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Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland by Abigail Stanley Hanna
page 67 of 371 (18%)
the arm of Theodore Stanley, "I should think Ed and Ann were saying
their parting adieus, they look so sad."

Upon this the eyes of the whole group were turned upon them, and
affecting a gaiety they did not feel, they soon hastened forward and
joined in the general conversation till they came to the place of
their destination.

What was called the Island, was a point of land in the edge of a large
pond, or lake it might be called, as it was six miles long and three
or four wide. It was separated from the main land in low water, by a
small stream that was crossed by a large stone placed in the centre,
for a stepping stone; but in high water it could be reached only with
boats.

The little party crossed this stream, and seated themselves upon the
grassy knolls, beneath the giant oaks that spread their huge branches
around them, for they were the growth of centuries. Loud came the
chorus of the feathered tribe, as they sang their evening hymns before
retiring to their nests, which were very abundant in that shady
retreat, which afforded them protection from the truant school boys.

Annie reclined against the trunk of one of the largest trees, seated
by Edward's side, when suddenly looking up, she said,

"O, Edward, let me have your knife."

He reached it to her, and she immediately commenced carving his name
in the tough bark of the tree, against which she was leaning.

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