Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 46, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 9 May 1885 — Page 6

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE

"COME ASHORE."

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN.

CHAPTER VL

ALSO CONCLUDES WITH A KISS. "When Matt awoke the next morning, the ftrst thing she did was to look around for her Sunday clothes, which on retiring to rest she had carefully placed beside her bed. They were gone, and in their place lay the habilijnenta she was accustomed to wear on her erratic pilgrimages every day.

Her foco grew cloudy she hunted all around 'fte chamber, but finding nothing that she ought she was compelled to array herself as best she could. "WOliam Jones," she said, when she sat •with that worthy at a hermit's breakfast of dry bread and whey, "where'a my Sunday •lathfBf1

William Jones fidgeted a bit, then he said: "They're put where you won't find 'em. Look ye now, Matt, you'd best be after doin' summat useful than runnin' about after a painter chap. I was down on the shore this morning, and I seen heaps o' wood—you'd •dbeet got some of it afore night 1"

Matt gave a snort, but said nothing. A few minutes later her benign protector left the cottage, and a little after he had disappeared Matt issued forth but instead of •eating the shore for firewood, as she had been told to do, she ran across the fields to the pointer.

She found him already established at his work. The fact was he had been for som time strolling about with his hands in h. pockets and scanning the prospect on every •M* for a sight of her. Having got tired of Hds characteristic occupation, he at length •at down and began to pat a few touches to Vie portrait. Swing that he was unconscious 0t her approach, Matt crept up quietly be kind him and took a peep at the picture.

Her black eyes dilated with pleasure. "Oh, ain't it beautiful I" she exclaimed. "So you have come at last," said Brinkley .quietly, going on with his painting.

She made no movement and no further -flDund so be continued: ''Perhaps, now you hat* oome, you'll be -good enough to stop round that I may conVnue my work. I am longing to refresh my '•Mtnory'with a sight of your face, Matt!" "Well, you can't," said Matt "they're Jodked up!" "Eh—what's locked up—my memory or jour face?"

It was clear Matt could not appreciate ban4sr. She saw him smile, and guessed he was -laughing at her, and her faoe grew black and Hutinous. She would have slunk off but his -Voice stopped her. "Oome here, Matt," he said. "Don't be fOy, child toll me what's the matter, and— ^rhy, what has become of your resplendent nfanent—your gorgeous Sunday clothes?" "Didn't I tell you?—they're locked up." •"Indeed?" "Yes, William Jones done it 'cause h* told lie dont want me to come here and be took." "Oh I Tell you what it is, Matt, we will fcare our own way in spite of them. For the -present this picturo shall be put aside. If in A day or so you can again don your Sunday nriment, and sit to me again in them—if not, I daro say I shall be able to finish the stress from memory. That portrait I shall give to you. In the meantime, as I want one for myself, I will paint you as you are. Do you approvof'

Matt nodded her head vigorously. "Very well," said Brinkley. "Then we will get on.

Ho removed from his easel and carefully covered the portrait upon which he bad been working. Then bo put up afresh cardboard, and sat down, inviting Matt to do the 6ame.

With the disappearance of the Sunday dothes the girl's stiffness Seemed to have disappeared also, and she become again a veritable child of nature. She looked like a Aaggy young pony fresh from a race on the snountain-side, as she threw herself on the ground in an attitudo which was all picturaaqupness and beauty. Then, with her plump, ,*un-burned hand sho began to carelessly pull mp the grass, while her black eyes searched alternately tho prospect and the painter's face.

Presently she spoke: -"/Jo says you're a pryin' scoundrel," she Mid.

Brinkley looked up and smiled. "Who is

fir,

Matt?"

"Mr. Monk," sho replied, and gave a jerk with her boad in the direction of Monkshurst. "Ob, indeed," said Brinkley. "It is my amiable equestrian friend, is it? PmsuroPm jnm-h obliged to him. And when, may I ask, 4id ho bore you with his opinion of me?" "Last night, when ho oome to see William Jones. Ho said I wasn't to be took no, more, 'cause you WQS a scoundrel, pokin' and pryin'."

