Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1893-06-01

bear her own bitterness and regret, but
TO see Arthur grow careless in dress, to
hear him talk and laugh loudly, to be
told of his frantic attentions to some of
the leaders of the fast set, all these
made her heart ache. And the season
came TO It's end with glitter of fire.
works, and tho crowds parted, each
family to its own home. The Harcourts
came to California the following winter
and the little play was never finished.
All this, and moro, went to make up
the story. She touched it here and
there with her artist fingers, and tho
pathetic little tale was written in words
which went to the heart. At the end
she stopped, pen in hand, and listened
to the chatter of the gay-breasted
blackbrd which was perched on pep
per tree near,
This was life; not those feverish, far
off days, but this quiet growth and I'M
folding of her true nature. A widening
of the sympathies, deeper insight, an
humber estimate of her powers and
greater possibility of enjoyment.
1t was morning in n hotel Office in
San Diego. The stout clerk was bend
ing laboriously over the register, put
ting in n fancy heading at the top of
new page. The black porter and his
aids were hurrying about, gathering up
valises, wraps, lodaks and umbrellas,
and trying to get off those unfortunates
who were to leave on the early train.
The few business men who boarded in
the house came out from the breakfast
room with mild air of Importance, as
BELTS the we'll when surrounded by the
sick. One by one the invalids, in all
stages of lung and throat trouble, made
their way across the great sun veranda.
Most of them were attended by mem
Der of the family, but a solitary man
occasionally stall1ed or sauntercd on his
way toward breakfast. Two men, who
happened to be sitting near each other,
laid down their papers at the same mo
ment, and the elder remarked: tfI
''lt's fine day."
eyes, very nice weather." assented
the other.
"Becn here long?"
"Nearly two months"
''Don't get tired of it?" -,
Eyes, little, sometimes"
"Board as good as this most of the
timc?" HI
II think So"
"S'posc you're here for your health?"
"Yes, my lungs arc weak. Excuse
me, sec the mail is in," end the tall,
bearded man walked slowly toward the
desk. hH t3 i
"IIere's your mail, Mr.. Lindley," said
the clerk, handing him several letters,
a paper and a magazine. He rctreated
to quiet corner in the Office, glanced
quickly through his letters, read the
paper and took up the magazine. He
became absorbed, he looked around for
a moment to assure himself that he was
not dreaming, and he read on again.
Was he losing his senses? Surely, he
knew that seaside resort, those tiny
cottages and-what would come next?
His own words, his foolish, pig-headed
obstinacy! And how she, that proud
little creature, understood it all. Could
she ever forgive him? Was it TOO much
to expect, too much to hope for? He
laid it down with long sigh and gave
himself up to the memories of those
sweet and better days. What schemer
that Al Hearst was! He was ashamed
to confess how easily he became prey
to the willy fellow-that is, he was
ashamed a dozen years ago, but, not
now. Where could Ethel Harcourt be?
We're they not in the state, the whole
family9 Would she forgive him If he
| found hcr9 lie would write to Fother-
| gill and get the address of the author
of "In Summer Days" What waste
of time in the years since they met!