The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1877-12-13

waited her feet ON the seat in front of
her and began to enjoy herself greatly.
"What a sweet thing sunshine isl"
she said, meditatively watching the fly
ing-cloud shadows and trembling-tree
shadows. Lutte was great lover of
nature, but she kept it carefully hid.
She had an idea that it looked senti-
mental and weak to 60 into raptures
over birds, flowers, etc., and she had a
great horror of both those adjectives.
- believe I had bite. Pshaw! no, 1
didn't. Well, I'll read while. like
to read Keats out-of-doors on day like
this,' she went on, slowly turning the
leaves. ut gives fresher flavor to
his lush green leaves and 'dew-dab-
bled poppies.' l believe I'll begin at
the beginning. The first book of En-
dymion is the best, anyhow"
She began to read, at first with her
attention divided between her bobbing
cork and her book, but the book soon
got the best of it. The venturesome
fish nibbled away at her bait without
her noticing it; but finally big fellow
got the hook in his unfortunate mouth,
and gave the line such a jerk as to
bring her back abruptly from the classic
shades of Mount Latmos. 1t did not
bring her back without q start, though,
and that start sent the paddle in her
lap spinning in the water, and came
very near sending her book after it, but
it fortunately fell in the bottom of the
boat Instead. Lutte was too keen a
fisherwoman to waste thought on such
trifiing things as paddles and books at
such moment as this. Her whole
heart was on the end of her line. After
a dozen abortive efforts, in which she
came near capsizing her little skiff, she
brought the fish out of the water, pant
ing and wrigg'ing, and regarded him
in triumph.
"What beauty!'' she said, disen-
gaging her hook from his mouth. ''He' 8
the biggest one ever caught here. He
must weigh at least five pounds. ~
Lute's ideas of weight were defective.
won't Ben be jealous? There, old
fellow, lie there. Now must get that
plagued paddle
But that plagued paddle was far be-
yond her reach now, and was floating
TRANQUILITY off to shore. "It's a good
thing there's another in the bottom of
the boat, or l should be in bad fix
soliloquized Lutte, as she threw out her
line again. "rm glad my book didn't
fall in the water. / don't think I'll
read any more now; feel in fishing
humor;" and the lately caressed book
was allowed to lie neglected in the bot
tom of the boat-a touching example of
the fickleness of human favor.
She tished on till nearly dark; even
then the fish were biting SO well that
she could hardly prevail on herself to
stop. But the air was growing chilly,
and she knew she ought to be i'm the
house. So she resolutely drew in her
line and wrapped it around the pole,
lowered her feet, and reached down in
the boat for the remaining paddle
The paddle wasn't there!
She felt nervously in every impossi-
BILE place for tire missing paddle, but it
was nowhere to be found. Well, she
acas in fix! Out in the middle of the
pond, with no possible means of getting
to shore! Night was coming on rap
idly, and she was already shivering
with cold. Nobody at the house knew
where she was; they would think she
was in town visiting some one.
But the house wasn't very far off
maybe they could hear her if she called
out very loud. She rose to her feet,
and opened her mouth to give a pro-
digious yell; but she couldn't speak
above whisper. Her damp feet and
the chill night air had brought her cold
to this climax.
Lutte sat down, overwhelmed. There
was nothing she could do-absolutely
nothing. She would have to stay out
there all night, and she knew-there
was no use mincing matters-it would
be the death of her. She looked tragic
ally into the growing darkness, and
thought, even if they came there to look
for her, they couldn't see her from the
shore, and she wouldn't be able to utter
a sound to let them know she was near.
She forgot there was such thing as a
moon at night.
But, stop! she could utter a sound
thank Heaven, she could whistle. Her
face frightened as she thought of this
despised accomplishment of hers. With
rising spirits, she drew her overskirt
over her shoulders to keep herselfwarnl-
er, and began to whistle Schubert's
Serenade'' in her finest style. The
birds started in their nests as the
strange, sweet notes floated toward
them, then dropped their drowsy little
heads and slept more soundly than
ever. Musicis a good thing, but sleep
is a better-at night.
Whistling is proverbially good fol
keeping up one courage. Lutte found
her courage nightly refreshed by it.
She sat there for nearly an hour, wills.
thing every thing she knew; she even
began to enjoy herself, after a fashion,
The moon soon rose, and filed every
place with subdued shadow or soft
light. There was a sweet stiffness or
every thing. She stopped whistling &
moment to enjoy it more fully. Every
now and then the lazy breeze brought
her a faint mingled odor of apple ant
lilac blossoms. How lovely, lovely i
was! She felt as if she was enchanted
sitting there alone at night in her little
boat. "Tm the lady in the Disma
Swamp" she thought, smiling, "Onl,
this place is far from dismal or swampy
either.''
just then she thought she heard dis
tant footsteps coming toward the pond
She hastily resumed her whistling tt
direct them to her: she had no wish t,
stay out-of-do0rs all night, no matte
how beautiful it was. The footsteps
drew nearer; they came hurrying dowl
the slope, and in few moments Cousil
Reuben stood in a narrow strip 0
moonlight on the edge of the pond.
"Good heavens! Lutte" he cried, il
an agitated voice, "what are you stay
ing out on the water this late at nigh
for? Don't you feel how cold it is? /
is enough to kill you.''
Lutte had stopped whistling abruptly
and now motioned to the paddle. whicl
was lying near his feet. He did no
understand, and cried, impatiently
"Why don't you come to shore? Oh
you rash girl, to be sitting there, wit
your bad cold! Make haste, and paddl
back
Lutte kept motioning so PERSISTENT
at his feet that he looked down and say
the paddle. He picked it up, an