Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 18, Number 21, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 12 November 1887 — Page 2

2

THE jviail:

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

THE STATUE—AN ALLEGORY.

Tli«*.e'A a book whlcb lleth open Tliat no student e'er hath read Their'* a path through wood* ami va!kyi

Knov.ias naught of human tr-c.i Au ^d ^npe, fair and golk n, Where leujal

.t

the branches oliL'u

1 Je* a rntitilated head.

In that book unnumbered authors Write as for their daily bread: Down that unknown path arc gazing

Sli'n with r'oubtlng and with dread And forever for them calling, Boothing some and some appaliing,

CritH that mutilated head.

But the time comes when that volume. Written, shall be a'so read, And when through that haunted valley

Every footstep shall have sped: Then, within the radiant portal, Will—a statue fair, imniortal—

Kise the mutilated head. —John R. Talt in Lippineott's.

A Complete Misunderstanding.

[Margaret Crosby In November Bcribner.]

It wan a rainy day in September. On a narrow road, flanked by tall pinetree*, in a remote part of New Kngland, four homes dragged a lumbering stagecoach up

a

side

the driver sat an old man, dressed in a baggy ovorcoat and a I tattered felt hat. He had no umbrella, and Ins indifference to the weather was to be inferred from the fact that he chose an outside seat in preference to tho many cmptv ones inside tha stage. He wai talking to tho driver with the sustained monotony of one who is secure from interruption. "Well, as I was way in'," ho said,

llDeacon

Bliss, he Miys to me, you got to

cut Memento mori on them gate-posts, and thats all there is about it. You can cut your own name somewhere, with Jin

Utter

under it, too, if you want to but

it stands to reason that Memento mori oughter go on tho gate of a buryin'grouud." lie paused a moment, and then

continued,

witli a latont twinkle in Ills

faded, kindly eyes: "I «/»7/eut Memento mori on onoof thorn gate-posts, and I cut I le/.ckiali San ford in letters the sarnesizo on the other, so there's my monument fur all time, fur that wall ain't ever comin' down, and Deacon Bliss couldn't say a word. 'I'he next day as 1 was goin' down

At tliis juncture the driver's lips parted ami emitted a short, sharp laugh. This tribute to bis shrewdness was so unexpected that tho old man paused and turned to him with a furtive look of questioning. ''You've gol to the stone wall loo soon, Squire Santord wo ain't past Three-mile Corner, mid you wont have enough to lust till von*get homo," said the driver. The old man relapsed into an offended silence. After a ino'uent's pause the driver said, with a Jerk of his thumb toward the inside of the stage: 44

Who are the folks yor goin' ter have to yor house, Squire?" 'i'he old man turned over in his mind the feasibility of showing tho annoyance that ho felt at tho interruption of his story but on tho consideration that Sam Iluliter was too gdod a listener to be lost, lie answorod—

44()no

of 'em's Colonel Brenhan, and

the other's his brother. The young one's nrettv

sick—consumption,

going

or somethln'

like ft, 1 reckon, and the colonel's bringin' him here fur change of air. As 1 savs to tho colonel, this air will cure him if* any thin' will. Why, my brother •lames wife—I'll tell you about her, Sam linn tor smiled grimly.

l,That

story'li

last till you get home," he declared. The two inside passengers were noi even occupying themselves by talking to each other, but wore equally silent.

Ono was a man about forty years old, tall, and strongly built, lie sat somowhat stlttly forward on the edge of the seat, his attitude and expression statuosquely quiet. Thore was much that inspired confidence in tho direct simplicity of his glance, shaded by a slouched felt bat, and something martial in tho unconscious oreotnesH of his bearing.

Beside him sat, or half-lay, a young man, enveloped to tho throat in a heavy, loose ulster of yellowish cloth. The blonde effect of his fair hair and slight mustache was heightened by his excessive pallor. His eyos wore closed, and his dark lashes alone saved his faco from being almolutely colorless. The clearly cut features wen? handsome, and the whole face was characterised by extreme sensitivenoa*. His long, white hands— the hands of an invalid—rested listlessly on the leaves of a skotch book that lay on his kneos. Over the shoulder nearest the open window was thrown a heavy travelling-rug, which, constantly displaced by the jolting of tho stage, slipped to the floor. Kach time that it did so the older man leaned twsross, and lifting the rug, rearranged it with awkward teuderness. A muttered "Thank you!" was the only audible notice that his action received, but the youth's level brows met each time in a quick frown of irritation. At length when this had occurred several times he opened his eyes. ••That will do, Dick. I'm very much obliged, but I'm quite warm enough without it. How much longer are wo to le in this hideous machine?" ••Just beyond the top of the hill, I think," was tho answer, spoken in a strong, unmodulated voice. Then, as if glad to avail himself of the opportunity to speak. he asked, anxiously: "How do vou feel now, Julian? Any better tlisu when we started? It's a poor day, but the air's far more bracing than that close city." He inhaled along breath of the fragrant uinev air. "I couldn't have breathed in that place another day. No wonder you're sick. I tell you, Julian, a week tin the plains would make a different fellow of you! Kven this place we're

to will do you good."

