Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 April 1886 — PAUL’S EXPERIMENT. [ARTICLE]

PAUL’S EXPERIMENT.

BY ANNABEL B. WHITE.

Pan! Vane, artist, had been riding since •arty morning through what appeared to. be a limitless Southern pine forest. He was weary and hungry, ana kept his eyes well open to discern what might be a ‘‘human habitation, ” where might be found, “.entertainment for man and beast.” It may bo vary romantic to walk or sit “under the moaning pines,” bnt as a matter of fact, they are anything but inspiriting to one who fears that he may have to spend the night amid the mysterious noises and unknown inhabitants thereof. So, Paul Vane, as the sun swung low, was keeping a sharp lookout for a house. Humble it was sure to lie, but he eared Bow only for a rude bed and draught of water to cool his parched tongue. At last his wearied eye discerned an opening. Yes. there was the inevitable log cabin of ihe “piney- woods’ hoosier;” and the addition of two “shed-rooms” gave evidence that he would probably find a spare bad whereon to stretch his tired limbs. On each side of the house, and in the rear, were “clearings” containing “patches” at com, cotton, and sweet potatoes, and a goodly “patch” of succulent sugar cane. It was a golden day in October, and Paul knew the corn had been gathered, and the size of the field told him he conld find a generous supply for his horse if the good people were not averse to selling it. A woman, red-haired and angular, sat on Hie small porch, made by continuing the roof several feet beyond the dwelling. A limp sun bonnet was on her head, and this, together with the primitive occupation of “carding” cotton into “bats,” prevented her from seeing the approach »f the stranger till a resonant “Hello!” caused her to glance up. ,

Paul Vane made a kingly figure as he sat on his thoroughbred horse, his hat pushed back from his white brow,, making greater the contrast of tanned cheeks, while the gloomy pine forest loomed up in dark perspective. ..A. girl ..picking cotton - in the “patch” stopped her work and straigKtehed up'td” look : at him. A second girl sidled around the house to gaze at the unaccustomed sight of “a man •-horseback a-eomin’ to ther house.” “My good woman, can I stay all night? I have traveled all day. and my horse and I are ▼ery tired. lam willing to pay you well for both.” “Well, I dunno, mister. My ole man went over to a neighbor’s ’bout a mile from here to git a ’po6Suin dog, an’ he haint kem back yit. I dunno what he'll •ay." “PapH say yes,” said the girl who had •idled around the house. •At least I can rest awhile and water my horse?” •O, yes; git right down an' kem in. Cull’ll water yer hosa. Yon, Cull!” The girl in the cotton patch slowly left her work and came to the house. As She entered the yard, Paol Vane started at the eontrast between the two girls. Both were apparently 10 years old, bnt the one who was sure “Pap’d say yes,” was red-haired and angular like the mother, while the other had a face which gave promise of that dark, glittering, sumptuous beauty so fatal to the generally, and so dangerous to the peace of all men who behold it.

•Tek the gen’leman’s hoss, Cull, an* give it ten years o’ com an’ a bim'le o' fodder.” “No, stay,” interposed Paul quickly, all his Southern chivalry rising in protest •gainst this command to the youthful Enid. *1 am quite accustomed to feeding my own horse, and could not think of allowing this .child to do it. -Where is the well?” The two went before himHto reveal the whereabouts of that well, for whose cooling waters both be and his thoroughbred thirsted. . _ -'• ; The dark girl glanced at him. It was a curious gaze—something like an Intelligent animal’s, who has been released from a grievous burden, long and patiently home. The horse disposed of, the quartette retained to tile front of the house. A tall, lean man, with whitened hair and bent shoulders plainly indicating that he was a son of toil, was just entering the yard. I had almost said gate, but there were no fences, consequently no need of **liwes the patriarch of this interesting family, and he speedily granted the j stranger’s request for food and shelter. After the supper of buttermilk, sweet potatoes, fried bacon, and “pane" com bread was served, the family sat out on the little bout porch, as is the Southern fashion. “Cull? That is a curious name,” said FsuL as his hostess bade the girl prepare Mr. Vane’s couch for the night. •Yes, an’ th’ gal is curiouser. She hain’t oum, but her mammy died at our