Brinkley began to whistle, and went on for a while vigorously touching up his work. Then ho looked up and regarded the girl •curiously. "Mr. Monk seems to be very much interested in you, Matt?"

Tho girl nodded her head vigorously then, remembering the odious caress to which Mr, Monk had subjected her, she began to violently rub her cheek again. "Why is Mr. Monk so interested in you! Do you know!" "P'raps it's *cause he found me when I come ashore." "Oh, he found you, did he! Then why doesn't he keep youf' "He do, only I lire along William Jones."

Again Brinkley began whistling lightly and working away rigorously wilh his brush. Presently the conversation began again. "Matt, what things did yon oome ashore *»F "I duunoP "You have never heard whether anything •was found with you which might lead to jour finding your relations?" "No no more has William Jonas. Ha says mayta they'll find me some day and reward lut: Mr. Monk says they were all drown*: I ain't got no friends Vxpt him ami WiUia. Jones." "Well, jihi bi found you, I suppose 1M and since yoa have no relatk: M&U, aaa no claim upon anybody In the world, it wat very kind of Mr. Monk to keep you. in *1 of sending you to the workboose, as he ght have dona."

On thb point Matt seemed rather skeptical. "Well," ct inued Brinkley, as 1M went on lightly toueL up his work, "perhaps I have 4ooe my equwtiaa friend a wrong. IVrfaaps Ms unamiabta ©tartar bettssMs eori natnrs— aerhapsbeitg'-xi and kind, gmilom to fts poor, willi'it to bdp tin hsJpleaa liks yoa, for instance" "Is it htnif eacolatasd Matt "Monk, ai Monkdiurst! Whv fee dont giveiKXhla' to

No fear."

nArid

yet, according to your own showing,

he has helped to support you all these years— you, who have no claim whatever upon him." This was an enigma to which Matt had no solution. She said no more, but Brinkley, while he continued his painting, silently ruminated thus: "It strikes me this puzzle would be worth unraveling if I could only find the key. Query, is the young person the key, if I bat knew how to use her? Perhaps, since the amiable Monk evidently dislikes my coning into communication with her. But it would be useless to lay the case before her, since, if die is the key, ahe is quite unconscious of it herself."

He threw down his brush, rose and stretched himself, and said: "Look here, Matt, Pm tired of work. The sun shining on those sandhills and on the faroff sea is too tempting. I shall go for a walk, and you, if you are in the mood, shall be my guide."

She evidently was in the mood, for she was on her feet in an instant. "All right, master," she said, 'Til go." "Very welL Tim, bring forth some refreshment. We will refresh the inner man and girl before we start."

Tim disappeared into the caravan. Presently he reappeared bearing a small tray, on which was a small flask of brandy, a large jug of wifflr, some biscuits and a couple of grinwaro- This he placed on the camp-stool, which his master had just vacated, and which, when not in use as a seat, served as a table. Brinkley poured out two glasses of milk, then, looking at Matt, he held the little flask on high. "Brandy, Matt?"

She shook her head. "Very well, child I think you are wise. Here, take the milk and drink confusion tc your enemies 1"

Matt took the glass of milk and drank it down, while Brinkley hastened to dilute and dispose of the other. Then he gave some orders to Tim, and they started off. As- they had no particular object in view, they chost the pleasantest route, and clearly the pleas an test lay across the sandhills. Not because the «mnHh1la were pleasant in themselves— they were not, especially on a day when the sun was scorching the roads and making th« sea like a mill-pond—but because by crossing the sandhills one came, on the other side, upon a footoath which led, by various windings, gradually to the top of breezy cliffs.

To the

MTHii]ia|

therefore, thej wended

their way. Having gained them, they followed a route which Matt knew full well, and which soon brought them to the narrow footpath beyond. During the walk she was singularly silent, and Brinkley seemed to be busily trying to work out soma, abstruse problem which had taken possession of his brain.

