Los Angeles herald., 1891-07-01
troubled her not. The issue was all too

while Fred Kensel was in constant
attendance for lectures, concerts and
drives. Therefore, if Miss Eleanor's
time did not fly, it at least did not drag;
and she spent very few hours either in
ennui or in serious reflection.
Miss Jane Mears was sometimes anx-
ious for the future of her niece, and took
occasion to remind her of the ultimate
necessity of choice and judicious set
tlement in life. Whereupon the spirited
girl, with laughing audacity, averred
that Aunt Jane herself was to be con-
graduated upon her own merciful preser-
walton from such climax! That good
lady received the lively sallies of her
niece with the good humored liberation
of a mother cat under the attack of a
frolicsome kitten.
"But, Eleanor, my DEAR" she would
purr, 'you know you cannot always go
on in this way; you really must make a
choice"
"Make choice-how shall I do it,
auntie? Advertise for sealed proposals
and award the contract to the highest
bidder. or put the candidates in bag
and rattle for them?'
"Don't be absurd, child" responded
Miss Jane; "you know what mean, of
course. am afraid you will go through
the entire pasture and then take up with
crooked stick"
"Well, l haven't seen any quite
straight enough to suit me yet"
"Well well, my dear, only talk to
you for your own good. I have been
afraid you missed it when you didn't
take up with Josiah Hawkins"
"'Josiah Hawkins'-and missed it,
indeed!" retorted Eleanor. "What did l
miss but an antiquated old pig with
dyspepsia and squeaky shoes. trust I
am not reduced to quite so low an ebb." "
"No, no, child; don't fly in passion
so; it isn't ladylike. I am only afraid
you will never do any better, that is all. Z"
"'Do any betterp should think I
could hardly do worse than marry a
man for whom l hadn't spark of
love!" and the girls eyes flashed.
"Well, there, there" soothed the Sc
rene maternal cat, "don't let's talk any
more about it."
"No, but you mustn't begin it, and
please don't scold me any more, dear, "
succumbed Eleanor, with a kittenish
embrace. And so the dialogue would
end. And the autumn days went by.
November came on, and no letter from
Jack. Eleanor began to think about it.
Sometimes she watched, half uncon-
sciously, for the postman, with little
sting of disappointment when he went
by. Yet her intimacy with Mr.. Jerome
Arthur grew apace, and she was quite
fascinated by his tender tones and dark,
passionate eyes.
December-no letter. Eleanor's feel
ing of mere question of the cause passed
into the stage of positive pique. Her
pride was touched. Not even to write
to her, to leave any letter of hers unan-
swered, when any other man would have
written two. Well, if Jack Renshaw
had a remote idea of her wearing the will
low for him he had not read his p's and
q's correctly, that was all.
So she sang more and sweeter duets
with Jerome Arthur, smiled more gra-
ciously on Lew Hunter, and completely
dazzled poor Fred Kensel with her affa-
bility. On the whole she was rather
glad he did not write-so she solilo-
quized-for inasmuch as she cared moth
ing for Jack, and never could, a corre-
spondence would be stupid and only lead
to trouble.
Of course he cared for her-that is,
well, of course he did! Then, in proof
of that fact her mind reverted to the
night last summer when they parted at
the gate of the old farmhouse where she
stopped. They had taken their last walk
by the river. They had then sought the
top of the "ledges" to watch the sun set.
Finally, in the twilight they had wan
dered back to say goodby at the gate.
Jack was going tomorrow and she a
week later. Their conversation was
broken and. intermittent as they came
down the grassy road.
"Perhaps this may be our last walk
forever" spoke his low, earnest voice.
"Should you care if it were, Eleanor"
"Oh, don't be so solemn" exclaimed
she. "Of course we shall have more
dozens next summer"
He detained her gently by the arm.
''But would you care if we never did,
asked your"
"Jack Renshaw," facing him audaci-
ously, "did you ever see an owl? You
positively make me think of one some
times"
His face paled little. His mouth had
o firner look as he walked in silence by
her side to the gate. Hesitating mo-
ment while she coquetted with her para
sol and shifted some wild flowers un-
easily from one hand into the ether:
"Goodby, Eleanor" very gravely.
"Goodby, Jack" vivaciously
sis that all-can you say nothing else?"
"Why, what should Isay?" she laugh
ed.
"Say that you care-a little-for our
summer ended-if you do" taking her
hand.
''But what if I dontY' withdrawing
that member.
He looked at her challenging face a
moment, seriously.
''Goodby," he said, and turned and
walked away. Eleanor tripped lightly
over the threshold up to her room, flung
off her hat, Immediately sat down, and
yes, true to the inexplicably contra
dictions of girlhood, cried,
She remembered it now with smile,