The morning call., 1893-04-15

in Sunday attire. Perhaps this one had
none better than these working-clOthes that
he wore. A feminine commiseration swept
her at the thought. He spoke never a word.
She wondered how many hours he could sit
there, so patiently waiting for fish to come
to his hook. For her part the situation
began to pail, and she wanted TO change 1t
at last.
Let me try a moment please? have
an Idea"
Yes. madam"
This man is surely an idiot, with his
monosylIables." she commented inwardly.
But she remembered that monosyllables be-
long to a Doors equipment.
She laid her book carefully down and took
the pole gingeTiY that he came to place in her
hands. Then 1t was his turn to stand back
and look respectfully and silently on at the
absorbing performance.
"Oh! cried the girl. suddenly, seized with
exeltement upon seeing the line dragged
deep in the water.
'Wait, waitl not yet"
He sprang to her side. With his eyes
eagerly fastened on the tense line. he
grasped the pole TO prevent her drawing it,
as her Intention seemed 10 be. That is, he
meant to grasp the pole, but, instead, his
brown hand came down upon Mildred's
white one.
He started violently at finding himself so
close to brOE ze-brOwn tangle that almost
inches away from bis shoulder. TO pair of
young. dark eyes that cleaned for an In
slant unconscious things into his own.
Then, why ever it happened, or how ever
Il happened, his arms were holding Mildred.
and he kissed her lips. She did not know if
it was ten times or only once.
She looked around-her face milk white
to see him disappear with rapid strides
through the path that had brought her there.
Then she was alone.
(lDlC thn birHa had nd eha
count on their discretion. The secret must
remain her own; g hateful burden to bear
alone until she could forget it.
And because she feared not to forget 1t
Mildred wept that night. All day long a
hideoos truth had been thrusting itself upon
her that msde her ask herself il she could
be mad. She feared it. Else why was that
kiss the most delicious thing she had known
In her twenty years OF life? The sting of it
had never left her lips since it was pressed
into them. The sweet trouble OF il banished
sleep from her pillow.
But Mildred would not bend the outward
conditions of her life to serve any shameful
whim that CHANGED to visit her soul, like an
ugly dream. She would avoid nothing. She
would 90 and come as always.
In the morning she found in her chair
upon the porch the book she had left by
tho river. A fresh indignilyI But she
came anu went as SIC uleDUeU TO, ana sat
as usual upon the porch amid her fam illar
surroundings. When the offender passed
her by she knew it, though her eyes were
never lifted. Are there only sight and
sound TO tell such things? She dIscerned it
by a wave that swept her with confusion
and she knew not what besides.
She watched him furtively, one day,
when he talked with Farmer Kraummer
out in the open. When he walked away
she remained Ike one who has drunk
t1nvnN -f,rn
and began her preparations TO leave
kraummer farmhouse
When the afternoon was far spent they
brought letters 20 her. One of them read
like this:
you. 80 you are down at that Kraummer
farm, on the Iron Mountain. Welli What
do you think of that delicious crank, Fred
Evelyn? For man must be a crank who
does such things. Only fancyl Last year
he chose to drive an engine back and forth
across the plains. This year he tlls the
soil with laborers. Next year 1t will be
something else as insane-because he likes
TO live more lives than one kind. and other
QuiXotie reasons. We are great cbums,
He writes me he's grown as strong as an OK.
But he hasn't mentioned that you are there
l know you don't get on with him, for he
isn't bit intelleclual-detests Ibsen and
abuses Tolstoi. He doesn't read in books
sighted TO look at life through. Don't snub
him, dear, or be too hard on him; he has a
heart Of gold, if he is the first crank in
America"
Mildred tried to thlnk-to feel that The
intelligence which this letter brought to her
would take somewhat Of the sting from the
shame that tortured her. But IL did not.
She knew that It could not.
In the gathering twilight she walked
again through the wheat that was heavy
on a frou nj wit 10
long and very narrow. When she was mid
way she saw the Offender coming toward
her. What could she do? Turn and run,
as little child might? Spring into the
wheat, as some frlghted four footed creature
would? There was nothing bat 10 pass him
with the dignity which the occasion clearly
demanded.
But he did not let her pass. He stood
squarely 10 the pathway before her, hat in
hasd, perturbed look upon his face.
Miss Orme," lie said, II have wanted to
say to you, every hour OF the past week.
that l am the most consummate hound that
walks the earth"
She made no protest. Her whole bearing
seemed to Indicate that her opinion colnci-
ded with his own.
''lf you have father, or brother, or any
one, in short, to whom you may say such
things, let him know, please. that he is at
liberty to infect any chastisement upon me
that unmannerly ours deserve"
Il think you aggravate the offense, sir by
speaking Of it. shall ask you not even to
mention it again. / want to forget that it
ever happened. VIII you kindly let me
by?"
"Oh," he ventured eagerly, you want to
forget it! Then, maybe, since you are
willing 10 forget. you will be generous
enough to forgive the offender some day ?''
Some day." she repeated. almost Inaudi-
bly,, looking seemingly through him, but
not at bim-"some perhaps: when l
shall have forgiven myself"
He stood motionless, watching her slim,
straight figure lessening by degrees as she
walked slowly away from him. He was
wondering what she meant. Then O sud
den, quick wave of color came beating into
his brown throat and staining it crimson,
when he guessed what 1t might be.-Kate
Chopin.
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Theatrical Nofe