Wessington Springs herald. (Wessington Springs, Aurora County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1891, 1883-10-20

rision blended.
Mr.: Mulooly removed the pine from
MS lips, and unable to recognize any
reason why a cat NAV not look at =
KING, calculated. with Celtic humor. a
single word-Bedad"
The train rushed on once more, the
pneton disappeared along the village
street, and Gordonville resumed it's us
ual a%vocations.
Cowper had returned home after his
second European tour. That was the
note rung through many changes on
this %eventful day even the pony's
hioofs. trotting soberly homeward. were
IN unison with. the cadence humminp in
the ears of his young mistress. Cow
per had been intensely English on the
first occasion, while a few moments in
his company now revealed q fine flavor
OF the Boulevards, the Champs Elysees
and the Bots de Boulogne. The month
was June, the meadows were Green
and the warm breeze was perfumed by
the wild flowers of the hillside, while
the twin rows of elm trees shading the
main street, pride of Gordonville, wore
q first delicate foliage of early summer.
Iris awaited recognition of familiar OBJ
jects, but none came.
"You drive well," said Cowper. in
his languid accents. "Why do we turn
to the right instead of to the leftP The
English always turn the left, while the
Continental races choose the right.
Now we are of English descent"
Iris laughed, but her gray ewes grew
dim beneath their long and silky lashes.
"Have you forgotten the factory,
Cowper P' she inquired, with a certain
sharpness in her tone, indicating a long
building with her whip.
Gas if we could ever forget it," re-
torted Cowper, peevishly, and with un-
deniable ingratitude, since all the
money in his purse had been cleaned
from this ignoble source.
He again fitted the glass in his eve,
and surveyed the building with the cool
and studied disapproval which was his
usual expression, especially in his
native land. He belonged to the class
of young men which is the fine flower
of this century, and may be designated
as without nationality, c%ultivating ennui
as a mood, vacuity as an expression,
and a general uselcssness in existing at
all as a profession. 1rascible elders are
wont to classify this golden youth as
"snips," when not resorting to stronger
terms of comparison. In the present
cas- the factory stared back at Cowper
Debenham with clang of machinery,
sharp peal of bells, puffs of steam from
pipes, and row of twinkling little win
dows, as if rejoicing like a giant in
strength and vitality, and with an odor
of hot oil ~inseparable from its activity.
Clearly the factory, where we're fash
Toned axles and plows, had the best of
it on the peaceful June day, for Cowper
Debenham could not have existed with
out it, while the great hive of industry
would have hummed and throbbed on
just the same without him. Lofty con-
eeit is perceptible in the golden youth
returning home to Russia, to England
and Ireland, to Italy, and even to
America from foreign parts. The
Frenchman alone expands in his
beloved Paris, centre of the uni
verse, after exile in other lands,
where the pretty French actress pines
with hunger on Regent Street, scorning
roast beef, according to sympathetic
critics, and the Gallo tenor laments his
favorite dishes in the columns of
Figaro, in such bowling wildernesses as
New York. Cowper Debenham bore
such a fresh impress of his brand, so to
speak, that Mrs. Bemrose was awed into
comparative silence, and Iris found her.
self indisposed to harmless prattle.
'sWhere is John?" demanded the new
arrival, at the gate.
Why did Iris manifest sudden interest
in giving her pony sugar from her
pocket?
John should be here" replied Mrs.
Bemrose. "He is such a busy fellow,
you know. Iris will make one of her
famous strawberry short-cakes for your
supper, dear boy"
Girls is very kind" said Cowper.
slowly. You dine early, of course. l
have been dining at eight o'clock re-
GENTLY"
Eight o'clock in the EVENING"" cried
Mrs. Bemrose.
eyes; that is rather late," admitted
Cowper. "Half past seven is a better
hour for the theater and opera; the
Prince of Wales intends to adopt it,"
Mrs. Bemrose was stupefied. AS for
Iris, a sensation of cold pervaded her
frame, like the sudden breath of an
autumn wind.
"What is that-thing" exclaimed
Cowper, pausing on the gravel-path.
Iris raised her head defiantly.
"My fountain, designed by a Gordon
vile genius, and John had it placed
here for me. Is it not pretty-the Gu
pid holding a shell for the falling wa
ter?"
Cowper raised his eyebrows and
shoulders.
ga pink monster, a fat baby, my
dear Iris. What a horror to have under
ones eyes! 1 rejoice that my rooms are
on the other side of the house"
"You must not abuse my cupid," said
Iris, quickly.
"What nonsense are you talking, O
returned traveler?" said a clear voice.
1.-The fountain is a very pretty thing.
You could not design as good to save
your life"
Such was the greeting of John Cleaver,
easy, natural, and not devoid of a GER
tain grace of manner, although the
speaker wore the striped shirt of a me-
chanic. Iris darted an oblique glance
~I-Sr