Up the rafters ran the vines I helped to
plant, but when the winter came, drear and cold, only a few persons
remained on the domain. The dining hall echoed to my voice in its
emptiness, and the little reading room at the Hive was where we now
assembled at meals.
I wandered around and looked into the empty rooms. I cannot say I felt
as sad as I would to-day. Every spot was connected with some little
event, but the events were usually of such a cheerful and pleasant
nature that I could not be depressed, and a large portion of my
intimates were still near me in the city or neighborhood. We could
muster a goodly number at call and we tried to keep alive the good work
for the "cause" with meetings, social and theoretical. But no longer
the stage brought its loads of visitors to the Hive door. Over the
hills and the meadows no more resounded the morning horn echoing far
and far away, or Miss Ripley's high voice calling "Alfred! Alfred!" who
acted as major-domo in the absent General's place.
No more came down from the distant houses school lads and lasses, and
the long, tridaily procession of young and old had ceased forever. The
din of the kitchen was stopped, and the merry brogue of Irish John was
silenced.
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