The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1884-10-09

Ills JuulOr. ooI littic murBbIot cOulO
not be over eighteen, he supposed.
Poor little brown Bird
Then-his thoughts took q wider range.
He forgot where he was he grew utter
ly obliSous to the fading sunlight or
the water rising slowly about the rocks.
The tapping, limpid, lingering water,
musical and incessant.
There was no Margaret present to
remind him.
The rocks are covered at high
water"
Margaret had been kneeling by her
bed for long, long time-Lours, per-
haps- when she heard her mother call
ing.
Coming directly" she answered.
and went down to the sitting-room.
There were no tear-marks on her face |;
only new pallor.
Where is Mr.. Lester, Margaret?"
Il don't know, mother. Is it near
supper-time9"
"Yes; it is getting late. 1 thought
surely you would know where he was. I"
The words hurt Margaret, innocently
as they had been spoken; but she only
replied quietly:
He went away q long while ago. He
was going out to the Ledge"
"Then he has returned before this;
the tide is coming in"
Margaret felt sudden, inexplicable
fear. She could not tell why she
should feel thus. She turned and went
out of the house, and off in the direc-
ton of the beach. Perhaps it was
habit; she had grown accustomed to
think of him as in need of looking
after.
Richard Lester had finally come to
his senses. He remembered now that
the tide was coming in. and that he
must return. Rowing would be easy
eyes, and made his way down to the
boat. But, to his unspeakable aston
ishment and discontinue, the boat was
gone.
"Gone" he said to himself, in
faint, confused tone. "What shall do ?"
He looked off shoreward, and fancied
he saw his empty skiff tossing, drifting
lightly on the waters that had wooed it.
He kept on looking until his eyes were
dim. There was no one to see or hear
him. And still the water rising about
the rocks.
He had not tried to swim since his
illness. 1t was long distance, and he
had never been a very strong swimmer.
He still looked landward, but no help
came. And still the water rose about
the recks
He buried his face in his hands.
"a punishment he groaned. "a just
punishment for my actions!" Then he
wished that he could only see Margaret
once more and ask her to forgive him.
Perhaps she had cared; perhaps she
would be sorry. He would never see
her again, or any other living creature
For he could never reach the land He
would wait until the last moment, then
attempt to swim it. But he had no
hone.
1t was getting on toward dusk and
the water still rose, and would continue
to rise until the rocks were covered.
He tried to think, to be calm; he won
dered if Elinor would grieve terribly.
His understanding choked him as
he thought of his mother
90, heaven! / must reach landp he
cried, with a sob.
Then-then, what was that? The
sound of oars?
He turned swiftly, uncovering his
face
A boat Thank Godl A boat was
steadily against the tide, and
white glimmered through the
twilight. And all at once he felt that
it must be she
Margaret" he cried out her name,
as if it were his dearest hope. And
then her clear, sweet voice rang back to
him.
"Yes, it's /. / must pull carefully
just here" And slowly she drew close
to the ledge" "Now," she said. And
he dropped lightly into the boat.
You have saved me-" he said, and
his voice shook perceptibly.
you could not have'managed to swim
it" she answered.
81 suppose not. But l should have
tried"
She shivered.
"Thank heaven, remembered where
you were" she said.
He took the oars from her hands.
81 will pull ashore" he said.
In silence she gave him her seat and
took the tiller rope. She was thankful
for the growing dusk which hid her
pallor.
Margaret, / owe you my life"
She was looking out as if for the
point at which to steer the boat.
Il am glad / knew" she said.
He waited little; then he spoke
awkwardly:
what can do to repay you?"
90, hush," she cried, half impatiently.
ut was nothing
at was life or death to me" he said
in serious voice.
II meant my coming out was moth
ing" she explained in quick confusion.
Il thought of you,' he went on, "and
of my mother.
And of Miss Hastings" she sug-
gested, without sign of emotion.
"My mother would have missed me
the most" he returned. "Elinor would
have cared, suppose; but she is still
young, and young people recover from
such things"
do they?" asked Margaret, sharply.
II do not think could, tiff any one