Jasper County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 90, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 February 1919 — The Dream Denied [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Dream Denied

By A. W. PEACH

(Copyright, 2SU. by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) In the quiet of his college room Richard Martin fought out the old battle between ambition, dreams and duty. On the desk before him lay the fateful note, written in the wavering hand of old age. It was his last day and last evening. That afternoon the final exercises had been held that ushered him out into the busy? workaday world of men. His lips tightened as hp thought of his dreams and plans—that he must put by. His lips drooped in repose that is born of tenderness as he thought of Ruth Leighton. He had not really known her until the senior year when the senior girls and men were thrown together in the upper classes. She had appealed to him in a thousand ways—the music of her voice, the dark, tantalizing depths of her eyes, the soft dark hair that made such a fine setting for the sensitive face. Then had come the glorious evening—It seemed ages, yet It was but a week ago—when, on the verge of parting, he had told her breathlessly that he loved her; her silence that chilled him—then the whispered word that turned his humble world Into heaven. Then he had met hex father and mother, and it had dawned upon him that he had perhups aspired beyond where his aspirations should go. He discovered that Mr. Leighton wns far more wealthy than he had surmised - tn fact, ns Richard told himself a bit

hopelessly, Leighton was an aristocrat in the fine meaning of the term, while he himself was one of the tollers? tlje son of a farmer in poor circumstances. Then had come his brief visit to Ruth’s great house, in the beautiful Massachusetts city. He picked up the brief note from his mother, which told him that his father had suffered a shock and would h« helpleijs the rest of Ids life. Why had he not realized, Dick asked himself, that something might happen? All he had thought-about was the fine opening In the city that had been promised him, with Its splendid chances, if smnll wages. Now, beyond ahy Question, his duty was to return to the farm, from which he knew his father and mother conld not hear to be separated, and there take up the round of farm duties. But Ruth —there his cup filled with 1 bitterness. His dream had been of her, 1n his home, her dark eyes looking Into his, her gay and pleasant voice within his hearing; that dream must be put aside. First he wrote a note to his mother, then he picked up his cap, set his shoulders squarely and started down from the college hill to the cottage where Ruth rrtoined. On the why he "passed old friends who bade him farewell, -telling him at the same time of their own happy plana. By the time he reached the cottage his heart was bitter within him, though there was.no wavering In his mind. He rang and was ushered into the reception room. “Rnth, I am really here to say goodby,” he began quietly, when Ruth came In. “I have received word that means my return to the old place for—well, for the best years my life. I want—” ? "Suppose we sit down, Dick,” she broke in. In the dusk of .the room he faced hfr and went on, wrapped In the renunciation he was voicing. “I want to tell you how much —much I love you, just as I had planned —but —well, Ruth, I'm going back to the old place. Father has had a shock —and somebody must help them. If he had kept well—no, I owe them everything. I am going there.” “I see,” she said as quietly as he. She had never seemed quite as beautiful to him nf? 4hen, with the dusk In her eyes, her voice and 1 her hair. He held himself w}jth firm grip upon his will. He rose. - - "I wish things could be different, from the very bottom of my soul. My duty Is plain, however, and I sail get jny Joy out others’ Jiafepiness I

Vjpe," he said tensely. He held ooft. his hand. “Good-by, little chuaa * Quiet, passive, her own hand Iky ttk his for a brief moment. “Good-by, Dick; I hoys everythin* will be wen.” she answered briefly. Outside in the evening dusk he leaked up at the stars as men have losksdt for cesnfort through the ages. 1 *kka* understood —to go to an old country farm with me; even love cannot uMfk* the sacrifice. Well, perhaps there Is A destiny that shapes things for the hash after all," he thought to himself. ' The next day he took the early tralni for the city, purchased some gifts hr his father and mother, and started homeward. It was evening when th* train dropped him at the quaint Uttl* station of the village beyond which him father's farm lay. He found one of his father’s mss. waiting for him with the span of* horses that was his father’s delight. They drove home in silence. As th» great farmhouse loomed through tha> friendly dusk, Dick’s heart thrilled a bit with prld*. It was a splendid hom* of Its type, keeping the stern but beautiful lines of the old architecture. Into It most of his father’s money had gone through the hard years. The lights gleamed out —the homellght* that always seemed so cheerful — and! soon the span drew up before the dooiv He Jumped out, rushed in, and) caught his mother In his arms; then hawent to his father, and the trembling pressure of the sick man’s hand was a blessing and a benediction. He turned from the Invalid's chair to go to tha hall and stopped, staring. In the door stood a girl’s figure; her smooth, oval face, rosy under tha light; dark-eyed nnd dark-haired, sh» stood there. Hath In spirit nnd formt He rubbed Ms eyes as he staggered) nnd gasped her nnme. With a laugh half teary, half merry., she came to him nnd put her arms on* his shoulders, looking up Into his eyes. “Dick," her voice said, “aren’t yoth glad to aee me V’ He caught her tightly to him. “Roth* what does it mean?" “It means Just this: that if yon do intend to leave me behind I do not intend to be left! I thought when yos said good-by that you didn’t want me—you acted so—so funny. Do you?” “Do I? Oh, Uttfr sweetheart, y«k don't know —you don't; but do yota mean that —that —" “I mean that where you go, my dear* I want to go—even to the very end." “But this place—” “It Is a beautiful home. You forget that father spent his boyhood and early days nt Just such a beautiful place—" A gruff but tender voice broke In. “You bet I did I And now you youngsters put off your love-making for A little. I want to ask Dick about soraa of the trout brooks nround here. Vvx going fishing In the morning."' -Dick hnd whirled about to find himself facing Mr. Leighton, whose hand was out. As their hands met firmly Leighton’s voice lost Its bnnter and hls eyes wer* steady, though there wns n twinkle Is them. “Dick, I shall be proud to havs you for a son—ns. I would have told you at the college If you hnd asked me; and ns regards your future wife, let me tell you tlmt *she has bees, brought up In the good old-fashioned way. She Is of the hills, she belongs to the hills nnd I’m mighty glad a mss of the hills has won her. That’s « thundering long speech for me tn make; but I guess you see how I fesL“

Fought Out the Old Battle.