Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 January 1914 — THE TRESPASSERS [ARTICLE]

THE TRESPASSERS

BY LESLIE TRENT.

“Remember, Dorothy, that I am most particular about trespassers on the place,” admonished Miss Priscilla Fenn as she climbed into the station Ms. “I leave the place in your care and I do hope that when I come home I won't find a wbple posse of fishermen sitting by my trout stream. Goodbye, dear, and send me word at once if you are ill or anything happens — Martha will take care of you—and, yes, Mr. Penny, I’m ready —goodbye, Dorothy, goodbye!” Miss Priscilla waved a silk-gloved hand as the big white horses plunged forward with the long’ omnibus and rolled the railroad station; Miss Penn wasTnerely going to TuliptOwn, ten miles away, but her elaborate preparations for the two days' visit and her endless admonitions to her grandniece whom she had left at home, one might have thought Miss Priscilla was setting forth on a trip around the world. Dorothy turned away from the gate an indulgent smile curving her red lips. The wide pleasant lawns with their stately trees, and the cool shade of the deep verandas were alluring enough on this beautiful summer morning, but she had promised Aunt Priscilla to patrol the banks of the trout stream and see that no trespassing boys disturbed the rippling brown brook where speckled beauties lurked In dark pools. It happened that the brown brook was most tempting where it rippled through the Fenn place. Up above it was but a narrow thread broken by many rapids and tiny r waterialls; below the Penn place it ran through carefully preserved property belonging to the Whittakers, and after serving the Whittakers the trout stream widened into a pond. So Miss Priscilla was greatly annoyed by lawless fishermen who thrashed her stream in the early morning hours when she was still sleeping. Now .Miss Fenn had gone away and the safety of the trout rested solely upon Dorothy Fenn, who was visiting her favorite aunt, for Martha, the stout maid-of-all-work, had refused to do sentry duty. As for Dorothy she did not much care for she lpved the deep woods and the brown brook was a favorite retreat of hers. “Now, Miss Dorothy, you ain’t ever going down to that nasty brook this morning?” protested Martha with the familiarity of an old and privileged servitor. “Them trouts ain’t biting every day—why, I’ve heard tell that 'Mr. Whittaker himself has been known to fish for three days without catching a bite even; but he’s a dreadful crank at it. So ’tain’t likely them boys will ketch anything if they do fish.” "I dare say you’re right, Martha, but I promised Aunt Priscilla I would keep wateh and you know she is very particular about it Suppose you ring the big bell for me when luncheon is ready—‘then I will be sure to hear it" “Very well, Miss Dorothy, but look here —” Martha went to a chimney cupboard and took from it an ancient and rusted pistol of enormous size. “ —I never go into the deep woods without this weapon and you take it in case anybody scares you. Law, it ain’t loaded —I wouldn’t carry it if it was! But you can show it and frighten ’em oft. There, I’ll put it in this little basket with some pears and cookies —run along now.” “Oh, Martha, you are the funniest old dear!” laughed Dorothy. “If you hear a tremendous explosion you will know that this old cannon has gone off and frightened all the trout to death. Ho, hum, if they only would depart to other streams we wouldn’t have to do sentry-go, eh, Martha?” She waived her hand and departed through the orchard toward the tall woods. Established under an oak whose shining green leaves overhung the dancing stream, Dorothy tossed aside her hat and i allowed the vagrant breeze to ruffle her red-gold hair. Her book lay open on her lap, and her brown eyes dreamed of the love and romance that ran over the pages. Love and romance had never come to Dorothy Fenn, but it was very near to her that morning. A gray Bqulrrel flirted with her from his hole in a nearby tree; a wood thrush charmed her with his plusating love melody; the leaves of the trees whispered softly, and the brown brook rippled on and on, going secretly around the rocks where the trout hid in the deep green poolß. After awhile Dorothy got up and walked along the bank of the stream following a striped chipmunk darting through the underbrush, The chipmunk disappeared in his bole, and a flock of chickadees performed antics on the branches of a dogwood tree. There was a splash—a sharp exclamation and the whirring of a reel Dorothy forgot everything save that there was a trespasser nearby. Silently she went back to her basket and was astonished to find that she bad wandered so far —why, she had even crossed the brook on the stepping stones in her chase of the chipmunk who was a venturessome mite—and she hid the pistol in the blouse of her sailor suit and went back across the stepping stones to that spot beyond the alders where she had heard the sound of a fisherman’s reel spinning out. , At last she could see him—a sunbrowned hatless youth clad in old clothes, with a pipe between bis teeth,

