Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 134, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 June 1913 — AN INTERRUPT. ED WOOING [ARTICLE]

AN INTERRUPT. ED WOOING

(Enter the Hero.) The air was sweet with the dewy fragrance ol morning. A horseman cantered along the country road, keenly alive to the beauty that sparkled about him. Suddenly a vivid stretch of green studded with dandelions gleamed before him. “The field of the doth of gold,'* murmured the rider, with admiration, reining in his horse. The field sloped gradually up to a small white house nestled in a grove of blossoming locust trees.

(Enter the heroine.) An azure-clad figure emerged from a side door, and flitted toward him, the sun flashing from the pail which the goddess blithely swung. Her hair was fair and her eyes were amber, quickly hid, however, by dark lashes which swept her cheek beneath his gaze. As he reluctar Uy rounded the bend in the road he heard a pump handle worked vigorously. (Enter the chaperon.) From the kit'ihen window a girl in a gingham apron watched, the lagging horseman. “Lochinvar on the trail!” The smothered laugh reached the ear of the man in riding clothes, who suddenly appeared in the open door, his dark head uncovered, and his gray eyes daring as he caught the suppressed merriment “A weary traveller begs a drink of water.” He flashed an irresistible smile at the girl in the gingham apron, and a comical look at the pile of cakes. The three broke into a laugh and an extra plate was quickly laid. After a merry meal he shortly took his leave.

“I thank you for the best breakfast I ever tasted;” he looked politely at the girl in the gingham apron. “And tor the happiest time of my life;” he looked resolutely into the depths of a pair of amber eyes. Examining the card he left they read "Paul Maitland.” Bob Welsby, the husband of the girl in the gingham apron, was forever sounding the praise of Paul Maitland, the young Englishman whose friendship he had made in India,, and to whose visit to America he had been looking forward. Bob was at the present time on a business trip in Seattle, and his wife and her friend had retired to this picturesque spot for a few weeks’ sketching. They were sure this was Bob's Paul, as the description fitted perfectly, and the accent was unmistakable. The next morning at an unseemingly hour the g*rls wore hwakened by the clatter of galloping hoofs over the culvert near the house. no meals served before 7 pTm.,” murmured a fair-haired maid, Sleepily. When they opened the kitchen door a box of violets and a basket of chocolates bore silent testimony. (Enter the villain.) That morning they received the discouraging intelligence that the Welsbys* cook had given her notice. When an eager young Englishman dashed up to the cottage the next morning he found a vacant house.

A year had passed. A girl and a man sat at dusk on the piazza of a fashionable summer hotel. x “No!” the girl whs saying impatiently, "not if you ask mo every day for the rest of my life.” Then came the man’s voice in dalection. “I believe there is someone else!” “Yes,” answered the girt “There Is someone else!” A new arrival, sitting just around the corner, tore himself away from this conversation with mixed emotions. He had recognized instantly the voice of the charming American girl who had drifted toward him across the field of gold when the locust trees sent forth their fragrant breath, and the day and his hope were young. Her declaration, “There la someone else,” filled him with despair. Later he stood by one of the long windows of the ball room, looking in at the dancers. He felt like one In a dream as she came floating toward him to the rhythm of the music, her lovely eyes full upon his In startled recognition. In that look he forgot everything save that sho knew him aagin. He made his way to her, and in a moment more they were moving over the floor to the rhythmic pulsations of the violins. “Now tread we a measure,” said young Lochinvar. "Why did you run away?" were the first words spoken as he led her -to a vine-covered nook.

“Because the Welsby’s cook left,” was the prosaic answer. “Why didn’t you call on Mrs. Welsby In town? You told Bob you would?” "I did call,” protested the Englishman. "When you didn’t return to the cottage I made Inquiries and then called at Mrs. Welsby’s directly. A fat Swedish servant told mo the ladles had gone to Seattle to join Mr. Welzby." “The wreck!” exclaimed the girl. “It was the cook! Sho didn’t want guests and took that way to got rid of you." "And,” went on Paul, reproachfully. "I went to Seattle and I’ve been traveling over these United States over since—only to find at last that there Is someone else—l heard you say so.” After a long pause. "There is—wo far—as some are concerned,” camo faintly. “But so far as I am concerned?” Hope vibrated in tbs deep voice. A moment and the American girl had recovered herself. ”1 thought Englishmen were slow,” she retorted, gayly. "We haven’t been Introduced yet!” • FLORENCE J. YOUNG. —■ < Ilin lll—wmiiw II »| v-a.— —l -rae,. ws»