When they had followed the footpath foi some distance and had gained the greensward on the top of the cliffs, the young man threvi himBAlf upon the grass, and invited Matt to dc the same. It was very pleasant there, soothing both to the eye and to the mind. Thi "lift was covered—somewhat sparsely, it it true—with stunted grass aud just below, on their right, lay tho ocean, calm aa any millpond, but sighing softly as the water kissed the rocks and flowed back again with rhythmic throbs. On their left lay the sandhills, glittering like dusty gold in the sunrays, while just before and below them wai the village. "Do you see that house standing all by itself, close to shore?" said Matt, pointing to the cottage where she lived. 'Iliat belongs tc William Jones. And, look ye now, there be William Jones on the rocks!"

Looking down, Brinkley beheld a figuxt moving along the rocks, just where the watei touched the edge. "Very lazy of William Jones," ha said.

W is a "At work?" if "Yes, tilling the fields or fishing. By the way, I forgot to ask you, is he a fisherman?" "No, he aint," said Matt. "He's awrecker, he is I" "A what?" exclaimed Brinkley. "A wrecker," continued Matt, as if wrecking was the most natural occupation in the world.' Brinkley looked at her, imagining that she must be practicing some wild joke. He had certainly heard of wreckers, but he had always believed that they were a species ol humanity which had belonged to past centuries, and were now as extinct as a mammoth. But the girl evidently meant what she said, and thought there was nothing extraordinary in the statement "That sea dont look ugly, do it?" she continued, pointing at the ocean. "But it is there's rocks out there where the ships split on then they go all to pieces, and the things come ashore." "And what becomes of all the things, Matt?" "Some of 'em's stole, and some of 'em's took by the coastguards. They do say," she added, mysteriously, "as there's lots o' thing%-gold and silver—hid among them sandhills. Before tho coastguards come all the folk was wreckers, like William Jones, and they used to get what come ashore, and they ufeed to hide it in the sandhills." "Indeed 1 Then, if that is the case, why don't they take the treasure up, and turn it into moneyf' "Why? 'Cause them sandhills is alius changing and shifting about, they are though they know well enough the things is there, there's no flndin' of 'em." "I always thought William Jonco was poorF "So he is, h^ says!" replied Matt "'cause, though ho be alius foraging, he dont find much now on account o' them coastguard chaps."

After they had rested themselves they went a little farther up the cliff, then they followed a narrow, winding path, which brought them to the shore below. Htm Matt, who seemed to be pretty well grounded in the history of tho place, pointed him out the wonders of the coast. She showed him the caves, which tradition said had been formerly used as wreckers' haunts aid treasure stores, but which were now washed by the sea, and covered with slimy wee -. then die brought him to a promontory lio* they told her she herself had been found. This spot Brinkley examined curiously, then ho looked at the girl. "I suppose yon had clothes on when yoa oame ashore, didn't you, Mattf "Why, of course I had. William Jooeshaa

Wberer

"In his cave, I expect" urv "His caret Where fa thatr asked Brinkley, very much interested. "Dunno," returned Matt "perhaps it's somewhere hereabout. Pve seen William Tones oome about bore, I have, but I never amaJd track him.*

Matt* information on the subject was so vague that it seemed useless to institute a louch wo, after a regretful look at the rocks, Brink! proposed that they should saunter back along the tbora. "By the way, said ha, "Ii«A 7™ troduee me to WflHam JCMS. "To William Jooc«r "Yes. Strange aa the fancy may seem to

EI

ibould like for once in my life to stand to face with a real live wrecker." Tbeymada their way back along the coast, they reached William

Joontf

cottaga

Hare they paused, principally for Brinkley to take a glance at the quaint dwelling, thm they croand the threshold. What «*t*a place be had got tafc II was att^r taapoaAle fcr Brinkley to tall: it wm so dark hs cook) see aothise State* creased the

"I'M seen William Jones comr cWf her*.." threshold, therefore, he paused, but Matt went fearlessly forward, struck a light, and jpiitwi the rushlight on tho table. "William Jonee," said she, "here be the pednter!"

