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BY FITZ-JAMES O'BRIEN.

It was noon in summer. The earth lay breathless in the heat, with its
thousand tongues in wood and field too faint for their accustomed low, mysterious
speech. The Long Island shore, white and crescented, bared its bosom
like Danae to the golden embraces of the sun. In the meadows the heavy-crested
grasses with nodding heads beat time to the sweet wash of waves upon
the beach. Yellow spires of the golden-rod pierced the air like steeples. The
tulip-tree, robed like a priest in fereal green, held up to heaven with branching
arms a thousand golden chalices. Far away across the Sound lay the Connecticut
shore trembling through mist, while behind me, from the green recesses
of a deserted garden, the oriole poured forth his monotone of sorrow.

As I sauntered down the little path that led from the old house where I
was boarding for the summer, to my favorite haunt by the sea-shore, with
clouds of insects springing from the grass like a living spray at every step I
took, I suddenly heard the saucy notes of that low-comedian of birds, the Bob
o' Link. As I have always had a friendly feeling toward this ornithological
farceur, I set to work to obtain an interview with him. I was not long in discovering
his whereabouts. He was sitting on the stump of a rail chattering
vehemently, and as well as I understood his language, impudently; preening
his feathers, cocking his head on one side, as if he had a passion for seeing
Nature upside down, and shaking his wings as though he contemplated an immediate
migration to the coast of Africa. About every half-minute or so he
would suddenly leave his perch, and flying a little distance, flop into the long
meadow-grass, whence instantly would proceed a most astounding vocal effort,
after which he would reäppear and resume his rail in triumph. His frequent
journeys to the same spot led me to suspect that he had some private interest
in that quarter — a nest, or a young bride perhaps, and that he was in fact
passing his honey-moon, so I walked toward the place in which I saw him disappear
last, determined to be a witness of his domestic bliss.

It seemed to me that a human head was lying alone and bodiless in the
deep green sea of grass that surrounded me. A beautiful youth's head, blonde
and spiritual, looking up at me with a calm, unfrightened look, while nestling
close to its pale, rounded cheek, hushed and rather astonished by my appearance,
sat Master Bob o' Link.

The head, however, was not without a body. The long bending grass met
over the form, leaving exposed only the pale, beautiful face, which looked like
an exquisite Venetian picture framed in gold and green.

`Good morning, Sir,' said the youth in a sweet voice as I bent over him,
looking I suppose a little bewildered at this sudden apparition, and fondling at
the same time Master Bob o' Link with long slender fingers. `Good morning,
Sir.'

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`Good morning,' I answered. `You seem to be taking things quietly
here.'

He gave a sudden glance downward toward his feet, and a sad smile
flickered over his lips.

`I am obliged to take things quietly,' he said.

`Ah! an invalid I suppose. I am sorry.'

`I am paralyzed, Sir.'

No words can paint the tone of utter despair in which he made this terrible
statement. If you have ever spoken with a man who had spent twenty years
in solitary confinement, you will have noticed the unearthly calm of his voice,
the low monotone of sound, the loneliness of accent. Well, this lad's voice
sounded so. He talked like one shut out of life. I made a place for myself
in the grass and sat down beside him.

`I was attracted by your bird,' I said; `I thought he had a nest here, and
so followed him. I trust I am not intruding.'

`Not at all, Sir; I am glad to have some one to speak to. As for Bob, he
has a nest here, but it 's in my heart. He is the only thing on earth that loves
me.'

`You take too sad a view of life, my friend. Your calamity is great, no
doubt, but still —'

`Ah! Sir, it 's all well enough to talk so when you have limbs and health
and freedom. When you can work and go out into life and tread the earth
with the full consciousness of being. But when ever since you can remember
you have been but the moiety of a man, utterly helpless, utterly dependent, an
infant without an infant's happy unconsciousness. But what 's the use of my
talking to you in this way; here, Bob, show the gentleman your tricks.'

Bob, on this summons, left his post by the lad's cheek, where he had remained
perfectly still, taking an inventory of my person with his round bright
eye, and apparently measuring me for a suit of clothes, and suddenly flew into
the air, where he summersaulted and pirouetted and affected to lose the use of
his wings and tumble from an appalling height, invariably recovering himself
before he reached the ground, after which he gravely alit upon his master's
breast and thrust his little bill affectionately between his lips.

`You have tamed your bird wonderfully,' I said to the boy.

`It has been my amusement during many solitary hours,' he answered with
a feeble smile.

`How is it that you have been left so solitary?' I asked; `you live in the
neighborhood?'

`In that house up yonder just peeping from behind that clump of maples,'
and he pointed as he spoke toward a respectable farm-house.

`And you have friends — a family?'

`Ah! Sir, they are kind enough to me; but they must be very tired of me
by this time.'

`Come,' said I encouragingly, laying my hand on his shoulder, `come, tell
me all about yourself. I 'm a good listener: beside, I am interested in you.
Bob here looks as if he was anxious for a story. This is a charming nook that
we are in, so I 'll just light a cigar, and do you talk.'

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The free and easy manner I assumed seemed to surprise him. He glanced
shyly at me out of his large blue eyes as if suspicious of my sincerity; then
he heaved a little sigh, stroked Bob's feathers, as if to assure himself of the
presence of at least one friend, and saying, `As you please,' commenced:

`I am eighteen,' he said; `you would not think it, for I know I look
younger than I am. Confinement and suffering have made my complexion
pale and transparent, and the sun and the winds that harden other men's skins
and age their features, have had but little to do with me. Ever since I can remember
I have been paralyzed in the lower limbs. For years I lay upon an
inclined plane of board, looking up at the ceiling with a mind very nearly as
blank as the white plaster I gazed at. My father died when I was a mere infant,
and there was no one left in the house but mother and Cousin Alice and
me.'

