Wessington Springs herald. (Wessington Springs, Aurora County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1891, 1883-10-06

,,,hr h anu face. l don't know
wny' out ne mas not seemed so nice this
afraid that, favorite as he must he. the mem
Oh ms regiment spoil him. He evidently
does not care to be with us as mnch NO ~
oid; the walks in the dusk of the e%ven;ng
Wnen we would sit in some corner unon the
hll!, and tell one another our different am.
oltlons, n build castles in the air far SIR.
passing the gray walls that faced us. have
vanished like our dreams. / used. foo 70
go with him on his fishing excursions. Init
now he goes alone. Since he has been ont
IN the world and been petted and welcomed
everywhere | suppose his ideas have
widened and l only bore him.
o he says, as he throws himself
reel OF his rod, 81 AVE a surprise for YOU.
Whom do you suppose I have seen in the
town! Some one who is coming here.O
- don.t know, l am sure; some one nice.
L hope,"I say, with a smile, going on with
my work, though I am really thinking to
myself, what a graceful figure he has!n
-. I'm, OF course he's nice. It's your cous.
in James," was
L try to look as if I thought him verv
nice, for is he not my cousin? And [ think
l succeed, for Ainslie, who is Watching NV
race, KICKS the turf savagely, and points
to a man in a riding dress and spurs, who
IS coming down the street. 1t is James.
L CApCCO ne IS COulluE 10 saw nv grand
father wants me-"
Ainslie grumbles out something very.like
why doesn't Sir Martin do his w mes.
sagesW which is unreasonable, as nv
grandfather is nearly ninety; but 1 dis
creetly pretend not to hear, and we both
have to get up and greet the newcomer.
James is not looking we'll, 1 notice, as soon
is usual with him, and he looks careworn
and haggard, much as if my steady cousin
had been keeping late hours, and keeping
them unproftably. But he readily accepts
the invitation to stay to dinner, which
Ainslie gives him as earnestly-hospitable
as he is-as if his company at that meal
were the one thing he desired. And James,
usual courtesy and suavity, which some
times make me feel so clumsy and hoyden.
ish, do not fail him. Picture to yourself q
man below the middle height, pale and light.
haired, with a fair dropping mustache which
hides his mouth, and small white hands al
ways on the move; q good-humored man
only endless, but of rare power to charm,
II who will amuse you in spite of your
self; and so you have my cousin, James
Stuart McMichael, as he sits upon the little
lawn at Ludford. I ask him how my grand
father is, and for a moment, as he quickly
turns from me n caresses his mustache, I
fear that he has como with bad news. But
it is not so. He assures me thai Sir Martin
is t%olerably well, and does not expect me
before the end of the week. And then we
talk about Indifferent things until my
mother comes out to us and greets James
warmly. He is somewhat Of a favorite
with her.
for the time of year., running past the
garden with a strong stream towards the
weir q hundred yards below. A group Of
children ON the other side, whose laughter
floats pleasantly over are sending in a
retriever after sticks. Near them a wall
bounds the stream, but they are standing
horses, breaks the line Of the little embanf.
ment. Lazily I watch the dog enjoying
the sport as much as any one, until the
biggest of the children throws one farther
from the bank than before. Neptune
springs in merrily, and swims quickly to-
ward the morsel, which, on our side of the
current has caught it, and the dog, follow
ing it boldly, is carried down full forty
yards before he seizes it. He turns and
breasts the stream, but tiredby his previous
exertions. soon makes for the bank. The
sheer wall, rising six feet from the water,
again he tries, n tries, and, each time
failing, falls heavily back under water.
Then the poor fellow loses his presence of
mind, and instead of steadily swimming
back to the opening in the wall he paddles
to and fro, trying to Chamber up, and
wasting all his strength in these useless
efforts. Even at this distance I can fancy
his big patient eyes looking up piteously,
and I jump up, but without an idea what
to do. "Oh, Alnslie, he will be drowned!"
ayes, Amber, l think that dog has had
his day." says my cousin, without rising.
Oh, if no could know how I hate him!
Audibly, Pm afraid, I mutter "Brutel"
o-l k,us, 10 Asv,1sa who jc 1ooxs~~ 18th
one hand on the grass and the other shad-
ing his eyes, which are fixed upon the
"I'mn afraid there is nothing else for it,"
says he quickly, and hear the gate clash to
behind him, and I see his tall, straight
figure speeding over the bridge. And we
can only stand there and look on. I cannot
see how the dog is faring. I have only
eyes for Ainslie coming to the rescue. He
reaches the spot, filings off his coat and
shoes and plunges in A moments strug-
gle, and with one hand on the dogs collar,
he is swimming slowly towards the open
ing in the wall. Very slowly it seems to
to the dog, the steady strokes conquer, and
both are helped out by the dozen hands
ready to receive them and to attend to the
poor dog. 1 have no thought of him now;
/ can only watch the drenched figure that
SO quickly tears itself from the cheering
crowd, n comes running DaCK, LOOKING q
little ashamed of his enthusiasm, as I have
noticed men will look when they have done
anything to be proud of.
I do not wait for him, but have fed into
the house. And I am SO proud, O, so
proud of him, that I cry a little bit, and
have to wash my face before l go
down stairs; and If I came down a
woman and wiser, with a knowledge of
myself and of others gained from those
tears which l had not possessed
before, that knowledge is very far from
making me sadder. But it does in some
way make me more shy; I think myself
clumsy and awkward and i'll at ease, and it
is not my Cousins superabundance Of
blandness which makes me SO now. Yet,
through my own reserve and consciousness
l gain a glorious glimpse that max me
sing as later I go to bed into the feelings
that may lie behind those signs in another.
1t was unlucky that the episode of the
dog which I have set down at length should
have occurred on that particular day. This
is an after-thought, for at the time l had
no idea of concealing my feelings toward
James, or the opinion of him which this I'M
lucky incident had led me to form. AS
things were to be, it was unlucky, for it
made me reject the suit, which it appeared
he came to proffer, in q way l should not
Otherwise have adopted. 1t was in the
garden that he spoke; after dinner, when
the lights in the town were beginning to
sparkle in the dusk. He spoke well-James
never failed to do that-but the earnestness
was not all feigned-my woman's vanity,