The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1889-02-12
CHAPTER VI.
/ F AT DrABLo.

The next day there was the clang and
clatter of hoofs on the stony path before
| the cabin door and looking up from his
diagrams and plans at the rickety board
table the man saw q strong and splendid
white horse dishing past. He had only
time to catch q glimpse of the rider as
the dense redwoods closed in. But such
q riderl and such q breakneck ridel
The huge white horse was q stallion Of
the Norman stock; ponderous and power
full as an engine; and yet very sure footed,
| else how could he have made paving
stones of these savage sleeps and struck
fire from them as he passed. And reck-
less, too, he seemed as his rider. The
rider was Farla. ~
A few days later, and she came again
to the cabin. This time not alone.
"Sanello mea;. and Mr.. Swain" said
Farla.
The artist had taken a hint from Farla's
first visit and procured him certain ma
terial from San Francisco. He was now
at work or a picture. The knowledge
that there was a man in the neighborhood,
his nearest neighbor indeed, capable of
going around to the cabins of people and
quietly breaking their backs had possibly
| stimulated the artist to an effort in the
way of his profession. At all events.
the visitors found him busy at work; and
it was plain that Farla was immensely
pleased.
"It's Sanello's BEAU" said Farla in a
confidential whisper as she bent her stately
head nearer that of the artist, with pre-
tense of examining more critically some
ines of the redwood trees on the canvas.
"Ah," and the man examined the slim,
handsome and richly clad young man at
the side of Sanello.
1t did not take long. There are at
least a thousand of such in almost any
community Of ten thousand people on the
face of this earth. He carried a cane.
He smoked cigarettes. God Almighty
made such men. Why, we do not know.
Perhaps to count when the cholera M
around.
However, this special young man be-
fore us was, if nobody himself, at least
the son of somebody. The possible,
probable heir of millions, place, social
power. Who shall blame the proud and
fond mother for her federation of this
tame and inane bit of humanity, who
had looked upon her beautiful child while
whipping the mountain streams for trout,
and, after his fashion loved herr
All mel was not dreamful, silent, ro-
mantle Sanello fit to be the wife of the
grandest man in the land? Who shall
blame the mother for setting her hopes
high?
If it took but a glance to dispose of
Mr.. Swain, the indolent and dainty fisher
of trout and fair women, it took the en-
terprise of his whole soul to behold, alb
sorb, comprehend at all the rich, restful
beauty of the young girl at his side. She
was a blonde; not tall, the contradiction
of her sister. The contradiction of her
sister in soul as in body, most especially.
Sanillo was ~restful, silent, dependent;
so dependent.
How helpless are we all in the hands
of destiny! Here was one woman born
amid the elements OF strife; companioned
with those who shed blood, trained to
trace her finger placidly in the grooves
along the cabin wall where the messengers
of death had ploughed, not unused to
looking dead men in the face, she was
that which she was: Destiny Fate!
A most lovely woman; dying for love;
made unlovable by destiny; fate Such
is the story of life. But lat us hasten
forward. The year wore on uninter-
ruptedly; if we may omit mention of the
very frequent visits of Farla and her sis
ter at what they were now pleased to
call "The Studio"
Some progress was made in painting,
but zone whatever in the great subject at
heart. True, the mystery of the flowing
springs on the mountain top was a matter
that held much promise in its solution.
But how was it to be solved? The artist
found some work in the little cities, sown
like great fowerbeds at his feet and the
6 struggle for existence was no struggle
in the cabin on the spur of Mount Diablo.
The sweetest loaf of bread in the world
was to be had at any of the little flower
like cities below and all about. Fruits?
All the grapes, plums, pears, all fruits you
can name, were to be had almost any
where for the picking up. And as for
fish, There is your hook; anywhere you
can find water and all kinds of fish are
yours. Meat? The land that sends meat
to every great market on this globe is not
going to let any man that tolls go hungry
for meat.
One most pleasant morning Farla
dashed down t 0 the cabin on her great,
strong white stallion, and leaning a little
forward from her saddle, cried out: