The Bossier banner., 1893-05-25
IN LATER YEARS.
Ethel Harcourt's Story and the
Reward It Brought.

Ethel Harcourt sat on sunny south
veranda, idly looking out on a typical
southern California landscape In early
spring. The Cuyamaca was still white
with the lately fallen snow, and rugged
El Caion showed to advantage in the
foreground. The lower slopes and the
valleys were green, occasional patches
of yellow showing where the violet,
now past its prime, or the poppy, in all
its richness, found u congenial home.
Miss Harcourt listened to the wild
songs of the birds, and underneath the
gay melody there ran minor strain,
like some half forgotten song which is
recalled by an old association.
Her mind glanced swiftly over the
last ten years in her California home.
Her mothers illness and death, her
fathers loss, not only of wife, but of
fortune. Their retirement to this lone
ly ranch among the hills. EYES," she
said to herself, ''the gay, unrefecting
girlhood in New England seemed like
something in another age. Not feel
ing, not hope, not a desire in common
with that young creature" She
thought with a smile, as one might
think of another, that in those years
she was fair to look upon. The clear,
bright eyes, the softly rounded cheeks,
the mass Of rebellious hair which tan
gled and curled in spite of her plaits.
Why did those years, especially those
months spent at the Atlantic View,
come back with such vividness? Sud-
denly she was seized with an overpow-
ering desire to write. Not the beauty
of the landscape, not the nameless pro-
ductions of the soil, not the present,
but the past made her pen fly swiftly.
She felt as if impelled by power from
without, and described the first ro-
nance, with it's sad little ending,
which she experienced that summer at
Atlantic View.
The years rolled back on either side
and she saw clearly as woman what
she failed to understand as child-like
girl. AS she wrote she found herself
making Arthur Lindley one of the main
figures and herself the other. The tall,
impetuous young fellow, free, rich,
and admired by all. How, then, did il
happen that he should have shown such
eager delight IN her society, flushing
with pleasure when she appeared and
attending her like her shadow? The
young Ethel was led to believe in the
sincerity of the lad, when he told her
frankly that there was no girl to be
NJ
was SO true, SO honest, SO unaf-
fected. What a series of scrapes the
boy did get into, to be sure, and how
he confded them all to her and asked
her advice, for he had no mother and nc
sisters. 'But l don't want you for my
sister," he had said, with twinkle in
his blue eyes.
Those long mornings on the beach
when the bathers made merry and the
lookers-on lined the sands, those after
moons of idle swinging in hammock
till the long shadows made game OF
tennis possibility; those soft evenings
when the cottages looked like fairy
places and the band played dreamy
music in the park; they all foateo
through the halls of memory.
Ethel Harcourt wrote spontaneously
She saw, with the perception of mature
years, the tangled web in which he1
girlish feet were caught. She remem
bered the days when there crept intt
and between the comradeship an alie1
note. How or when it began she coult
not tell, but her instinct warned her O.
the approaching danger. Arthur Lind
ley no longer came with his outburst'
and condolences. He seemed to b,
watching her, to be weighing and com
pairing her words, holding her at ,
hostile distance. There was nothing
which could have been told, no ont
word or sentence which separated them
only growing atmosphere of distrus
on one side, and maiden shyness ant
reserve on the other. At last ther
came an outbreak from him; bitter
unkind words and mysterious illusions
Ethel tried to have him explain himself
but it had no effect. She had treate,
him shabbily, he, who had been he
best friend. No one could bear sucl
things, and be would not bear then
any longer. There could be no expla
nation: no, he would not hear on
word but would bid her good morn