Jasper County Democrat, Volume 11, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 November 1908 — An Indian Summer Romance. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

An Indian Summer Romance.

By MARGARET FOX.

Copyrighted, 1908, by Associated Literary Press.

It bad not been an eventful summer for Marion Leigh. She knew if would oot be when she saw it looming up In all its inevitability—an invalid auut, an iaolated mountain retreat and herself In the dual role of nurse and companion. But she was wise enough to recog ntoe the time old truth that “beggars cannot be choosers’' and to accept it Sadously. As a dependent orphan ipo bad little voice in the ordering of her own career. \ But now as she watched the leaves . falling silently, somberly, and thought •per the long, tedious days she -had lived through and the longer and more tedious ones to come her bright course seemed all at once to leave her. 1 The proverbial melancholy of the seaaon controlled her mood, and she became Introepectlve. There had been just one bit of brightness that stood oot as a relief against the dreary background of that monotonous summer, and whether she was Clad or sorry for it Marion herself ksfdly knew. She had welcomed Bruce Wolcott’s coming with spontaneous delight, not because it had any special significance fcr ter. but because he stood for all that she had known of youth and freedom and jollity, of which there was so little now In her surroundings, so much still in her natural makeup. But Wolcott had proved more than merely young and care free aud Jolly as she remembered him; be was alertly sympathetic and unfailingly generous. 1 In recalling the many thoughtful, sweet things he had done for her Marion refused to blame herself for misinterpreting them as acts significant of deeper purpose. The change had come almost in a day. It seemed to her now. It was not that his generosity ceased, but the personal note that had come so near trans-

farming kindness into love had suddenly dropped out of it The comparatively cold courtesy that .was left chilled Marlon’s heart Her pride nevertheless forced her to accept ft as if she noticed no difference. Her ilps trembled now as she felt again the bitterness of the disappointment and the resignation, but she knew that she must not give way utterly. For that, for surrender to unhappiness and despair, there was no time or place allotted in her life’s schedule. She must be always ready, always cheerful, always self effaced. With characteristic determination she attempted to turn her thoughts into other channels, but after reading a few pages in the book she had brought with her out under the trees she closed It with emphatic disapproval. “I could write a better story myself,” was her mental comment. And she was soon deeply engrossed tn the experiment Some three or four hours later in the day, on his customary way to inquire after Marion’s Invalid aunt, Wolcott came upon the book and the loose sheets of paper carelessly slipped into it. or. rather, slipping out of It. for the .wind was fluttering the leaves energetically. . A chance phrase or two caught his attention. He read on without stopping to think of the breach of etiquette that he was committing, and then, having read through to the last, he turned back to the beginning. It was an idyllic little fancy. "In childhood he had been her playmate,” Wolcott read. "Whenever she skipped over the green of the fields It was with her hand tight clasped in his. If she slipped on the smooth cross atones in the brook, he polled her up with a jerk, and they both laughed at her dripping tittle figure. The other children didn’t hear him laugh, to be sure. In fact they didn’t know him. because they' never saw him. The little girt kept him all to herself, afraid to let any one else suspect his existence. "They often wondered—the poor. Mind, unimaginative other children—phy she liked to play so orach by herself. Of course he always walked by her side when they went to school—at first adorably shy, just tagging on behind; later, growing bolder and en«*oraged by the little girl he carried jbsr books with a swaggering air of possession that delighted her heart. "Bat for some Inexplicable reason as the boy’s shyness gradually evolved feto an. attitude of debonair cocksurensss the girl lost all her daring and assertiveness. She no longer took tbs toad, in fact. In no time at an she

.v .• ; • : - ’ , : : ■ \ fraud herself following his lead, som«h times with a meekness of which aha was wholly unconscious and again with a strange mingling of fear and tnmnJtnons happiness that proclaimed him master ©f her heart. | “But the boy because his power bad come to him so easily was careless of ! it. Besides, there were so many other things that were more worth while. , He told the girl about some of them j boastingly. expecting her to share his I enthusiasm. And because she seemed l*> him indifferent and no longer a com- | fade interested in the same things of I life he sought her less and less frequently. and at length they drifted quite apart. "But the girl never forgot She followed his career from afar and was proud of all his successes. Yet, much as she admired and reverenced the man. In her heart It was the boy whose image she treasured. She still Imagined him with her, sharing her keen delight In every bit of beauty that she chanced upon, bolding her hand tight whenever the turbulent waters came near sweeping her on with them. “If the man ever remembered”— And here the fine spun fancy came to a foil stop owing probably to some sodden interruption. For a few minutes Wolcott sat absorbed in deep thought. So she did love him after all! And what be bad overheard her tell her aunt coming •nddenly along by ter open window one day had been all a part of her dally heroism. Her Ups had said: “No, anntlC; I do not love him. He is only just a friend. He can never mean anything more to me.” But her heart had said— He reread the last part of the confession and then, taking out his pencil, wrote hurriedly. “If the man ever remembered.” he began, continuing the thread of the story, “It was no wonder what had become of his Jolly little playmate and to try to recall what it was that had separated them. He was glad that he had done big things, and, although while he 1 was doing them be did not stop to analyze his motive or his Inspiration, he knew afterward that he had done them for her In the hope that she might hear of them and be proud. And after they were done and he had earned a breathing space be knew that he should never do anything more worth while until he should find her again and have her near him always to love and to worship. “He yearned for a warm clasp of her little hand and the sound of her laughter. What a fool he had been to let such priceless possessions pass when they were his for the taking! Would It be possible to regain them now? Would she forgive him and love him and enshrine him again as master of her heart?” Suddenly Wolcott beard an embarrassed little langh behind him. \ “Oh, I—l didn’t realize you were here,” Marlon was saying In almost stammering confusion. “I came out to get a book I left here this morning.” “Yes, I found It,” Bruce acknowledged awkwardly, the written sheets scattered in telltale fashion about him. “You didn’t dare”— began Marion, blushing and turning white and blushing again In a way that kept Wolcott staring at ter In fascinated admiration. “Yea, I did, but I’ll play fair,” he answered. smiling at her with all bis old engaging frankness. “You may read the end of the story—Marlon. I took the liberty of finishing It.” He watched her closely while ahe read It and noticed, with a great bounding of joy in hls heart, bow her hand trembled as she came to the last words. “But It isn’t finished, is It?” she asked gently after a little panse. “You are the only one who knows, dear,” he answered tenderly. “Am I by any chance the little boy In yonr heart—the boy you’ve always loved, Marlon ?“ He was holding her band now. and he felt the sudden tightening of her clasp. “The boy I’ve always loved;” she answered softly, “and—the master of my heart.”

"YOU MAY READ THE END OF THE STRY -MARION."