Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1888-04-26
v a ILEi-RI z
HALF p TRUTH
by THE DUCHESS. "
HAPPIER xLu.-A PRECIOUS BURDEN.

| who began at once tearing the handker-
| chief he held into broad strips
He answered her questioning look, smil-
ing.
Your sprain must be bound up, Fairy
! Queen" he said, ''or it will swell"
! And he took out his own handkerchief,
| and treated it as he had treated Lord West
| brooks, turning and walking away a few
yards.
Valerie quickly, and with a heightened
color, pulled off her shoe and stocking, and
looked at her ankle; it seemed scarcely
swelled, but the pain it gave her when she
moved warned her that walking was out
| Vf the question, or even standing.
| Would Colonel Beauregard want to ban
| dage the sprain up himself? Well, she did
not much mind. Soldiers were like doc
| tors, sometimes!
But her heart beat a good deal faster, for
all that, when he turned and came up to
her again.
II wonder if you could do the bandaging
| YOURSELF" he said. II am afraid not as
well as I should. [ am a good doctor at a
pinch, You knCwr'
care you?"
| She smiled. and thought he would be a
gem of a doctor, wonderfully gentle of
! touch, yet so strong and firm.
Gay! | have bound up many worse hurt
than this!'
He did not wait for any further assent
than she had given to his implied question,
| but kneIt down and looked at her pretty
foot and ankle.
1T is here that it hurts you, isn't it?" he
said, lightly touching the place with his
! cool fingers.
''Ies-but you did not hurt!''
! Il would be very sorry to do that, Fairy:
but [ shall hurt you little now; I know
| you will bear it-like q soldiers daughter.
1t isn't a very bad sprain-scarcelya sprain
at all! You won't be prisoner long"
ooh! am SO gladr7 with a long drawn
sigh.
How will the moonlight revels fare
without you, eh?'' said he, sousing the
| bandages in the jug, and proceeding to
! bind up the sprain IN the most business
! like manner, as if he were a doctor and she
a patient; and deity, too, he did it, most
| tenderly, yet firmly; the tightening of the
bandages hurt her little, but she did not
vince or utter a sound.
1.-THE fairies will have to do without mer'
| she said, graYely. E'But Colonel Beaure-
| gard, my shoe won't come onr'
! 4 don't think it VIII Is shoe Il sine
| qua n0H?-in this particular case mean .
"'N-no! All! that is beautiful! 1t does
| hurt-but not much.'
Dear childr his voice shook a little; it
is hard enough for strong man to give
| any tender, winsOme creature pain, but
! when it is a creature so passing fail" and
whom he loves with all the strength Of his
SOU, IS is cruel suffering indeed-'but it
|
ing must be kept down."
ooh. ] don't mind" she said, with a
brave, bright smile, land [ am so grateful
TO YOU for your Kindness"
Give me your handkerchief" said he,
| "and don't talk nonsense. You want q
shoe.7
Valerie gave him the pretty bit Of scent
ed cambria and lace that he asked for.
"A very dainty Shoe" Max said, longing
TO kiss the trifle. ''See!'
In minute her foot was tied up in the
handkerchief.
She burst out laughing.
''The latest in shoesr" she said.
| 'tThe sweetest and prettiestp' was on the
soldiers lips, but he kept it back, and said
| instead:
Only fit for carriage wear am afraid. y
He put her shoe in his pocket (she had
already stuffed her stocking into her OWN,
and rose
''Now, Fairy Queen" he added, 'shaII
we go down to meet the carriage?"
She held up her hand to him to help heT
to rise, but he shook his head, smiling.
''Do you think you can walk down the
hillside, Valerie?7
II can try must''
''You can't put your foot to the ground,
my child. You must let me carry you
down"
"Ah! no-no!'' she shrank back instinc-
lively, yet distressed even more on his ac-
count. otis all very well to call me feath-
er-weight, but | must weigh something,
and for you to carry me all that distance!
Let me stand and see if L can Walk
IF you like; but l see you know little
enough about sprains. Come! I wish I
had never heavier burden to bear than
>ou are, Valerie"
She felt that he did not speak Of physical
burdens; yet had his words any application
to herself? She looked up to him with an
unconscious, wistful appeal in her eyes.
81 am sorry to give the trouble" she
said with the nGiUetG of the Wexford Va
lerie-a nGjUetc that might have passed for
|
who knew herself an idol, for whom any
man would do gladly whatever she should
ask or desire Yet Beauregard knew it
was not coquetry, else he had not answered
so softly as he stopped to lift her:
Are you sorry? l am for your sake, that
there is need, not for my own!''
Indeed it seemed as if he found her "a
feather-weight.' lie had her up in his
arms as easily as if she had been a child,
and turned to the hillside.
THE descent looks Steep" he said. care
you afraid?"
Not Bit
As if she would have feared anything
| with him! Not by look did he remind
her of that ride through the thunderstorm;
yet it must have been IN his memory as in
hers. By-and-by, when they were little
| way down the hill, she asked him:
do you find me heavy? Do | tire your"
"My precious burden, nor
He felt the little hand that rested on his
shoulder tremble; he felt her for moment
breathe quickly, but, not looking in her
face, he did not see the flush that swept up
to her brow. and the blended Joy and fear
| that flashed into her eyes. She never spoke
another word the rest of the way, not even
when they were drawing near the bottom,
and she saw Mrs. Dudley standing below
watching them. Nor did Col mel Beaure-
gard speak; he had said too much just now,
or at any rate his tone had, and he set his
teeth that he should say no more of the
like nature.
Gently he placed his precious burden"
on the sloping turf. to be gushed over by
Mrs Dudley, and the girl just raised her
eyes TO his face for a second, and said earn
estly:
THANK you very, very much, Colonel