and his blue eyes bright with excitement as he played a' splendid trout ifi and out of the deeps and shallows of the stream. At last he whopped exultantly and landed the speckled beadty on the mossy bank. “What are you dong here?” asked Dorothy sternly as she broke through the alders and stood before him, a slender, white-clad girl with accusing' brown eyes below a serious forehead, "Why—ah—you can see!” he explained, removing his pipe and showing splendid white teeth in a pleasant ftmlln -■' • “I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself,” went on Dorothy contemptously. He flushed. “You mean fishing out of Beason? Well, 1 suppose I should, but the fish didn’t come for luncheon and I promised Antonio that I would ; get him one down here.” “It is too bad that Antonio will be disappointed for, of course, you cannot take the fish away,” said Dorothy. '"lndeed?” he asked cooly. “Why not, please?” "Because it belongs to my aunt, Miss Fenn. There are signs plainly reading, ’No trespassing,’ and yet you have trespassed on her property. Please throw it back in the stream.” “Pardon me, but it is my own,” he said with a puzzled stare at her, with which was mingled reluctant admiration. “Then I will throw it back,” said Dorothy bravely, for if there was one thing more than another that she loathed to touch it was the cold body of a fish. He stood looking at her with angry amusement in his eyes as she went toward the fish and touched its brown tail. It flopped wildly. Dorothy jumped back. Her foot slipped on the muddy bank and she fell into the arms of the shabby fisherman whose pipe went to destruction on the stones below. “Not hurt, I hope?” said the fisherman not unkindly for the brief instant Dorothy had lain in his arms had kindled an unquenchable spark In his breast., There was a strange light in his eyes, and Dorothy’s cheeks were like twin roses as be quickly released her. “No, I am not hurt,” began Dorothy strongly inclined to cry because of her varied feelings; at that instant her eyes lighted on the great pistol which had fallen unheeded from her blouse. The strange fisherman spied it at the same instant. “Is that yours?" he asked. "Yea —at least It’s Martha’s —I brought It along for protection,” said Dorothy with what dignity she could summon. He actually picked it up and did not smile as he restored the ancient weapon to her. . , "I hope you will have no occasion to use it,” he said, and Dorothy loved him at once because the smile that twitched his lips never materialized. She took the pistol and held it rather gingerly “You will go—and you will put the fish back before it dies?” she asked almost pleadingly. "Yes, I will go, if you desire it; and I will put the fish back into the stream —but you don’t know Antonio; he can swear In three languages!” The youth grasped the trout and deftly him into the brook where he struggled for a moment before sinking slowly down with gently moving fins until he was out of sight in the dark pool. “There!" breathed Dorothy with relief. “Thank you so much.” The young man looked at her hesitatingly;thea, as if arriviEiglat BOffie decision he picked up his rod and empty reel and made as if to leave the spot. "I wonder why you think I should leave my own property,” he said with a whimsical smile, ——— "Your own property?” echoed Dorothy. “Why this is part of Miss Fenn’s place.” He shook his head in dissent. “Pardon me, hut you are mistaken. This is the Whittaker land —you see Miss Fenn’B property is divided from ours by that brushwood hedge on the other Bide of the brook.” He pointed back along the way she had come. "But on this side of the brook the dividing line is that stone post half covered with cat-brier, and you evidently crossed the boundary on to our land without knowing it.” Dorothy was rosy with mortification. “Then I am a trespasser, not you!” she cried ruefully. “Never a trespasser on Whittaker land,” he smiled gallantly. "Thank you—and the sish —why, it was your own!” “Never mind—l expect he’s thanking you for his life.” “And your horrid Antonio who swears in three languages?” He laughed gaily. “Oh, there are other cooks if Antonio leaves me, but there are not .many—pleasant adventurers.” “I must go now,” said Dorothy hastily. "I hear the luncheon bell.” "If you are stopping with Miss Penn we may meet again,” said the youth eagerly. “I am John Whittaker, and Miss Priscilla and I used to be great pals. She always kept a pot of ginger cookies for me—but I have been away from the old place for many years, and she probably has forgotten me.” "I don’t believe so, for I know the cookie pot is always filled —and you better come and see. anyway,” said Dorothy over her shoulder. “Thank you, I will,” he said, and after she had gone he stared at the spot where she had disappeared for a long time. “I believe I'll call on Miss Priscilla .tMf. evening,” he mused -v .’*l feel an appetite for ginger cookies.” (Copyright, MU. by the McClure Nswspaper Syndicate.)