Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1877-10-05

ticing the pitiless archery Of her eyes,
with an excitement that seemed almost
real.
Who is your deliciously cool friendT
she managed to whisper to me at sup
per, as l sat utterly dazed and bewil
dered between the enrapt May Sylvester,
who seemed TO hang upon his words, and
this giddy girl of the period, who was
emptying the battery of her charms in
active rivalry upon him. "Of course
we know his name is Kearney. But how
romanticl And isn't he perfectly lovely
And who is heY"
replied with severe irony that was
not aware what foreign potentate was
then travelling incognSto in the Sierras Of
California, but that, when His Royal High.
ness was pleased to inform me, | should
be glad to Introduce him properly. "Un.
til then" added, "I fear the acquaint
ance must be morganatic."
"You're only jealous of him, she said,
pertly. "Look at May-she is com.
pletely fascinated. And her father, too. "
And, actually, the languid, world.sick,
cynical Sylvester was regarding him with
a boyish interest and enthusiasm almost
incompatible with his nature. Yet ]
submit honestly to the clear-headed rea.
son of my own sex that could see
nothing more in the man than have al
ready delivered to the reader. -.
In the middle of an exciting story of
adventure, of which he, to the already
prejudiced mind of his fair auditors,
was evidently the hero, he stopped sud.
denly.
Z" It's only some pack train passing the
bridge on the lower trail" explained Syl-
vester. "Go on"
!" It may be my horse is trifle Uneasy
in the STABLE" said the alleged Kearney;
" he amt used to boards and covering"
Heaven only knows what wild and de-
licious revelation lay in the statement of
this fact, but the girls looked at each
other with cheeks pink with excitement
as Kearney arose, and, with quiet abb
sence of ceremony, quilted the table.
"Ain't he just lovely?" said Kate,
gasping for breath, "and so witty"
=" Wittyp said the gentle May, with
just the slightest trace of defiance in her
sweet voice. Witty, my dear? why,
don't you see that his heart is just break
ing with pathos? Witty, indeed; why,
when he was speaking of that poor Mex
ican woman that was hung, l saw the
tears gather in his eyes. Witty, indeedp'
Tears, laughed the cynical Sylves.
ter" tears, idle tears. Why, you silly
children, the man is man of the
world-a philosopher, quiet, observant
unassuming."
Unassumingl" Was Sylvester intox.
icated, or had the mysterious stranger
mixed the ''insane herb" with the family
pottageY He returned before / could an.
swer this self-asked inquiry, and resumed
coolly his broken narrative. Finding
myself forgotten in the man / had So
long hesitated to introduce to my friends,
l retired to rest early, only to hear,
through the thin partitions, two hours
later, enthusiastic praises of the new
guest from the voluble lips of the girls,
as they chatted together in the next room
before retiring.
At midnight l was startled by the
sound of horses hoofs and the jingling
of spurs below. A conversation between
my host and some mysterious parsonage
in the darkness was carried on in such q
low tone that could not learn its i'm
port. AS the cavalcade rode away
raised the window.
What's the matter?"
Nothing" said Sylvester, coolly
''only another one of those playful homi
cidal freaks peculiar to the country. A
man was shot by Cherokee Jack over al
Lagrange this morning, and that was the
Sheriff of Calaveras and his posse hunt
ing him. told him I'd seen nobody but
you and your friend. By the way, hope
the noise hasn't disturbed him. The
poor fellow looked as if he wanted rest.
thought so, too. Nevertheless, l wen
softly to his room. 1t was empty. My
impression was that he had distanced the
Sheriff of Calaveras about two hours
Bret Harte, in N. Y. Sun.