fcaus* ’bout five year ago. She stopped I here one evenin' an’ wit* h adin' the little gal. j Feared lak she wm tick. They had walked a long way, Bhe said, but, the. didn't tell whar ,>ahe waa from, nor whar she with gwine. She wa’n’t nble to gitoulen th’ bed next momin’, an’ ehe died in a week. She hod a fever on’ didn't have the go tine ter tell us nothin'. We've done the beat ' we kin by Coll, bnt ahe'a so sullen, "pears j liik u e kain't mck nolhin' onten her." "Can she read?" asked Fanl, reflectively, aa he knocked the ashes off his cigar. • "Lor. no; we hain't nigh a school, an’ pnp an' me don't know nothin' ’hop 1 hook V I "Mia. Vostoii, I should like to adopt this girl," announced Paul, slowly. ‘ tirpM don’t say aol" ejaculated the male “clav-cater." “Vt’ell, I never!" echoed the female one. It was a decision l’aul had come-to within the last few moments with that reckless promptitude characteristic of the man’s artistic nature. ' The question was discussed animatedly, then Cull was called out. "My child." said Paul, kindly, “how should you like to go with'me and he my own, little girl? I would teach you all about hooks, and you should have a father in me, Inm 3.1 and ijnite old enough to bb her fnther. Mrs. Vestoii,” turning husiily lo I that person, whom he saw at once was ihe "weight” in the family. “I ali'd say so!" she enunciated."expectorating snuff profusely, then putting her “brush” in the box for a fre»h “dip.” “I dunno nothin’ ’bout books, ner no pap,” said Cull, in her hoarse, uncultured voice.' It had been one of Paul’s visionary dreams to adopt a child, male or female, and make the perfect, creature out of it he felt sure he could. He was alone in the world, nnd unmarried. * After due explanation, Cull—the only name she had ever known—was prevailed upon to understand what was required of her. The next morning she, in her long, checked homespun dress and flapping bonnet of the same inaterral, was mounted behind Mr. Vane on his horse on an old quilt, which Mrs. Ye stub informed him ho .could “Give way ter some niggab when he cimi ter tfaerstation ’bout ten mile fruni thar.” "He a good gal. Cull, an min’ Mr. Vane. I wißht ’Lizy might have yer chance er bein’ a rich lady, ” Cull sat with her brown feet and bare ankles hanging straight down by the thoroughbred’s flank, but answered never a word, staring off into the sombre depths of the pine forest all about them. “I reckon yer won’t never let her kum back ter see us agin? " Mrs, Veston urged. After all, the child did have some sort of a place in her fliidv heart, and the S2OO that had been placed in her handß but a few moments ago seemed to lose tfteir value when she thought of the break there would be in their lives after Cull had gone away. “I cannot promise that, for my house is many hundred miles from here. Don’t look for her, and you will not be disappointed.” Pnul laughed as he rode away. To a more Worldly wise couple this barter of 'a child might have seemed a grievous wrong, but •to these ignorant people Cull was a “stray” of whom they were glad to be rid. Of her life—of Paul Vane’s intentions towards this girl of 10 years—they never thought. When, they had ridden live miles Faul Stopped* ■ “Cull, yon must be tired, and I shall let you rest awhile. I wish to ask you some questions.” Cull obediently slul down from her perch, and l’,aul seated himself on a gnarled tree root. “How old ate you?” “Mammy says I'm 'bout ten,” she answered dutifully, as she stood before him, bonnet off and her mowt dark curls crinkling all over her shapely head. She gazed at him fearlessly, boldly. “Have you no name but Cull?” “None’at I ever hearn tell on.” He sighed softly, for her defective grammar grated on liis educated ear fearfully. ““Very well, i- am “going to call you Eleanor Vane. Shull you like it?” “Dunno; reckon so. Reckon one name's good’s ’uother.”

"Very true, but remember, when you are asked your name, it is Eleanor Vane,” “All right. El’ner Vane.” Paul winced at her, pronunciation of this aristocratic name, but said nothing further, ami, remounting, they rode to the ’Village, or “station.” Here he stopped at the only hotel, and at once asked for the landlady, if the house boasted of one. Fortunately for him it did, and a very important one, too. “My dear lady, Ihave -just” brought—my -uieee-frbm—-woods,’ where she has been reared, as you can see. I wish to take her home, but she must have other articles of dress. I can’t take her in this guise." Mrs. Wheatley smiled at the evident contrast between the well-clad gentleman in his traveling suit lovely color, “Confederate gray,” and the shabby appearance of the sullen-browed girl who clung so tightly to his hand. ’ “I should think not,” she assented cheerfully. “Well, are there such things-us readymade clothes here?” “Not for girls. How old is she?” “Ten.” “Well, my Maud is about her , ago and size. T enn let yon "have a suit of her clothing that will answer till you get to the city.” “A thousand thanks, and I will refund you.”