"I suppose so." ••I su na of it, my boy. You've spent too much time in that studio you have not lived an active life. A few weeks here will x»t you up, und then we'll try camping out It'll be just the thing for that cougK «r yours. Nothing like sleeping l». the open air for curing a «-old."

The your*: man shire red uneasily. "Can't I anything to make TOO more oomfo»»Hle?" continued tho older man. Then- «w only a shake of the head in neplv, -Then I think I'll go on top for a while, «»d perhaps you get some sleep. lie leaned out «f the window: the summit of the bill had been reached and the thinning of the pine trees showed the rolling country, with wooded hills, glorious with the autumn tints of gold and dun and flaming crimson. The rain had stopped falling, and the dull gray of the skr waa broken by patches of deep blue. Before there was time to hail the driver the stage stopped »o» ten yard* back from the road. It was one of those long, low houses which do not *eem to be unlit on the ground, but to grow out

Hb~.

of it, ellnging lovingly as close as possible to the earth. Two large elms over* shadowed it, and to the right there was an apple orchard, with a distant view beyond of the meadow and woodland, and the silver gleam of a large sheet of water. Close to the house, on the other side, were straggling barns and outhouses.

The two men clambered down from their high seats. Hunter went to the back of Hie stage and began sileutly lifting down the luggage Sanford walked up tho irregular Hag-stoned, which lay on the grass in front of the house, forming a path to the dcor, whilo Colonel Brennan opened the door of the stage. •'Julian," he said, "here we are, my boy!" The young man lay with bis eyes closed, but when bis brother spoke he opened them with a dazed expression, lie got out, but staggered slightly as he tried to walk up the path. His brother supported him, and as they reached the door San ford came ont, followed by an old woman, dressed in a dark calico gown and short white jacket. She led tho way to a room on the right of a little ball, talking rapidly all the time. '•Oh—now—jest to think of my not bein ready lor you! Why, I didn't s'pose the stage 'ud be along for a halfIiour yeti But I know you'll excuse my jacket. Now the young man docs look sick, don't he? But you see if this ain't the best place

Her How of words was interrupted by an exclamation from Colonel Brennan.

4'Julian!

what's the matter!"

The dazed look in the youth's eyes deepened, his pallor became deathly, and swaying slightly for an instant he toppled over on the floor in a dead faint.

Mrs.

Htoep hill. On the seat be­

Sunford contemplated him for a

moment, in silent amazement. "Oh, the awful! the dreadful! what tinder the canopy! she gasped- then throwing her apron over .her lace she rushed from the room, calling: "Winifred Amanda Sanford—do come down-stairs this minute! The young gentleman's layin' dead on the floor, ami I'm sure I dunno what to do!"

Colonel Brennan knelt down by Juliau and supported his head, bis eyes fixed on the white face in an agony of appreheusion. "Go and get some water," ho said to Sanford "bo quick about it!'

There was a sound of hasty footsteps on the stairs, the rustle of a dress, and a tall voung woman entered the door. She carried a glass of water in her band, and crossing the room knelt down by the young man and began to bathe his forehoad with a handkerchief which she dipped into the water. "Fan him, please!" she said to Colonel Brennan "there's a fan on tho mantloshelf."

During fifteen years of a rough western life Colonel Brennan had Deen almoht unconscious of the personality of the few women he had come in contact with: yet at this moment there pierced through his anxiety a sense of the ex treme composure of her manner, lie obeyed blindly.

It seemed a long time before Julian's eyes opened. When they did, be scarcely knew whoro he was. Bending over him he saw a beautiful face—calmserene—pitying.

No "goddesses do not

pity," he vaguely thought. "Where am I?'' The face hovered a moment before his wavering eyes, and then melted away.

1

"Julian!" said his brother's voice, pleadingly. "Look hero, my dear fellow, how do you feel? Are you bettor?"

