The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1881-09-07

or else looked at them afatically and
thanked God for povarty and the
picturesque. ~
As for the couple in thd boat, they
did not notice anything but each other
-at least except as the young man
found it necessary to change his direc-
tion in rowing to avoid being run down.
After while even this became unnec-
essary. They were rowing with the
ebb tide, and after they had passed the
-newly-fnished bit of sea-wall east Of
the old Meiggs wharf, the channel was
comparatively clear. 1t was then about
half-past three.
Let us float" said the young man !;
"pretty soon the tide will turn then
we will turn"
every well, Tom," said the young
woman.
Really, she was as yet girl. She
could not have been more than nineteen.
Her figure was slight, but indicative of
rare gracefulness. Her face was not
pretty-that is, most would not think it
pretty. Both mouth and nose were
large. Her eyes were blue, and held
an odd look-half earnest, half careless
difficult to define, yet impossible to
disregard. 1t was striking face, almost
fascinating, withal q good face-a face
in which heart showed first and intellect
afterwald.
The man was, exteriorly, common
place. You might take description
at random from your scrap-book of con-
ventional current fiction, and it would
be likely to do him more than justice.
But what of that 2? She was Laura
and he was "Tom."
They had been talking gayly ever
since they left the landing at the foot
of Washington street. When Tom spoke
they had apparently reached some COM
mon and very satisfactory conclusion,
for she looked very happy, and she said,
tenderly-for she had sweet, low voice,
tunable as perfect bell or q wave sob:
You will ask her tomorrow, Tom ?"
eyes, Laura; or tonight, if youlike."
"She will look at you wild-eyed and
perhaps scold you Bit"
ooh, I'm not afraid. How could I
be with such prize to gain ?"
They had passed the point, the swim
ming beach, the Preside they were
nearing the fort at the gate. A sudden
swirl in the current twisted the bow OF
the boat sharply around. Tom had
been leaning forward, the better to talk
to Laura, the more easily to hold her
hand, perhaps. AS the boat shifted its
direction, he instinctively reached for
the oars. His hands touched the empty
rowlocks. The oars were gone. He
looked around, but they were nowhere
o be seen. A cry of horror rose to his
lips. Luckily he stilled it there. He
looked quickly, furtively at his com
panion. She had seen and understood.
He forced laugh, and his companion
was deceived by it.
"Then it is not so very bad ?" she
said, and the color came back to her
cheek.
"No, it is a good joke" he replied.
"Onlywe will be out rather late. When
the tide turns we will go back boom
ing"
Really he had very little hope. His
Judgment told him that the tide had
not yet turned, and unless it did turn
almost instantly the swift current would
carry them out into the offing, and amid
the breakers at the bar, where their frail
boat would not live an instant. And
If he could the distance to the shore
was too far to make that of any use. If
only they had rudder they might run
the boat ashore; but unfortunately they
had been in time to secure only the very
last, rudderless skiff. "Thank the
Fates it does not leak" "Does not
leak ?" He looked down, and saw that
the irregular bottom of the boat was
covered with water to the depth of al
most half a foot. When they had
started away from the pier landing Tom
had braced his feet against broad cross
elect, and Laura's stout boots rested on
the same dry foothold. Until then
neither had noticed the water.
Tom searched in the bottom of the
boat for bailing can. He could not
find one. Laura moved so as to look
into the little locker under the stern
seat. :. There was no can there.
"What shall we do ?" she said.
Il must bail with my hat" he re-
piled, slowly, as if thinking it out; "the
water must come in very slowly, it is a
! long time since we left Washington
street wharf" He looked at his watch;
it was then past four and they were
nearly opposite rOrb EOlnJ. 90 Tar as
they could see there was not single
sail in the offing. They looked back at
the city; there were no out-coming tugs
or steamers, or schooners even. Then
they looked out through the gate, and
wondered.
There is an untranslatable poetic
something about our Golden Gate that
the sympathetic beholder, incoming or
outgoing, or gazing upon it from any
standpoint, never fails to realize. Some
thing which perhaps he acknowledges,
yet may never put it into fitting phrases.
Perhaps it is because it seems so to hold
the keys of our California life, that we
may not dissociate it from either our
history or our future. Perhaps it is be-
cause in looking at it one can never