The Ouachita telegraph. [volume] (Monroe, La.) 1865-1889, 1888-09-08

idea OF intruding. But you do seem
to be In tiue luck this morning." half
enviously. "I am addressing Miss
Brown"
The long lashes lif, With some ditfi-
Guilty, aud pair of what one could
term amber eyes looked across ut him
unwitiingty. A voice, with q ring Of
almost childish petulance and only Q
suspicion of mountain fatness In 1t,
said, as she drew in her line and began
winding ii:
"I'm done. But there's plenty
more, of you want to fish here, You're
welcome"
The invitation was gracious enough
but the eyes were not.
tsAh, doutt 60 away on my account,
I6eg," Westlake urged In genuine re-
gret. II was going on further up"
"There's not any more good fishing
further up. I was going back anyhow"
she answered. This was more polite
ness than he had bargained for In far.
mer Browns "leele gal.''
He watched her roll up her line,
gather up her etring OF flsh aud walk
lightly aud swiftly to log spanning
the stream lower down. She crossed 1t
steadily aud stood on the same side
with him.
He racked his brain for . remark
which might detaiu this unfriendly
small lady moment longer.
"'Fhis il a lovely bit OF scenery
an artist, I'd like to immortalize It."
He was rewarded with another swift
glance of the luminous brown eyes.
This time there was faint friendliness
in their depths.
81 have told aud told Pappy so,"
she answered with slight show OF re-
pressed enthusiasm. "But no don't
believe its good TOR any thing except
the fishing"
Weslake smiles, and he has plea.
SAINT smile that makes him almost
handsome. She draws step nearer.
In spite of her shyness IL seems good to
her 10 see face almost az young as her
own and know that he feels a. she does.
1t is the instructive drawing OF youth
to youth. She realizes that her Pappy,
with the very best Intentions In the
world, is an "oid fogy" aud cannot see
through her eyes.
81 want to toll your she says AS she
tulns to go, with another shy but
friendly glance, tsthat ii you care to
stay at our house, you're welcome"
Westlake steps eagerly toward her
aud with his cap In one hand, he OK
| tends the other, while he says impul.
sively, without stopping to reflect:
II am very grateful, Miss Brown.
l wouldn't have done anything TO Of
f.NsN f0u III Rr~ t,r,
hard on me-
She Is tying the strings of her hat
and either does not or will not see his
hand, which he withdraws in some
embaI rassment.
81 guess you'll be home TO dinner at
twelve" she says over her shoulder, as
she starts down the path.
"Oh yes. will see you at dinner
at twelve"
There is note of query In this
| which she does not coudescend to an
sWer.
So they part. Fair luck attends his
sport but he Is somewhat abstracted.
The wonderful brown eyes with yell
low lashes Of farmer Browns little
girl persist In haunting him also the
unanswered query aoiN ne see her at
dinner?
| s'But Ange; he shakes his head
with decided disrelish; "whst tu
the Tom Walker did they want to
name her that for ? Its barbarous, and
| altogether unsuited to such girl. But
then. tnan shouldn't want the earth.
She's perfect, in everything but name
for mountain girl"
lie Is ashamed Of himself as he
makes this reservation. He draws 10
his line and adjusts it with suppressed
irritation in his manner.
"She's a hundred thousand times too
good TO be looked at by such as me-"
ne says with seif-contemptuous shruy
of his square shoulders.
[Continned neat aoeek.]
The New York World thus drops
into poetry upon the death Of Mr.
Crowley, the chimpanzee, who died
last Friday:
Hero rost his head upon the lay of Garth,
| a youth to fortune and to fame wei
/ known;
! a tropic sun smiled on his humble birth
But monkey y-catchers marked him for thoi
own.
Snatched to far-off land whose alier
cline
Gave hin dyspepsia, cstarrh and chifis,
Nostalgia did him up, and in his primo
He died doSpite gross of uuinine Mills.