By tho light of the flickering rushlight

Brinkley

The old man, who, Brinkley perforce admitted, certainly bore some resemblance to the Rembrandtish head which Matt hadreoognized, sat dozing fitfully by the hearth, while his son was busily employed in mending an old lantern.

Upon the entrance of Brinkley the lantern was

quickly

Brinkley looked at his host for a minute or so in silent wonder, for the little man was transformed. Instead of gazing about him with the stupid expression which up till now his face had worn, his face expressed all the keenness of a fox-hound well on the scent. There was also another curious thing which fh* young man noticed: that the word "wrack" gaftTn«"d to act like magic on the other member of the Jones household. At thelflrst mention of it the old man started from his deep and he now sat staring wildly before him, evidently imagining he was standing on a headland, going out to sea. "Wreck I" he murmured. "Ay, there it be, driftin' in wi' the wind and tide, William —driftin' in wi' the tide."

TBRRiii HAUTE SAl\jtnAY EVmxmiZ MAIL,

now looked about him. At a glance

he noted some of the details of the queer little room then his eye fell upon the occupants, whom, from Matt's description, he recognized as William Jones and the griialy author of his being.

thrown aside, and William Jones,

no«rr.TT,TT»gr a

most obsequious manner, hastened

to give a welcome to the stranger Brinkley was amused. He accepted William Jones' offer of a seat, then he lib up his briar-root pipe, and, while smoking lazily, he put a few questions to his host. Bu^ if he expected to jain information of any kind he was soon undeceived.

William

Jones was no fool. Com­

bined with excessive avarice, he possessed all the cunning of the fox, and tho moment he iaw that tho stranger was pumping hjm he was on his guard.

Presently, however, his curiosity gamed Hie day. Categorically, in his turn, ho began to question Brinkley about

his

domgs.

"I suppose now, master," said he, "you travel about a deal in that cart o' yournf Brinkley explained thattho "cart" in question had been in his possession only a few months. "But I traveled a good deal before I got ft," he explained. "This time last year I was In Ireland." V1*?'* "In Ireland, master?" f* "Yes, on the west coast do you know it?"

William Jones shook his head. •There be plenty wreck there, ain't there?" said he, suddenly. *'1 "Wreck?" repeated Brinkley. "Yes, I've heard tell o' wonderful storms and big ships breaking up. Look ye now, they do tell wonderful tales and I wonder sometimes if all they says be true."

1

"Shut up, old man," said William, giving his father nudge then, turning again to Brinkley, he said: "Be them tales true, master "Eh? Oh, yes, perfectly true," said Brinkley, hftfag in a lively humor, and determined to give his host a treat.

The expression in the eyes of William Jones became even more greedy. "Praps," he said,

,4you've

seen some of

them wrecks?" "Dear me, yes," answered Brinkley, determined to give the reins to his imagination. 'Tve seen any number of them. Huge ships broken up like match-boxes, an1 every soul on board them drowned then afterward "Ah, yes, mister," said William Jones, eagerly, as the other paused "arter "Well, afterward, my friend, I've seen treasures come ashore that would have made you and me, and a dozen others such, rich for life." "Dear, dear! and What became of it, mister—tell me that?" "What became of itf' repeated Brinkley, whose imagination was beginning to give way: "why, it was appropriated, of course, by the population." "And didn't you take your share, mister?" "IT repeated Brinkley, who* was getting muddled "well, no —firstly, because I didn't wish to—I have a superstitious horror of wearing dead men's things and secondly, because I could not have done so had I wished. The people are clannish they wanted it all for themselves, and would have killed any interfering stranger." "I suppose, mister, there be no coastguard chaps theref' said William Jones. "Oh, dear, no! No coastguards." -V "Ah!" sighed the old man, coining oat ol his trance. "It warnt so long ago whet there warat no coastguard chaps here neither. Then times was better for honest men. On a dark night twas easy to put a light on the headland, and sometimes we got a priae or two that way, didn't we, William dear? But now "You shut up!" roared William, giving his parsnfc a very forcible dig in the rihs. "You don't know what you're talkin' about, you dont. The old ^un is a bit queer in the head, master," he explained "and he's alius a dreamin', he is. There abut no prices here, the Lord knows it's a'most as much as we can do to git a bit that dont ee, Mattf"