`Cousin Alice,' I said; `who is she?'

His eyes wandered timidly toward the house behind the maples, as if he
expected some apparition to start from thence on the very instant.

`Cousin Alice,' he repeated vaguely, `well, she 's — Cousin Alice.'

`Excessively explanatory,' I said, laughing. `Is Cousin Alice young?'

`My age.'

`Is she pretty?'

One deep, reproachful look of those large blue eyes told me all. Poor fellow,
there he lay maimed, useless, passing his days and evenings in the presence
of some beautiful creature whom he could never hope to possess, but
loving her with all that concentrated intensity which belongs to the passions of
the deformed.

He seemed to know what was passing in my mind; for without a word
from me, he continued: `She is engaged to Ralph Farnwell, who lives down
yonder. She is very fond of him, and he of her. It is they who bring me
down between them to this place every fine day, and I sit here with Bob while
they go off and pick nuts, and — and —' and here the picture was too much
for him, and the poor fellow burst into tears.

No wonder. To have his misfortune paraded through necessity before the
woman he loved. To be carried about like a piece of furniture by her and his
rival. How often that poor heart must have been smitten bitterly! How
often those crippled limbs thrilled with agony!

I took his hand in mine, but did not say a word. There are times when
consolation is cruel. It was better than all words to let him feel by the pressure
of my hand that he had found a friend. We sat this way for some time,
until I was aroused from a painful reverie into which I had fallen by a long,
black shadow being projected across the spot in which we were sitting. I
looked up and saw a tall, handsome young man with bronzed cheeks and
curly chestnut hair, on whose arm was hanging an exceedingly lovely young
girl, whose face was a perfect treasury of archness and innocence. They
looked rather surprised at seeing me, but I explained how it was that I came
to be there, and they seemed satisfied.

`Harry, is n't it time to come home?' said the young girl. `Ralph and I
are come for you.'

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`Thank you, Alice; but I 'd like to stay an hour longer. The day is so
bright and sunny that it is a shame to be in-doors. You do n't want to go
home yet,' and he looked at Ralph as he said this with a bitter expression of
countenance that perhaps I alone observed, but which seemed to say: It will
give you an hour more to wander together. Of course you do n't want to go
home.

`Well, as you please, Harry. Ralph and I will go off to the pond in the cedar
grove and come back in about an hour. But I say, Harry, look here; is n't
this pretty?' and as she spoke she held out a little box for his inspection. He
opened it, and disclosed a pretty little ring set with garnets. While he looked
at it, Alice stooped over and with a blush whispered something into his ear,
which made him to my keener sight quiver in all that part of him that was
alive. It was but momentary, however, for he restored the box, saying coldly:
`Well, I wish you both every happiness. You will find me here when you
return.'

As they walked slowly away, he followed them with his eyes, then turned
to me. `They are to be married next Sunday,' he said.

I felt all the meaning of his words. I pitied him. Solitude is a need to
him at this moment; I will leave him. As I pulled out my watch and prepared
for my departure, he said to me: `I am exceedingly obliged to you, Sir,
for your company, but I want you to do me one more favor before you leave.
You are strong and I am light. Please take me to the giant's chair. I love to
sit on it and dip my hand in the salt wash of the sea.'

`But are you not afraid of slipping and falling in?' I asked, for the giant's
chair was a fantastically-shaped rock a few hundred yards down the beach,
around whose rugged base the sea at high tide washed clamorously.

`Oh! no,' he answered; `there is a cleft in it where I sit quite safely.
And when Ralph and Alice come to look for me, I can easily shout to them
from where I am. Do take me, Sir, if you please.'

Of course I obeyed his wishes. I lifted him in my arms, and with Bob
flying alongside of us, carried him down to the huge old rock which was regally
draped in the rich brown tapestry of the sea. I found a comfortable, dry cleft
in which I stowed him away, and with a promise to come and see him the following
day, I left him, with Bob chattering away on his shoulder, gazing
dreamily across at the Connecticut shore.

About an hour and three-quarters after this, I was strolling down the road
smoking my after-dinner segar, when I heard hurried steps behind me, and the
young man named Ralph ran up pale and breathless.

`For God's sake, Sir, where did you leave Harry?' he cried. `We can't
find him any where!'

`Oh! you have n't looked on the giant's chair, then; I took him there. I
left him snug and comfortable.'

`But we have, Sir. We knew how fond he was of sitting there, and when
we missed him from the meadow, concluded that he had got you to carry him
there. But there 's no sign of him, only the Bob o' Link flying wildly over the
spot where the rock dips in to the water, and crying as if its heart would
break.'

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`Not in the giant's chair!' I cried, with a sick feeling about my heart.
`Good God! he has drowned himself.'

`Drowned himself! Why, what for?' asked Ralph with the most unfeigned
astonishment.

`He was in love with his Cousin Alice; and you are to marry her on next
Sunday,' was my only reply.

The man was stunned. He saw it in an instant. All that secret and mysterious
love which had racked the heart of the poor cripple, unknown to him
or his betrothed, was now laid bare. He groaned and buried his head in his
hands. `This will kill Alice, Sir,' he said to me. `Come and help me to
break it to her.'

My conjecture was correct. About a week after this, the body of the poor
paralytic was washed ashore some miles down the beach, holding with desperate
clutch in one hand a little daguerreotype of his Cousin Alice.

And Bob: he missed the accustomed hand. For days after his master's
death he used to fly down to the old place in the meadow and hover around
there, waiting for him who never more would come. This lasted for about a
fortnight, when one day Ralph in passing by found the poor bird dead in the
grass, which still bore the impress of his master's form.