Tho /kmiliar tone broke through the net-viw of dreams in which he seemed to float

Wlth the fnl1 tide of

return'nS

oonMoo'tfJsness came a feeling of impatlencoaJt his weakness he raised himself to a sitting position. "Why, yes," he said, "I'm all right. Thats very odd, that sensation. I never had it before."

He attempted to rise, and with Colonel Brennan's assistance stood on his feet. "I think I'll sit down," he said "I'm rather dizzy yet." He dropped into a cbalr that stood near him, and looked around, as if more fully to take in his surroundings.

It was a small room with a low ceiling twosides wore of wood painted dark rea, as was the high mantle and open lireplace. Above the mantle were little cupboards with brass knobs on the doors, that reminded one curiously of the lockers In the cabin of a ship. A brilliantly flowered paper covered the two remaining sides of the room. The furniture was of the most antique pattern, and extremely shabby. Fiddle-backed chairs', and long, uncomfortable wooden suttees were arranged against tho walls. The only modern things in the room were a new, shining melodeon and a large

rocking

ohair, covered with black hair­

cloth. Near the door stood Sanford and his wife. Tho old woman came forward with an aid of mingled fright and importance. ••Well," she said, "that's too bad. For the land's sake! I was real scared when you went off liice that. Don't you think he'd best go to his room and rest a bit, and I'll send his supper up to him? There, now, if I didn't forgetabout them cakes!" she exclaimed. "Where's Winifred, Mr. Sanford? She'll take 3'ou up to your rooms, and I know you'll jest excuse me!" She left the room hurriedly, as she spoke, followed by her husband.

Julian turned to Colonel Brennan with a slightly puzzled air. "Wasn't there—teas there someone else here a minute ago?" he asked.

Before his brother could reply Sanford returned with his daughter. She stood in the doorway speaking to her father a moment, apparently unconscious of the intent scrutiny that Julian was giving her. She was unusually tall, and there was a generous sweep in the lines of her figure. The setting of her head and throat on her shoulders was fairly majestic. and her soft dark hair wound around the arched head, and growing low on her forehead, contrasted with her gray eves and the fair bloom of her skin. She might have been, in spite of the flower-like freshness of her beauty, twenty-eight or thirty: there was nothing of the young giil about her. "I guess you'd better go np and rest," said Sanford, kindly. 'Tm glad you re all square again. Winifred-—this is my daughter Winifred—she'll show ye up-

Winifred led the way, and Colonel Brennan followed, supporting Julian The stairs were not wide enough for two

K»ople

abreast, and the colonel fell bend. At the top of tin stairs Julian wavered, and would have fallen again had it not been for the young woman, turned quickly and threw her arm around htm. Ills brother was at

who turned

his side In an instant, and together tbey helped him to his room, and settled him in a large arm chair. "Thank you!" he said, warmly, to Winifred. "I should have fallen if it had not been for you."

She did noi notice his speech. "I'm going down to get something for yon to eat,,fsbe said, calmly. Her voice was clear and low. "Mother'U bring it up In a minute. Tea's ready, if Colonel Brennan will come down."

She drew down the blind of a window where the sun shone in on Julian's face, and then turned to go, but at the door she stopped, and with her head raised with stag-like erectnees, swept a barely imperceptible courtesy and left the

Julian's eyes flashed aa he looked after her. "Go down, Dick," he said "I'll do very well here. but I seem was a spark as he said the words.

He took his pencil and sketch-book from his pocket, and began to draw rapidly.'

From the stairs camo the sound of stamping and gasping, and the old farmer made his appearance in the doorway, staggering under the weight of a heavv guncase. "Where's this to go, colonel? In your room on t'other side of the passage? What have you got in here anyhow, that's so mightly hefty? "Hold on!" called the colonel, "I'll help you with those things, Sanford. Julian, I'll be back after awhile. He followed Sanford, and Julian still bent over his sketch in entire absorption, when he wa»aroused by a voice at bis

