Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 February 1918 — THE AUTHOR [ARTICLE]

THE AUTHOR

By MILDRED WHITE.

V ** JBS <CopyrlKht. IMS. Weatern Newspaper Union.) When Janice stepped from the train, she looked about in dismay. Evidently the station agent had but waited for the 8:30 to arrive, before closing his office and departing. One solitary light shone from the window of the deserted watting room,' and no village bos or auto, was in sight. When last she had visited this picturesque country, it had been summer (time and the coming of the evening train a signal for the outpouring of autos and various gay carts, to meet evening guests. Janice had not stopped in her sudden resolution, to consider the difference between summer and aero weather in the country. It was characteristic, that as soon as her purpose was formed, she had followed it out. The managing editor had been first to suggest it - “Why don’t you," he had said, “seek out some noted author and ask a trial at illustrating his work? You are too igood for a syndicate.” And aglow with enthusiasm, Janice had picked out the author-victim, and 'hastened on his trail. A mere notice ifn the society column of the morning (paper, directed her to the isolated spot where she had been wont to go for nature study during an earlier and more .prosperous time. “Doq MacDougall,” the noted Scotch author, so the paper said, “had retired jtohis bungalow in Wayne county, to d. •vote himself to his forthcoming book." The bungalow in Wayne county, Janice iweli knew. Janice picked up her suitcase and iplodded to the rear where showed the •dim light of a lantern attached to a rough sleigh wagon, upon which a cloaked figure was loading certain broad boxes. "Are you going up hill?” Janice ask- ■ <ed him. Without ceasing his work the man gruffly answered in the affirmative. “I expected to find the village bus,” the girl went on, “it isn’t here. Could you carry up my suitcase?” For a moment he paused. “Going

to walk up yourself?” he asked. Janice laughed. “Why, rather than try that,” she said, “I’d ride up with you.” > The man was not encouraging. “There’s no seat in the sleigh,” he objected. “I have to drive standing up.” 1 Such surly dlsobllgement could be settled but one way. Lightly Janice followed her suitcase Into the wagon. “I will sit on this box,” she said. < “I will pay you for your trouble,” ehe added. “S-all right,” the driver mumbled Before her old-time boarding place he drew rein at her direction, Janice pointed to the suitcase. “Carry it in the hall, please,” she said, and pressed ■a coin into his palm. Early upon the following morning ishe was up and on her l way to the glistening wood. Janice’s hands were too cold to make (more than a rough outline of her study, lt>ut she stood silently committing its to memory. Presently through ia break in the trees came her driver’s 'tall figure. Be wore a red sweater and [his face showed a day’s growth of heard; in his arms he carried some flogs. “Morning,” he nodded, and stood dejliberately looking at the sketch In her lhand. “Pretty," he said at last. Janice smiled, “Well,” she agreed, i“it will be.” A sudden light flashed into his isombre eyes. “You do this often?” he The girl nodded. “I make my living •that way,” she said. “Do you know anything of Mr. Mac;Dougal the author?” she asked. “In .carrying things back and forth from the station, have you met him at any itime?” The man answered slowly. “I was carrying his books and his typewriter np there last night,” he replied, “and these logs are for his fireplace.” “Perhaps you can tell me, then,” she •went on, “when I should be most likeily to find him at home. I wish to see

(him —on business.” “Business?” the man repeated; his tone was perplexed. “He writes books, while you—" he pointed to the sketch —“draw those.” i Janice nodded; musingly she spoke jas though answering her own thought: j“He requires pictures for his books, bi hd I—” she threw out her arms to ithe fir trees, “I understand nature as jhe loves it” The man said quickly: “MacDougal •will be at home at three this afternoon." He hesitated. “Now, if you’d care to ride back—" And once again Janice rode through the wintry landscape, this time with a fur robe for a cushion. It was ft subdued excitegnent that she raised, that afternoon, the knocker of the white bungalow door. This quest meant so much to her. Excitement gave place to surprise as ■the slelgh-drtVer’s face appeared at the door. Yet could this correctly garbed and deferential person be her companion of last night’s adventure?” “I wish to see Mr. MacDougal,” she The man bowed. “At your service,” Then at her wondering gaze he smiled a transforming smile. “I use my own sleigh to take care of my own belongings," he said. “Now, if you will let me look at those drawings—” And this was the beginning of the romance, which culminated tn the marriage of Don MacDougal and his illus-