But whatever Matt lenew die evidently meant to keep to herself, for sbe gave no reply. Presently, after a little more general oouversatkai, Brinkley rose to go. He offered a two-shifting piece to William Jcantes, and, aomewh&t to his aniaaemeKt, that worthy accepted it gratefully.

Tod-by, Matt," said Brinkley. But in a tri Matt was beside him. 'Tm going to show yoa the way," ahe

OOE*

plained as she went out with him Into the air. "Whewf* said Brinkky when they wvre fairly dear of the cabin "the open air it better than that den bat thea^TiQiam Jcoes iiv«7 poor, fan* be* Mattf* "He says he ia." "But doot yoa belie** itf "P'raps I dio, and p'raps I dont it dont matter to y»«, does itf* "Not the least in the world.*

They went on for awhile in aflanae bsn Matt, who bad been furtively watching his face all the wfaD*, spok* again. "Yoa aint angry, are JOB.

"I angryf what for?" 'Cause I said that just now.* "Dear me, no whatever you might say, Matt, wouldn't offend me."

If he expected to please her by this he was mistaken. "That's 'cause yoa dont care. Well, I dont care neither, if you dont."

She ran a little ahead of him, and continued to precede him until she gained the last sandhill and caught a glimpse of the caravan. Then she paused. "You don't want me to go no further, do you?" "No." "All right—good-by."

She gave a bound, like a young deer, and prepared to start for a swift run back, but the young man called her. "Matt, come here!"

She came up to him. He put his arm about her shoulders, bent over her upturned face, and kissed her. In her impulsive way, Matt returned the kiss ardently then, to his amazement, she gave one strange look into his eyes—blushed violently and bung her head. "Come, give me another, Matt," he said.

But Matt would not comply. With one jerk she freed herself from him then, swift as lightning, she ran back across the hills toward the sea. $ CHAPTER VH -/f

JtATT GROWS

That ni^ht the youn~ man of the caravan had curious, dreams, and throughout them all moved, like a presiding fairy, Matt of Aberglyn. Sometimes he was wandering on stormy shores, watching the wrecks of mighty argosies again, he- was in mysterious caverns underneath the ground searching for and finding buried treasure still again, he wa& standing on the ducks of storm-tossed vessels, while the breakers thundered close at nand and the balefires burned on lonely headlands. But at all times and in all places Matt was his companion.

And, curiously enough, Matt in his dream was very different to the Matt of waking reality: taller and brighter—in fact, as beautiful as a vision can be so that his spirit was full of a strange sensation of love and pity, and the touch of the warm little hand disturbed his spirit with mysterious joy. So vivid did this foolish dream become at last that he found himself seated on a sunny rock by the sea, by Matt's side and he was talking to her like a. lover, with his arm around her waist wnH she turned to him, with her great eyes fixed on his, and kissed him over and over again, so passionately—that he awoke!

It was blowing hard, and the rain was pelting furiously on the roof of the caravan. He tried to go to sleep again, but the face of Matt (as he had seen it in his dream) kept him for along time awake. "Now, young man," he said to himself, "this is idiotic. In the first place, Matt is a child, not a young woman in the second place, she is a vulgar little thing, not a young lady in the third place, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for thinking of sentiment at all in such a connection. Is your brain softening, youngster, or are you laboring under the malign influence of William Jones? The kiss you gave to this unsophisticated daughter of the desert was paternal, or say, amicable it was a very nice kiss, but it has no right to make you dream of stuff and nonsense."