"Now, sir, jest take a bite and see how much better vou'll feel.'" Mrs. Sanford stood before him, with a large tray, on which was a medley of eatables—coffee and boiled Ash, a pumpkin pie and a dish of green pickles. There was something in the scent of the coffee and the home-like aspect of the blue-and-white cracked china that pleased and tempted Juiian. "Why, Mrs. Sariford," he said, "that looks uncoui monly good." "Now you begin to eat that. You better try them pickles. Winifred made 'em, and she's a powerful hand at pickles. I do hope you'll like everything it's the first time we ever took boarders, but we tried to fix things nice." She set the tray on the table, and in doing so her eves fell ou the sketch. She snatched it from Julian with the same abruptness that characterized all her actions. "Child of grace! if that ain't Winifred!1' Something in the idea seemed to touch her sense of humor. She laughed immoderately, holding it at arm's length at first, and then putting on her spectacles to examine it more closely. "Now ain it nice to draw like that she is pretty as a picter, if I cto say it." She spoke in a toneof rambling meditativeness. "Folks savs it's strange she ain't married but, lor, she won't look at the young men 'round here. I dunno why, but its funny when there ain't one of them but has asked her—and die so pretty!"

Julian held out bis band for the sketch coloring slightly as he did so. "You don't know what her beauty is,' lie murmured under his breath.

The old woman did not catch the words, but the tone reached her ear. The foolish vacancy of her expression changed to a keen look of curiosity for the space of a second. "Well, I know folks do take on about her, and her pa sots an awful store by

"Mrs. Sanford," said Sanford, from the door, depositing Julian's trunk in the mom, "supper's ready, and s'pose you come down." He was In his shirtsleeves, and spoke with some irritation of manner. "Where did you put my duster?" he continued, with a warning look.

His wife looked deprecatmgly at him. "Ob, Mr. Sauford,1 jest hung it up in the store closet. I thought, perhaps, you'd be agreeable to tryin' your black coat for a spell in tho house, now we got companv." "No, I wont, Mrs. Sanford what would I have to wear to funerals, I'd like to know? No you get my duster— livelv now! and dou*t you go fur to hang it up"in thatsiore-closetof your's again."

They went down the hall, Sanford expostulating and his wife apologizing, until their voices died away.' Ink. tue distance.

The sunlight faded in the room where Julian sat. He had finished his supper, and as the twilight grew he continued to touch up the little sketch of the haunting face he had just seen, adding lines and shadows until the likeness, which had been striking at first, was entirely destroved. He tore the leaf out of the book, an'd crushed it impatiently in his hand. "There no use trying to draw such a face," he thought, "when one has only seen it once. What lines in her head and brow? How do such people happen to have a daughter lookfug a goddess? How quiet and calm she was! It's scarcely human. I oouldn tell whether she was sorry for me, or ouly quietly contemptuous at my weakness.'* The evening wind blew in at the window chillingly with the sun's departure all warmth had gone from the air. Julian went to tho window and drew it down. The room wore an air of dreary melancholy. The old four-post bed, with its white curtains, loomed strangely in the dim, gray light. At the eide of the room the opening of the black-painted fireplace yawned like a cavern. Some dead leaves ou the heartli executed a fantastic dance as the wind swept up and down the chimney. Before the windows the bianches of tho trees waved Incessantly. The damp air seemed to strike into the young man's breast, and his cough echoed with a hollow sound. "Why did I come here?" he thought, half-hopelessly.

On the threshold of this chill and

fn

loom there appeared a sudden vision, the doorway stood Winifred Sanford, holding above her head alighted candle the doorward light illuminated her face

kindling-wood. "May I come in?" she asked, with a slight smile. "Mother thought it was getting colder out of doors, and you might like a fire." brennan started to his feet. "Oh! thank you, you're very good," he stammered, confusedly "I won't trouble you let me do it?"

She only looked at him In surprise. *•1 always make the fires." she answered quietly, and as you're sick you'd betkeep quiet and rest."

I iUlll CAllaUaVlvUf #SS

chair and watched her as she knelt on the hearth, and, setting the basket beside her. rapidly laid the kindling under the logs that rested on the andirons. She touched the shavings with the can die and the blaze leapt up the chimney, ito the darkest corners of the

ing in i. Th

1OT„.

room

it.

to

TERKE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MATT,

"But what did you go for—not to be a

et,"it.hazarded.friend

uan?"

be

she said, smiling a little. "To to get away from here. I was af I had a there, and she got me in but father came and took me •way when I'd been there three months. It was a good while ago, and I haven't been away since she paused a minute, we*|e poor,' she added, simply.

Sha, stood up and leaned against the mantle, looking down at the young man. The firelight flickered on her fact* and on her violet print dress, tinging it with pink reflections. The folds of the soft material fell with the simplicity of sculpture. As If pleased with the rapt observation of the young man she stood motionless for a few minutes, and then walked toward the door, saying "I think I'll go now. You'd better go to bed, Mr. Brennan. It's easy to see that you're tired out." There was a note of protecting kindness in the sweet voice.

