest; but there still remained a good
sized box of them, which I had never had the heart to even sort
over with a view to destroying part. They were my first love
letters, written by my first lover when I was at college. I knew it
would never do to take them to my new home, for although
Charlie was the most lovable and reasonable fellow alive, he would
never tolerate a box of sweets from my first love.
One day after indecision, sentiment and common sense had united
their strength to make me miserable for several hours, I sought out
the box and sorted over the letters, placing the “good” ones in one
pile and the others in another; but after I had finished, the “good”
pile was so large that nothing would be gained by burning the
“poor” pile, so I put them all away again. As I pressed them
back into the box practicability whispered to me for the first time;
NOVEMBER, 1903.
No. 5.