But the of the dream was over and in that half-sleeping, half-waking state, he felt like a boy in love. He found calculating the age of his own friend. Let see! it was fifteen years since, in her own figurative expression, she "come ashore," nnH the question remained, How old was she on that interesting occasion? As far as he could out from her appearance, she could not lie more than sixteen. For a damsel of that age, her 1H«« was decidedly precocious.

At last he tumbled off again, and dreamed that Matt was a young lady of beautiful attire and captivating maimers, to whom be and her speech, strange to say, was quite poetical and refined and they walked together, hand in hand, to a country church on a green hillside, and were just going to enter, when who should appear upon the threshold but Mr. Monk, of Monkshurst. But they passed him by, and stood before the altar, where the parson stood in his white robes, and when the parson asked aloud whether any one saw any just reason or impediment that the pair should be joined in holy matrimony, the same Monk stepped forward, with a Mephistophelian smile, and cried, "Yes, I dol" On which the young •tnnn awoke again in agitation to find that it was broad daylight and a fine fresh summer morning.

Whom should he find waiting for him when he had dressed himself and stepped from the house on wheels but Matt herself. Yes, there she was, as wild and quaintly attired as ever, quite unlike the ethereal individual of his dreams but for all that her smile was like sunshine, and her eyes as roguish and friendly as ever.

Conscious of his dream he blushed while greeting her with a friendly nod. "Well, Matt, here again, eh?" be said adding to himself, "This wont do at all, my gentleman if the young person continues to appear daily tbe caravan will have to 'move on.'"

Matt had evidently something on hermind. After looking at Brinkley thoughtfully for gomo minutes, she exclaimed abruptly: "William Jones don't like you neither. No more does William Jones' father." "Dear mo 1" said tho young man. 'Tm very scurry for that." 'Ho says—William

Jones says—you're come

here prying and spying. Do youf "My dear Matt," replied the young man lightly, "I como hero as a humble nrtist, seeking subjects for my surpassing genius to work upon. If it is prying and spying to attempt to penetrate into the beauties of nature—both scenic, nriimnl and human—I fear I must plead guilty but otherwise phft interrupted him with an impatient exclamation, accompanied by a hitch of her pretty shoulders. "Dont talk like tiat for then I know you're Talk serious, and Fll tell you something." "Ail right. PA be serious as a parson, Ck» ahead!" "Mr. Monk, of

1:shuist,wcnts

to many

we. Ho said to to Y. -iiaiii Jews." The inform ilion was delivered with assumed carelesnms but after it wnsgivra Matt watched effect rf ft npon the bearer with precocious interest Brinkley opened his eyes in very natural amazement. "Camo, came, Matt you're joking.* "Ko, I aint. It's trua* "But yoa'ro only a child—a very nice child, I admit—but to talk of holy matrimony in such a connection is—excuse my franknesspreposterous. People don'tmarry little girls."

Matt did not cionsent to this prupudtton at all. "I aint a little girt," edSlrtned, with a decisive nod of her head. "Tm siYteen, and rmgrowedtrp.*

The young man was anmsed, and ooold no* refrain from langMng btsotOy. But the girl's brow darkened as sbe watched him, and her under lip fell as if ahe woald like to cry. **gyoagoaalM»^rfaR*sfaesld, 'Til run straight back boms, and newer oome bare no

"WeH, IH try to keep nqr countenance bat lbs idea is rtry funny. Beany, now, «k»t yoa |»£jt fa that light yoajsRlfr

Certainly Matt did not, to' judge from the expression of her face. She turned her head away and Brinkley saw, to his surprise, that a tear was rolling down her cheek. (Coine, Matt," he said, kindly "you mustnt take thia so seriously. Tell me all about it—there's a good girl."'! "I will—if you wont laugh.* JJf? "I won't then—there." "Well, when I was lying in my bed this morning I heard William Jones a-talking to some one. He thought I was asleep, but I got up and listened, and I heard Mr. Monk's voice and he Baid, says ho, 'She's over sixteen years old, and I'll marry her and William Jones said, 'Lord, Mr. Monk what can you be &-thinking about! Matt ain't old enough and what's more she aint fit to be I the wife of a fine gentleman.' Then Mr.