Again the little courtesy, and the vison nad disappeared. Brennan was alone once more, but the room was changed. There was the ruddy firelight, the snapping, crackling pine logs, the warm, scented air, and whether bis eyes were opened or closed the mysterious beauty they had first beheld floated before tbem. When his brother looked in on him, an hour later, he found hita already in bed and asleep, and although be coughed at frequent intervals, he still slept, with a boyish smile on his face.

II.

Two weeks-later, on an afternoon when there was a midsummer softness in the atmosphere, ok)

Sanford sat on the bench

on one side of the wide porch of the farm-house. He was busily engaged in whittling a piece of wood with a largo jack-knife, talking steadily as he whittled. Colonel Brennan sat opposite to him, listening with grave attention. His heated face and muddy clothes, as well as the gun that leaned against the seat beside him, showed that he had just come in from a shooting-expedition. "Yes said Sanford. "I've wrote some sharp political satires in my day, and them also in poetry. That's something that come by natur' and birth, and can't be trained into a mau. I'll lend 'ein toyer some day, colonel, or— here his face became more animated, "I'll recite 'em toyer if you like. There's the battle of Buuker Hill" one of my historical poemn. It was read at the townhall, at Granfield, last Independence Dav, I do solemnly assure, you, colonel. It begins— "A tear stood on. tbe mother's brow.

As from the watt young Henry Dow The war-tube lilted down."

I could say it all, but p'raps you'd as lief read it. You kin judge of it bettor that way," "Perhaps I can," answered the colonel, courteously. "Then I've wrote also poems of natur'. Natur's an inspirin' subject. Jest take a day like this—" He took off his hat and let the air blow his* gray locks off his withered forehead. "There's something so pure and holly in the hull look of everytnin' to-day that It's like goin' into a church jest to go out into the fields. Mrs. Sanford, now," here his eyes twiukled humorously, "ain't much on natur'. She looked out this morniu' and says she, 'It's a fine mornin' for bakin' and then she went in-doors and she's be'n bakin' all day!"

The colonel' attention seemed to be wandering. His eyes were fixed on the orchard where through the green branches, in the distant, could be seen tho leam of a woman's dress and the outine of a man's figuro. The occasional sound of voices was borne toward ,them by the breeze.

Sanford noticed the look. "You needn't fret about that brother of yours, colonel," he said "he's all right. Winifred's out there, and lie's paintln' her. That's the idea he took into bis head She's a sensible girl, a mighty sensible girl, and she'll take as good careof hlin as if he was her brother How old is the boy?"

Colonel Brennan made a calculation. "Twenty-two," he said. "I didn't think lie was as old," he added, half to himself. "Well," continued SanTord. "Winifred's a good seven year older than he is. and sne's beeu eule'lated to take care of other folk as she is to take care of herself. None of the fellows round here's been able to take her off her own hands yet. and I must say I ain't sorry, fur she's the light of my eyes." He paused for a moment and then added: "Yer brother's pretty sick, I reckon." Colonel Brennan'seyes wandered toward the orchard again with a pained expression. "Still.' concluded Sanford, rising and kicking off the porch the little pile of shavings that had colleoted at bis feet, "if this weather holds he'll get bet-

He sauntered away toward the barn still whittling as he went. Colonel Brennan sat motionless, think* ing deeply. His thoughts ran motonously in a circle, always coming back to the samo point. What was to be done for Julian? For the last few days he had certainly seemed to be better but before—he shuddered as he remembered a week of constant rain and cold weather, when Julian's cough had increased as his strength had deminished, and when he had looked imploringly at his brother, as if beseeching a rescue from the death that seemed so near. There was a painful realization that all his care and tenderness had been inadequate to his brother's needs. Winifred Sanford alone had the power to help and influence him, and Colonel Brennan had c»me to depend upon her entirely where Julian was concerned, She baa gradn ally given up all her time to the voung fellow, treating him with the authorita­

tive

„„e warm glow seemed to draw

out the rich womanliness of the kneeling

figure, and to humanize dreary thoughts. "I*

Brennan'a

beg your pardon," he said abauptly, "but will you let me paint your portrait some day?"

