The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1893-05-02

Harcourts came to California the fol
lowing winter, and the little play was
never finished.
"All this, and more, went to makeup
the story. She touched it here and
there with her artist fingers, and the
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 black
bird which was perched on a pepper
tree near.
This was life; not those feverish, far
off days, but this quiet growth and IN
folding of her true nature. A widening
of the sympathies, a deeper insight, an
humber estimate of her powers and a
greater possibility of enjoyment.
1t was morning in a hotel office in
San Diego. The stout clerk was bend
ing laboriously over the register, put
ting in a fancy heading at the top Of a
new page. The black porter and his
aids were hurrying about, gathering
up ~valises, wraps, kodaks and umbrel-
las, and trying to get off those unfor-
Inmates who were to leave on the early
train. The few business men who
boarded in the house came out from
the breakfast room with a 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 a member of the
family, but a solitary man occasionally
sGalked or sauntered on his way to-
ward breakfast. The men, who hap
pened to be sitting near each other,
laid down their papers at the same mo-
ment, and the elder remarked:
Its a fine day"
Eyes, very nice weather." assented
the other.
Been here long?"
NEARLY two months"
Don't get tired of it,"
Yes, a little, sometimes"
Board as good as this most Of the
time2"
81 think So"
"S'pose you're here for your health?"
Eyes, my lungs are weak. Excuse me,
1 see that the mail is in," and the tall,
bearded man walked slowly toward
the desk.
Here's your mail, MI. Lindley,"
said the clerk, handing him several
letters, a paper and a magazine. He
reiterated to a quiet corner in the Office,
glanced quickly through his letters,
read the paper and took up the maya
zine. 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 pext2 His own words, his foolish
pig-headed obstinacy! And now Sue,
that proud little creature understood it
all. Could she ever forgive him2 Was
it too much to expect, too much to hope
for? He laid it down with a long sigh
and gave himself up to the memories
of those sweet and better days. What
a schemer that Al Hearst was! He
was ashamed to confess how easily he
became a prey to the willy fellow-that
is, he was ashamed a dozen years ago,
but not now. Where could Ethel Hal
court be? Were they not in the State,
the whole family Would she forgive
him if h ,found here He would write
to Fothergill and get the address of the
author Of "In Summer Days" What
a waste Of time in the years since they
met!
4 x x x x
."And to think that while l was writ
ing it you were only 30 miles away"
said Miss Harcourt, her quiet face
lighted by a happy smile. II was COM
PEELED to take a chapter from my own
life just at that moment, and it would
have been almost impossible either to
have checked the impulse to write or
to have altered my incidents in any
way"
Miss Harcourt-Ethel-I can never
undo the past, those words, those IN
worthy suspicious, but if I may I will
make amends for them in the future.
May I try?""
Ethel Harcourt found it difficult to
raise her eyes to meet the earnest gaze
of her old friend. She felt the mount
ing color flush her usually pale cheeks,
but as simply as a child she laid her
hands in his. After a long converse