Jasper County Democrat, Volume 13, Number 101, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 April 1911 — The Great Adventure [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Great Adventure

And How It Solved the Problem of Four People

By CLARISSA MACKIE

Miss Penlow yawned behind her pretty hand and blinked her blue eyes at Roderick. “Dear boy,” she murmured wearily, ‘‘this is the seven hundredth time, more or less, that I’ve said I don’t want to be married yet awhile. I want to enjoy my single blessedness for another year. I want to have a good time, and 1 see my way clear to have it now that Aunt Bee has invited me to spend a winter in New York. Next fall, after the summer abroad she has promised me, I’ll be ready to marry you and go to housekeeping in that dear, horrible, stuffy little apartment which, I am sure, is all we can afford.” ‘‘You have evidently thought the matter over carefully. Your reasons are most excellent ones, and I dare say you will have a splendid time with Mrs. Frake. When are you going to start on your journey into the world?” “A week from today. And what are you going to do. Rod? You spoke of joining Dick Ellis on his hunting trip Into the north. Didn’t you say you might get a picture up there among the trappers and guides?" Edith Penlow spoke rather absently, as one who tried to force, an interest in a very tiresome subject. , ‘‘l am planning to join Ellis on Thursday. We shall be gone alUwinter. I withheld my answer until I might know your decision, Edith. -L will see you before I go.”

Out in the silent street Roderick Wakely strode swiftly along the frosty pavements, his hands thrust deep in his coat pockets, his eyes searching the gloom ahead, as if they were trying to pierce the gray veil of the future that seemed stretched before him. Before the veil Edith Penlow’s dainty figure seemed to dance alluringly, yet with diminishing clearness, until at last she vanished and there was nothing but the gray veil and little else beyond. At the door of his rooms he paused a long while, pondering over Edith’s assurance of her love for him. At last he flung his head up and drew a sharp breath. ‘‘What a donkey I am!” he muttered angrily, “Of course she wants a good time, and I’m a selfish beast to expect her to make the sacri r flee. I’ll just clear out with Ellis, and the air of the north will drive the cobwebs from my brain and make me see things straight.”

On Thursday he set forth with Dick Ellis bound for the Canadian woods. As they left Boston behind in a mist of smoke Roderick thought, with a sharp pang, that spring would have rolled around before he saw it again. And Edith—for she would return at Easter before going abroad with her aunt—would she have forgotten him—would she learn to care for another? Dick Ellis broke in on his reverie with some commonplace, and thereafter the talk- was all about game and fishing and Roderick’s pictures. Anjou was a quaint enough settlement of little houses, crowded together as if for warmth from the wintry blasts that swept screaming through the woods, shaking the trees to the very roots and snapping dead branches with a sound like pistol shots. In the house of Ellis’ guide, an Englishman named Peter Bush, they found lodgings, and Roderick secured the empty loft over the kitchen for his own especial retreat. The stovepipe from the big heater ran through the loft and warmed it comfortably, but Roderick loved to lie near the trapdoor in the floor and look down into the smoke wreathed room where Ellis and other neighboring sportsmen gathered about the stove and told their stories. Roderick made several sketches that might develop into the great picture, but he felt no especial enthusiasm about pushing his work forward Edith’s attitude had somehow set the machinery of his life out of adjustment. . He told himself that only she could make matters right again. Every mail be watched for a letter from her, but the letters came rarely and were lacking in the great essential that he craved—her assurance that she missed him in her new life: that she longed for the time when they would no longer be separated, when the year’s probation would be over. But she never wrote of these things. Her letters were mere frothy jottings of her cav life—of her happiness—and a care-