For the first time her composure varied. A deeper color came into her face, and she turned her head slowly toward him with an upward glance, in which there was the faintest semblance of coquetry. "Yes if you want." "Has anyone ever painted you?" he asked eagerly. "There has never been anyone to do she answered. 'Then I shall be the firefc." The thought seemed to give the young fellow deep pleasure. "Have you always lived here?" "Yea, always, except when Iran away »the convent.* "Ran away," he repeated, "why did you do it?" «I couldn't stay hen always, and I never see anything."

kindness of an older sister, which he accepted with an alternation of the petulance of an invalid and a sort of veiled adoration which no one was aware of but Winifred herself, although she betokened no consciousness of it.

Colonel Brennan's attitnde toward her was curiously characteristic. He felt the warmest gratitude for her kindness to his brother, and a profound respect for what seemed to him the marvellous tact of knowledge shown her care of him Her beauty he barely noticed. The whole personality of the only woman he had ever loved, the young wife he had lost years before, had been so different, that, with his

single-hearted

devo­

tion to her memory, admiration for a style so unlike

was

impossible. He was

ill at ease with all women, but lew so with this one, who swept the rooms in the morning with her sleeves relied up, showing her strong white arms, hand-

practical

heart sank when he thought that the time would soon 00010 when h0 tod Jolian would be alone. The physician's order's were to return to New York in a month from the time of their leaving tb«re. rf Julian were no better on his return, Florida wastobetried asaUst resource. "If we could only take Winifred Sanford with us," thought the oolonel despairingly "bot that would be impossible." Some novel id» made the blood slowly mount to his bronzed face. Marriage would make aach a thing possible. "Never!" he said aloud, almost fiercely. The next thought, following the firet like lightning, wa»What sacrifice would & not make for Julian? He started to his feet abruptly,

and, taking his sun, followed Sanford's footsteps to the Darn. In the orchard the still softness of the day seemed to be concentrated. Not a leaf on the gnarled branches of the ap-ple-trees stirred a hair's-breath. On the rough grass the great red and yellow apples lay untouched. Under one of the largest trees Julian Brennan was seated before his easel, painting intently, now and then speaking to Winifred Sauford. who stood before him. He had posed her by a low-sweeping branch, one arm stretched out, the hand grasping the bough. Her head was slightly raised in her customary majestic poise, and her eyes looked "far away over the valley. The sun was low and flickered through the rusty-brown leaves and on her pink dress. One side of her face was shadowed by the leaves of the tree, but the other was bathed in the full sunlight* This light, which glorified her radiant health, only served to accentuate the wasting haggardness of the young man. He bad grown perceptibly thinner in the last two weeks, but bis face wore a look of deep content. "-You see that Dick and I have always "Wi»y

ovv V4««« A'lvjft auu iiatQ

lived apart," Julian was saying. I scarcely know him! When

I was a

little|cbap two or three years old, he lost his wife. He was awfully cut up by it, aud i»still, I believe. He*went iuto the army, and after the war, to the West aud only came back few months ago, when he heard I was ill. He'd very good to tne, but we haven't much in common he doesn't know the difference between an oil pain-ting and a ehroino, and I don't know a gun from a rifle. I believe he almost suffocated in my studio, and I suppose a week of bis raueb life would kill me. Since my father aud mother died 1 have had rather a lonely life, but I have always bad my painting—it's been everything to me. "And you were poor, too?" said Winifred interrogatively. '•Oh, as far as money is concerned 1 have always had enough of that lint that doesn't make a fellow hnppy. It's useful it's a meaus to an etid but I have sometimes wished that I had worked hard all my life, as Dick has I would have aright to loaf then.'

He loolced up from his easel as he spoke. At the commencement of his last speech a singularly beaming expression came into Winifred's face, transfiguring it out of its usual eaknness. It still lingered as he looked at her. "Keep that expression I" he cried ecstatically. "Raise your arm a little. Stop, I'il show you." He went to her, and placed her arm. in the position ho desired, touching it reverentially. He went back to his easel and for a minute painted in silence. Then he went on in a lower tone than before. "The truth is, since-I've been here I've been happier than I ever have been before you aro so good to me—you are so—" He paused and drew in his breath with a long inspiration, looking at her almost anxiously. She dropped her eyes so that her diu'k lushes rested on her cheeks, and then raised them, meeting his imploring ones composedly. "I'm very glad," she said, graciously. "I like to be good to you." She said no more, but stood passively while be went ou painting.