Mrs. Wheatley went put; bnt soon- returned. ’’ , “Jf the little girl will go with me now. I’ll send her to yon in an hour or two transformed.” “Eleanor, go with the good lady.” "I won’t." - * “Why?” -asked —Paul, astonished and grieved at this exhibition of stubbornness. “ ’Cause you’ll go off an’ leave me.” “No, my dear, I shall not. I shall remain here, and to prove it you may take my hat with you, ’’ said Paul, smiling, for was a man ever known to leave a house without his hat.? Never, except uuder Very extraordinary circumstances, surd this did not seem to be one. • _ ’ —— ~■ — Cull actually took the hat and followed the landlady out. *: * That day was her first acquaintance with a bath room and stockings. In two hours the door opened and a quiet little girl tip-toed into Paul. He looked up inquiringly. T “I’m Cnll.” v 1 -lE’.

“Bless my soul!” and Paul stared with all his might, for with a man’s stupidity he could not understand how dress can transform, as it were, the ugliest and most insignificant of the fair sex. _ Mrs.* Wheatley came in laughing. “Will she do?” - “I should not have known her. You are a good woman —a Wonderful woman," said he, shaking her most cordiapy by the hand. She blushed a little and answered coquettishly: “Oh, no; I am only a woman, and all women are.wonderful—at times.” We must-explain, however, that the blush.was for the large piece of gold she felt left in her'hand and which was hastily transferred to her pocket. It was s*2o and doubly paid her for the polished buttoned shoes, the scarlet hose.

white dress and neatly -made pad ! prettily-trimmed underclothing; all of which she had furnished from her daughter's wardrobe, they being her best, bnt the astute lady frit "assured she would lose nothing by it; she could easily replace them with, the glittering gold now resting in her packet. “She still needsu plain hat„linen ulster, and lisle gloves," added Mrs. Wheatley. “Very well; where can I get them?” “O, I will get them at once from the store," she laughed, going out again. Paul stood near Cnll, stroking her soft silky hair, now seen nt its best for the first time. Her hands were fearfully browned, hut they were well-shaped, and her hair was fashionably arranged—being soft and curly, it was very becoming to the brown, flushed face. She was daintily perfumed nnd powdered as any curled darling of fortune. In one word, Cull waR clean! The ulster, the quiet’little hat, the gloves, the small Rachel with its pretty white handkerchief, were all arranged on Cull's willing form, and the afternoon train whirled man, child, and horse away. Whither? No one know. »f , .» ; * ““** 1 , « ■ Six years have passed. A .sumptuously beautiful girl and a man of 41V, or thereabouts, were' talking in a handsome room in a handsome house in the city of Charlestown. - ' "But Uncle Paul, I do not want to go to Germany,” the girl"vehemently protested. “Hut why, Kleqnor?” asked'Paul Vcue,smoothing back her lovely hair in a fatherly way. The girl's lips grew white. I go?” "J think it best," he gravely answered. “Very well, uncle,.” then starting up hurriedly, she walked quickly from the^room. In six years a governess and masters had done much for “Cull,” or Eleanor. Vane, as she was now known, hut “Uncle Paul” had just told her that it was his' intention to spend the next five years in Europe, solely for her benefit. She had entreated,’ prayed, and rebelled, but all to no purpose. He wished to give her every advantage at his command, and not being dependent on his profession: for a livelihood, but on the contrary, having great wealth, Paul Vane, artist, had many advantages at his command. Most girls would have been wild at the thought of a European tour. Why was Eleanor so averse to it? Hitherto she hadnot disappointed him fin anything, and he -had begun to think that he was really moulding her into that dream creature that had always been his ideal of wpmanhood. They went to Europe. One day, while in Zurich, Eleanor sought her uncle. “Uncle Paul, I have come now' to tell you why I did not wish to leave America.” She sat down on a sofa far away from him, and the room being dim, he did not see her livid face and writhing lips. “Yes, dear,” and putting aside his-writ-ing. he went ov.er and stood in front of her, one hand behind his back, the other thrust into his bosom. Her breath came heavily, her hands were clenched till the blood stood out on the white snrface—for Eleanor was no longer rough and brown. “Yes, dear,” lie repeated, gently, looking caressingly down on the satiny ripples of hair crowning the -head droopirigbefoi e him. “Pity me, Uncle Paul, and oh, forgive me! Ob, don’t you knowL, u Can’t you see?” and she sank down at his feet abjectly. “I have been a wife for six months and one day shall become a mother!” she Wailed. “Oh, God! Eleanor! Have you deceived me?” hei cried, starting away from her as if she were a plague-stricken thing. She lay on the carpet moaning. He came back, stooped over her, and placed her on the sofa, sitting down by .her Side. “Tell me the man’s name.” “Reuben Stiles.” . “Onr grocer’s clerk?” “Yes, uncle." “How came yon to know him? Arc you hie wife?” f! “Yes, uncle,” she answered, still in the same mechanical manner, but placing a paper in bis hand. ■ : He was silent as lie read the words that bore witness to the fact that Eleanor Vane was the .legal wife of Reuben Stiles, the handsome but illiterate clerk of the grocer who supplied the exclusive Paul Vane with all the choicest groceries. “What made you do it?” he asked in a despairing kind of way. “I do not know,” she answered humbly. "It must be the bad blood-in my- veins. ” “O, toy child! it seems to me that I could -wfillugly/giye evefy~ttl'Op of my blood ifritr would wash away the stain of this act of yours. You hare deceived me! Can I ever trust you again?” She fell to weeping, wildly, unrestrainedly, as a woman will who feels that she has" done wrong but’ can offer no excuse for it. “I met him several times on the sidewalk. I knew who he Was—once he restored my handkerchief—once he caught me as I was falling.” Then she attempted an explanation. - “But where was your teacher?” “Miss Knowles was always with me.” He groaned aloud. “But he made love to you? He married you?”