Monk he stamped with his foot, like he does when he's in a passion, and he said, says be, 'My mind's made up, William Jones, and Pm going to marry her before the year's out and I dont care how soon.' Then I heard them moving about, and I crept back to b?4 and pretended to be fast asleep."

The- young man's astonishment increased. There could be no doubt of the veracity and sincerity of the speaker and the story she told was certainly puzzling. Brinkley made up his mind, without much reflection, that if Mr. Monk wanted to go through the marriage ceremony with that child be had some special and mysterious reason for so doing unless—which was scarcely possible—he was of sentimental disposition, and, in the manner of many men advanced toward middle age, was enamored of Matt's youth and inexperience. "Tell me, Matt," said Brinkley, after pondering the matter for some minutes "tell me how long have you known this Mr. Monk?" "Ever since I came ashore," was the reply. "Humph! Is he well to do?—rich?'

Matt nodded emphatically. "All Aberglynbelongs to him," she said "and the woods up there, and the farms, and the horses up at the big house, and—everything." "And though he is such a great person, he is very friendly with William Jones?" "Oh, yes," answered Matt "and I think William Jones is afraid of him—sometimes but he gives William Jones money for keeping THfl." "Oh, indeed! He gives him money, does he! That's rather kind of him, you know."

At this Matt shook her head with great decision, but said nothihg. Greatly puzzled, the young man looked at her and mused. It was clear that there was a mystery somewhere, and he was getting interested. Presently he invited Matt to sit down on the steps of the caravan, and he placed himself at her side. He was too absorbed in speculation to notice how the girl colored and brightened as thoy sat there together. "You have often told me that you cams ashore," he said, after a long pause. "I should like to know something of how it happened. I dont exactly know what this 'coming ashore' means. Can you explain?" "I dont remember," sbe replied "but I know there was a ship, and it went to pieces, and come to shore in a boat, or summat." "I see—and William Jones found you?" "Mr. Monk, he found me, and gave me to William Jones to keep "I begin to understand. Of course, yoa were very little—a baby, in fact." "William Jones says I could just talk some words, and that when he took me home I called him 'Papa.'" "What was the name of the ship? Have you ever heardT' jw "No," said Matt nv, "Did you come ashope all alonsf It is scarcely possible!" "I come ashore by myself. All tho rest was drownded." "Was there no clew to who you were? Did nothing come ashore besides to show them who you were, or where you came from?"

Matt shook her head again. Once more the young man was lost in meditation. Doubtless it was owing to his abstraction of mind that he quietly placed his arm round Matt's waist, and kept it there. At first Matt went very red then she glanced up at his face, and saw that his eyes were fixed thoughtfully on tbe distant sandhills. Seeing he still kept silence, she moved a little closer to him, aud 6aid, very quietly: "I didn't tell William .Tones that you— kissed me!"

1

I didn't tell William Jones that you kissed me Brinkley started from his abstraction, and looked at the girl's blushing faca. "Eh? What did you eayf" "I didn't tell William Jones that yoa kissed me!"

These words seemed to remind tbe young mnn of tho position oi his arm, for ho hastily withdrew it Then tho absurdity of tbe whole situation appeared to return upon him, and ho broke into a burnt of boyish laughter —at which hs companion's faco fell once more. It was clear that sho took life seriously, and dreaded sarccsm. "Matt," he said, "this,,won't do! This won't do at all "What wont dof "Well—thisP bo answered, rather ambiguously. "You're cv.-fully young, you know—quite a girl, although, as you suggested just now, cad, as you probably beiiovc, you may bo 'groped up.' You .t— ha—you must look upon me as a sort of father, and e^that sort of thing." "You're too young to be my father," answered Matt, ingenuously. "Well, say your big brother. I'm Interested in yoa, Matt, very much interested, and I should really liko to got to tho bottom of the mystery about 3 0U but wo must not forget that we're—well, almost strangers, yoa know. Besides," bo added, lr^hing again cheerily, "you are engaged to be married, sotno day, to a gentleman of fortune."