This superb creature's charm dirt not lie in conversation it was in her beauty, the lotto of her caressing voice when she did speak, and tho perfect grace and harmony of every action. Whether she was sweepingaiufdusling the room, carrying pails of wator with Lucinda, the "help, from tho pump to the house, or only standing still, every line and curve

wan

faultless and rested the eye and spirit of the beholder. She had a certain holy, Madonna-like purity und calm which was entirely exterior a natural, physical gift, that had no connection with the inward workings of her mind. That and her character were equally commonplace. Although moderately capable and practical, she possessed but two remarkable attributes—the power of concealing her motives and a perfect appreciation of the value of her beauty. She was keeniy aware that this' had not brought her the chango in her life that she had obstantly determined upon. There was but one road for success, marriage—not with one of her class, but a gentleman. Poverty in any rank of life she secretly despised. It was to be all or nothing for her. 'I'he sun sunk lower until it touched the horizon The air began to grow cooler. "Mr. Brennan," said Winifred, it's growing late—you'd better come in now."

The youth leaned back wearily. All the enthusiasm had died out of his manner. "Yes," he said, languidly, "I might as well. I've got that confounded pain in my chest again." He scrutinized first his picture, then Winifred. "It's no use trying to paint you! I want Tyrian dye to mix with black for your hair, and the transparency of that sky for your skin." He flamed up again with these words.

Winifred gathered up the easel and

for

ialnting-tnaterials, and stood waiting Julian to move. He got up slowly. "Just walk to the edge of the bank with me first," he said "there's going to be a sunset!"

Winifred walked slowly to the outside of the orchard. Julian watched her with a dawning surprise in his face. "Aren't you going to give me your arm?" he said, boyishly. I'm not so uncommonly strong all at once."

She camo back to nim and he took her arm,'leaning on it as they walked slowly awav. The contact with her strong, fresh vitality seemed to give him strength, for he walked more steadily. When they reached the rapidly sloping ground they paused. The valley was bathed in a golden haze, as if the sun were shining through an atmosphere of powdered gold-dust. The lake lay like a plate of burnished brass. While they waited the sun sank out of sight, and the brilliancy faded from the landscape. At the horizon was the nnmeasurable golden distance that remains when the sun sets in a clear sky. "Look!" cried Julian, pointing to It. "Was there ever anything so beautiful?" The excitable young fellow was on fire for the moment. "Ruskin calls it the type of infinity. There isn't a doubt but that the sky, day and night, shuts us In, like a great 'inverted bowl.' One can even see the end of the ocean where it meets the horizon, but that light goes on and on. It's like seeing all the way through space!"

Winifred understood not a word of this—therefore remained silent. Julian looked at her, but she turned away with seeming shyness. For the first time since he had known her, her manner lost its air of confident protection. "I think we might as well go back to the houso," she said. "I heard mother calling me just now." Her shyness communicated Itself to Julian. He still leaned on her arm as they walked back to the bouse, but did not speak to her. "How good you are to me," he said, suddenly. "What should I have done without you these weeks? I suppose you despise a fellow who Is snch a brok-en-down wreck as I am?" He watched her narrowly as be spoke. "I don't see why that should make any difference." she answered. "You are as much of a man, even if you are not strong."

Something in her words seemed to give him the deepest pleasure.

said, with proud those words." ng away from vantly. aft

"Thank you!" he gratitude, "I sha'nt "When are voo here?" she asked, in "I—I don't know exactly," he stammered, his face falling. "I believe that A Dick is under orders to take me off in "j two weeks. You don't want me to go, I hope," he added, with an uneasy laugh.1 "No," she replied, simply. "Winter's coming on, ana it's lonely here then."

His face flushed deeply. "Would yon, could you imagine such a thing—" he began impetu# isly. The words died on his lips as Colonel Brennan came rapidly toward them from the house. "Why, Julian!" he exclamed, "doyon |SV mean to say yon*reonly coming in now?" He came to the side where Winifred was not, aud drew Julian's arm affectionately through his. "Ought you to let the boy stay out so late, Miss Sanford?" He addressed her with respectful deference. Julian looked from Winifred to his brother. "How well you two people take care of me," he said.

The words chimed in witb Colonel Brennan's thoughts and gave them a fresh impulse in the direction which thev had taken. "Vou think so do you, my boy," he replied, gently.

III.

It was evening in the little parlor of the farm house. A kerosene lamp gave its unequivocal light from the high) mantle where it stood. The brass knobs of the red-painted cupboards and the flashes of the gorgeous wall-paper, shone brightly in its light. There was another lamp on the table where Colouel Brenaan and Sanford sat, with a checker-board between them. Sanford, clad as usual In a crumpled linen duster, was engrossed in the game. He considered.profoundly before each move. If his play was successful, he would cast a triumphant look at Colonel Brennan if it was not,, he drew in his breath, rubbed his heud, aud frowned.

