San Marcos free press. [volume] (San Marcos, Tex.) 1877-1892, 1883-07-05

gar and read white Wings" II
would be rather nice if there were O
pretty girl to be met with somewhere
who would enjoy it with him. A
pretty girl, like scenery, adds SC
muchl
Perhaps if he should go the other
way first, and pass the line of houses
that formed the village, he would
meet somebody, he wasn't sure what
he'd do about it, unless he knew her,
and it was not at all probable that he
would know her. But he generally
had enough self-confdence to meet
emergencies, and it would do no
harm to try. He had plenty of time
before him; the train didn't go until
1885. So he turned and walked up
the grassy path, peering curiously
into the old-fashioned piazzas and
about the shaded lawns to catch the
futter of drappery, or pretty profile,
or black high-heeled slipper. He
witnessed game of croquet on a
very lumpy ground, contested with
that activity which one unfortunately
sees on country croquet grounds
alone nowadays; and swinging
hammock, with a reclining form, evil
IDENTIFY much at ease; but none of the
first party seemed amenable to the
finer courtesies of life as he proposed
to represent them, and the foot that
occasionally propelled the hammock
by judicious push against neigh
boring stump was evidendly mascu-
line. At the end of the street, there
fore, he turned back, and, retracing
his steps, climbed the hill, and pene-
trating into the GOODNESS of the wood,
threw himself down upon the moss
to enjoy his half-holiday.
Well, what was the use of it all,
anyway? She knew she looked par
ticularly pretty that afternoon; she
always did in dotted muslin and a
rough straw hat with a long feather
in it, not to mention the red roses,
which she could get plenty of here in
the country. But if any one would
be so kind as to tell her what was the
object of looking particularly pretty
when there was 30 one but mother
and Aunt Emma to see her? 1t was
too late to form her mothers opinion
as to her looks, and as for Amt Emma
well, she didn't care what Aunt
Emma thought, anyhow. 1t was a
perfect waste to put on those slippers;
she knew it when she did it, but she
always wore them with those stock
ings, and those stockings with that
dress. She was only going to walk
down the hill to the woods, and, of
course, an old pair would have done
Just as well, but it was so hard to
realize that there was positively no
chance of there being any one on the
way to whose susceptibilities they
might appeal. She stood at the door
with her hammock over one arm,
and her book in her hand.
There was no doubt whatever
that ,Wheatfeld was a very
good thing, but one might very easily
get too much of it; she felt that she
was rapidly nearing that point. if she
hadn't already passed it. The gate,
weighted with it's heavy stone, to
which generations of swinging chill
dren had impaired rather lopsided
look, swung to after her as she
passed out and strolled down the little
path that led to the woods, and
which wandered through them to tie
road across which, down below, the 3
o'clock train was rushing after it's in
stant's pause. Under two gigantic
trees, whose trunks were provided
with iron hooks, she swung her ham,
mock, and with her white draperies
becomingly disposed, her slippered
feet showing bit of red at the edge
of her dress, her brad hat on the
grass at her side, and her head resting
on her arn, she opened white
Wings"
Now this was Just what she really
liked. She so often wished at home
that she could be off somewhere alone
in hammock with new novel and
no one to interrupt. There was
nothing she enjoyed so much. She
must look quite picturesque there I'M
der the trees. Justin Mccarthy said
somewhere something about women
when they were playing the part of
o,d;apca o1uravc thinking how thew