Matt sprang cp, with heaving bosom Bad flashing eyes. "NojIaintPshesalcL "Ibate himP "Hate the beautiful Mkank, of Moaloinmt! MOD* tbe beneficent 1 Monk the sweetspokml ImpowableP "Yi, Ihate him," cried Matt "aod-aad —and when A* kbied me it made mo sick." "What, did bet Actoa&vf Based yoar

Ashaqpokatib* young man actually fsit tiiat ha shooldUka to assault tiM ndnMabk

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"Yes, be kissed me—one*. If hekissesine again Til stick something into him, or scratch his face."

And Matt looked black as thunder, and set bar pearly teeth angrily together, J.T, "Sit down again, Matt zitX "I shan't—if you laugh." "Oh, Pll behave myself. Come!"—and hie added, as she returned to her place, "did it make you sick when kissed you?"

He was playing with fire. The girl's face changed in a moment, her eyes melted, her lips trembled, and all her expression became inexpressibly soft and dreamy. Iinoning gently toward him she drooped her eyes, and then, seeing his resting on his knee, she took it in hers, and raised it to her lips. "I should like to marry yon," she said, and blushing, rested her cheek against his shoulder!

Now, our hero of the caravan was a truehearted young fellow and a man of honor, and his position had become extremely embarrassing. Heoould no longer conceal from himnpif the discovery that he had made an unmistakable impression on Matt's unsophisticated heart Hitherto he had looked upon her as a sort of

enfant terrible,

a very rough

diamond now he realized, with a shock of surprise and self-reproach, that die possessed, whether "growed up" or not, much of the susceptibility of grown-up young ladies. It was clear that his duty was to disenchant her as speedily as possible, seeing that the discovery of tho hopelessness of her attachment might, if delayed, cause her

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little

un happiness. In tho meantime he suffered her to nestle to him- He did not like to shake her off roughly, or to say anything unkind. He glanced round into her face the eyes were still cast down aud the cheeks were suffused with a warm, rich light, which softened the great freckles and made her complexion look, according to the image which suggested itself to his mind, like ,a nice ripe pear. She was certainly very pretty. He glanced down at her hands, which rested in her lap, and again noticed that they were unusually delicate and small. Her foot, which he next inspected, he could not criticise, for the boots she wore would have been a good fit for William Jones. But the whole outline ef lrar figure, in spite of the hideous attire she were, was fine and symmetrical, and altogether

His inspection was interrupted by the girl herself. Starting as if from a delightful trance, she sprang to her feet and cried: "I cant stop no longer. I'm going" "But the picture, MattP' said Brinkley, rising also. "Shan't I finish it to-day?" "I can't wait. William Jones wants to send me a message over to Psncrees, and if I dont go he'll scold." "Very well, Matt." .. "But I'll come," she said, smiling, to-mor-row and 111 oome in my Sunday elof-hes, somehow." "Dont trouble. On reflection, I think yen look nicer as you are."

She lifted up her hat from the ground, aad still hesitated as she put it on. "Upon my word,'^ cried the artist, "those Welsh hats are very becoming. Good-by, Matt"

She took his outstretched hand and waited an instant, with her warm, brown cheek in profile temptingly near his lips. $ut be did not yield to the temptation, aad after a moment's further hesitation, in which I fear sbe betrayed some Uttle disappointment, Matt released her hand and sprang hurriedly away. "Upon my word," muttered the young man, as he watched her figure receding in the "the situation is growing more and more troublesome! I shall have to make a dean bolt of it if this goes on. Fancy being caughtin a flirtation with a wild ocean waif, a child of the wilderness, who never ev«» heard of Ldndky Murrajr 1 Really, it wfll nerr»r do :[3fW Iftm&MMdlil

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OK Quick Carative

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TRADE WW MARK

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