Colonel Brennan played seriouslybut absently, with the air of a man whose mind was occupied with other thoughts.

In the corner sat Mrs. Sauford. regavding tbem with vacant admiration. As Winifred came into the room by a sidedoor, a moment later, her mother turned, toward her, and, pointing to the players, said in aloud whisper, "Now, ain they a picter? The young man's gone to bed, aud he said ho didn't want no beef-tea, so you cun go up as &oon as you want, Winifred.

Her daughter did not reply, but seated herself by the lireplace, looking meditatively at Colonel Brennan. Suddenly her father struck the tablo sharply with his fist. "There now, colonel, I've got you!'' He swept Colonel Brennan's last two men from the board with an air of triumph. "And 'twas as much of a miracle as one of them in tho Scripture, for 1 had the odds all against tuc. "'Sh, now, Mr. Sauford," interposed his wife, reprovingly. "Yes, it was for I couldn't explain how 1 did it," he answerod, arguinentatively. "Now every ono of them miracles in Scripture can be explained on scientilic grounds. I've explained sonisi myself. Look at Elijah, going up in tho liery chariot—''tweren't nothing but a lire balloon!" "Mr. Sanford, I'm going to bod. Air you coin in'?" said bis wife, conclusively. "YVell, I'm thlnkin' some of it now," he replied, humorously.

As they stumbled through tho dark hall, Mrs. Sanford remarked, abruptly: "I declare to goodness, ef 1 don't think Winifred Sanford could have that man ef sho wanted to, and yet she's taken' up with the yotyng onfe. It passes belief what sho wants, but she always was queer."

Sanford was behind her, and only caught her daughters name. "vVhat's that about Winifred.?" he asked. "Nothin', Mr. Sauford, I was just speculatin' on the qucerness of some folks."

After their departure Colonel Brennan walked to the mantle and leaned against it, bravely regarding Winifred. Ho had given this young woman, of late a great deal of silent, serious observation. "How do you think tho boy is, Miss Sanford?" he began, awkwardly.

He usually spoke of his brother in thin way. It was part of his uncoiwelou* feeling for what seemed to him Julian's extreme youth. "I think he is better." "You are very kind to him*"

Sho dropped her eyes slightly. "Oh! it is a pleasure." "I really think that you have an influence over him that no one else has." He seemed to battle with his embarrassment. "I know no ono to whom .1 am under such obligations as I am to you. Miss Sanford, or for whom I feel a deeper respect. I—I have never had a woman for a friend. Living a rough, hardworking western life, I have been cut off from women's society but I should like, with your permission, to consider you my friend''—these words were uttered with a direct sincerity that took the edge off his shyness—"that we might"—lie paused for an instant, as if seeking the right words in which to express himself "that we might act in concert, as ft were."

A woman of the world might have been puzzled to know exactly what to reply to such a speech but Winifred's power of divination and her experience were both meagre enough to give her no difficulty in answering. She always knew enough not to commit herself unless she chose to do It, and the object was very plain. Her lips parted in their exquisite smile. "Why, yes I'll be your friend, of course.''' 4 These words seemed to satisfy Colonel Brennan. Winifred moved toward the door, but stopped before going out. "Your brother's cough is better, but he's very weak," she said.

Colonel Brennan paled a little under bis tanned skin. "Then you see that, too? He must get stronger—I'd give my life to save the boy." He spoke with fervent energy.

The young woman received this with one of her sympathetic silences, which might be construed as one pleased. The next moment she was gone.

IV.

Julian's portrait of Winifred Sanford was finished. He felt it to be the best thing be had ever done, and yet he did not care to have any one see it just yet an inexplicable feeling, even to himself. His brother bail ^one out shooting that not yet returned,

afternoon, and which furthered him In the indulgence of this fancy. He carried it to his room, and, leaving it there, turned the key in the door, and put it in his pocket. This unusal exertion told on nim but the sunny warmth of the day drew him into the open air. He walked slowly and feebly across the orchard to a quiet meadow where the hay-stacks still stood, diying for the winter. Throwing himself on the loosened bay at the bottom of one of the largest stacks, be lay watching the little clouds that drifted across the sky. A sort of rapture of content possessed him. With his thoughts of the future the thoughts of Winifred Sanford was inextricably mingled. It seemed a* natural to love her as to breathe. She waa as necessary to him as the air he

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