-.» - «* . * less word of affection at the end, sometimes forgotten after all. One morning he took sketching blpck and pencil and went forth on the trail of Ellis, who had beeja gone hours before hot on the track of a brown bear which had invaded their storehouse the night before. Roderick paused to rest on the fallen trunk of a giant beech when his startled glance took in a scene that he never forgot. Beyond him in a small clearing carpeted with a soft drift of newly fallen snow there stood a girl and a deer, quite unconscious of his presence. It was evident that each had emerged from the woods on opposite sides of the clearing and were now poised in startled contemplation of each other. The girl, small and slender and graceful, wore a long red cape that enveloped her like the cloak of Little, Red Riding Hood of nursery tales, and over her fair hair was drawn a red hood, framing the pale oval of her lovely young face, out of which shone eyes as shy and brown as those of the deer, which stood in an attitude of pitiable fright. Sb they stood for a whole minute while Roderick transferred their heads to his block with quick, sure strokes of his crayon. Then he thrust both in his pocket and made a sharp sound with his Ups. Instantly the animal turned about and leaped into the forest from whence it had come, while the girl leaned against a tree, one little hand against her palpitating bosom, staring at Roderick. “You were frightened—there was no cause for alarm—but it was no doubt startling to come face to face with such a wild creature,” he said, talking rather volubly to enable her to recover herself. How is it that you are alone and so far from the settlement? Are you not afraid?” asked Roderick curiously. “Indeed, no,” she said in a surprised tone. “I know every inch of these woods, but 1 don’t know all the denizens thereof. Now 1 can add another to my acquaintances.” She smiled in such a friendly way that Roderick took the compliment to himself. “Thank you,” he said courteously. “I am proud to be received by the lady of the forest.” She blushed beautifully and bit the red curve of her lip thoughtfully. “Really it seems such a rude thing to say, but I didn’t mean you, sir. I meant the deer was a new acquaintance.? Roderick reddened as he laughed at his own confusion. “Serves me right," he said emphatically, “for being such a conceited jackanapes. If I can be of no further service >to you I may as well get along after Ellis.” ; “Oh, do yoU know Mr. Ellis?” she asked. “Is he here?” “He’s staying in Anjou for the hunting. I’m with him. My name’s Wakely—Roderick Wakely.” “Then you’re The painter. Mr. Ellis has often mentioned ybur name to us. He always comes over to the lodge to

see ratner ana me. we nave a camp away back here. Tell Mr. Ellis we shall be glad to see him and his friend too.” She smiled back over her shoulder and disappeared, while Roderick whirled about and tramped back to the cabin, forgetting everything save the fact that at last the great picture was at hand. After that the weeks flew rapidly while Rodirpck worked on his picture, tramped the woods hoping for a glimpse of Katherine Deering’s red cloak or joined Ellis in his trips after brown bear and deer. Many evenings they spent at the lodge with Colonel Deering and his daughter while the great fire blazed on the hearth and threw flickering shadows- over their faces. As the spring came on Roderick’s engagement to Edith Penlow seemed ,tp,tade into a dull background that he had called life—before he had met Katharine Deering and fallen in love with" her sweetness and shy simplicity. Edith’s letters had grown fewer until they ceased altogether. Then one morning there came a letter that fell into his life like a bombshell of un- 5 pleasantness. “I am tired of New York,” she wrote rather petulantly, “so if you are ready to go to Paris I shall prepare to be married in June. Aunt Bee has given up the trip for this year.” In his perplexity Roderick laid the case before Dick Ellis. The latter gnawed his pipestem savagely and. looked at Roderick through narrowed lids. “You’re all over it, eh, Rod?” he asked bluntly. . “I’m ashamed to say I am,” nodded the other. “I didn’t know I was such a cad.” “You’re not, only neither of you is In love with the other. Of course it’s Edith Penlow.” His voice lowered; “Yes.” “She doesn’t care a rap for you—never did! She’s in love with me. Fact! No, I’m not conceited, old man. It happens I know it, only—only it was too late. You see, I love her, too, but when I asked her she . had promised you. What time does the expressleave the junction?” he asked suddenly, springing to his feet. “Three-ten this afternoon.” “Then I’m off. Have Rush send my traps down. Wish you luck, Rod. You needn’t wish me any. I know I’ll win out.” Roderick whittled softly as he carefully wrapped his finished picture and tucked it under his arm. “The Great Adventure,” it was called, this meeting of the timid girl and the frightened deer, and as he went through the woods toward Colonel Deering’s camp he was conscious that he was setting forth upon the greatest adventure of his life When he saw Katharine coming through the cathedral aisles of the forest toward him one glimpse of her face caused him to dtop the great «• picture in the snow and take her In. his arms. '

TOOK HER IN HIS ARMS.