“Tee, uncie. I can't tell how it was all done; but he made me love him. I love him now, and one night we were married in the church on C— street.” •“But what shall I' dev about it all?” he groaned in anguish again. “Let Reuben come to me, or let us go home to him.” _ “Never! My God! girl, do you think I have spent myself on you, heart and soul, to have you end this way? You are, after all, only a child. If I meet this Reuben Stiles i shall kill him!” he ended up passionately, striking the arm of the sofa frenziedly. Eleanor clung to his arm, weepingweeping. A few months afterwards her child was born, but it was dead. ~ Five years came and went. Eleanor Vane and hiiraai-disani unclewere returning to America. This girl had developed into a marvel of beauty, but she was.called cold and proud. She had only to look at a man with those 6oftlv-magniticent eyes of hers, and straightway he became her slave, willing to barter all he held dear, even honor, and life, if by so doing-he could have gained a love word from- those perfectly-chiseled lips. But no man had won that word yet—except Reuben Stiles. Paul Vane was in despair, but Eleanor’s spirits rose as they neared an American port. ' Her husband was to meet her at last! When she had cast off her old life with her old name, “Cull,” she retained all her native stubbornness, only now it was gracefully concealed. She had refused in toto to procure a divorce, or to be otherwise separated from her boyish and handsome husband—as she remembered him—and who was also the father of her dead child.- » “Southern Women do not disgrace themselves by appearing in a divorce court,” she haughtily replied to Paul’s suggestion. Paul had kept her secret well, and no one knew that his beautiful heiress was al-

ready out of the reach of greedy fortune hunters. They arrived at their,hotel. “Eleanor, your husband is in the parlor.” With an inarticulate cry «f joy Eleanor obeyed her guardian’s summons, and went into tlie private parlor which he had thoughtfully engaged for this first meeting ofthe’ —— N But the elegant woman started back in dismay as she opened the door of the parlor and saw sittibgTu uchair facing her, a hulking, slouching figure, gaudily dressed in broad plaid clothes, with a diamond blazing in his shirt front, his hat between Ms knees, his large red hands spread over them. Eleanor turned and looked in Paul’s impassive face., “Who—who ui uus . husband!” “No! no!" and she was receding from the room when a coarse voice arrested her. ““Hullo! Elly! A warm welcome after your five years’absence!" Eleanor advanced. /‘Are j/oi( : Reuben Stiles?” “That's what I’m called. Howdy!” and he stretched forth a large hand, laughing hoisterously. 1 It was too evident that he had been drinking. ■ • “O, God! The punishment of my 6in is more than I can hear!” and turning precipitately, Eleanor, who had been noted as the coldest and nioßt self-possessed woman in hey circle—Eleanor tied back to her room. Mr, Stiles gazed blankly at Paul Vane. ‘‘The deuce! What does she mean?” ’*•** * * * * “It is horrible!horrible!"moanedEleanor a few hours later, after being “brought roimd” from a faint into which she had fallen when informed'that Reuben Stiles,’ on leaving the hotel, had unluckily fallen down the stairway, thereby causing death, his steps having been rendered unsteady by drink. * “But it is best!" soothed Paul Yang. - “God knows!” she murmured. “1 did wrong to show him so plainly that I was disappointed—that I was disgusted! O, Paul, I did wrong ever, ever to leave him.” But Paul had no word of comfort for her. Happily, time heals all bruised hearts. Time is kinder than' man. —Chicago Ledger.