The record-union., 1895-11-23
THE OWNER OF THE PHILOMELA.
Written for the Record-Union by Beselena.l J
PART I.

PART I.
Two men sat beside a blazing camp
fire which cast strange shadows on the
surrounding scenery. The silence OF
the night was unbroken, save by the
roar and crackle of the flames as they
leaped heavenward, sending forth
sparks which lowered in the air for a
moment ere they vanished in the curl
ing smoke.
One Of the men was a young, tall
and powerfully built fellow, with a
dark strong face; when he spoke his
voice was deep, full and resonant. The
other was his senior by many years.
The hand of time had dealt heavily
with him, furrowing his face and
changing his hair and beard to a snowy
hue. They were sitting in silence, each
busy with his own thoughts. The
Pickering, uncertain light of the fire
played a wild, mad game of hide and
seek on the white tents of the miners
nestled in a ghostly semi circle under
the shelter of a group of frs.
The boys had long since turned in,
tired out after long and exciting day S
work; the fate of the Philomela had
that day been settled beyond the shad-
oW of doubt. A paying lead had been
struck and there had been great re-
joicing in consequence.
Tonight the young man who sat by
the campfire found himself rich. All,
what magic is contained in that one
little word; how much he could do with
that vast hoard of yellow gold which
was his, all his; every cleaning, yellow
particle belonged to him alone. He
could not realize yet the magnitude of
the good fortune which had suddenly
come upon him. So while the rest of his
companions slept, he sat out here try
ing to comprehend it all. He had ASKED
the old white-bearded man to bear him
company, somehow he dreaded being
alone. He felt the need of human COM
partnership. Presently he shifted his
position uneasily, and glanced furtively
at his silent, motionless companion.
The stiffness Of the starry night and the
solitude of the surroundings had sud-
denly aroused a great craving within
him to unbosom himself There comes
a time III the lives Of all men
when this craving for sympathy
becomes almost uncomfortable. 1t
takes only force of circumstances and
environments to develop it. This man
| had been toiling for months with one
| fixed purpose in view; he had labOred
faithfully night and day to the accom-
| )liSuIueHl OL lIldl ODJGCls anu HOW SUI
cess was his. He tasted of its first fruits
and felt the consequent relaxation.
| Would you like to hear a stOry?" he
asks abruptly. His companion nodded,
threw fresh log of wood on the al
ready blazing fire, lit his pipe and
feared back to listen. Without further
parley the other began.
| 81 suppose it is the excitement of the
day that has made me feel like this, but
somehow when l think of all that big
pile of rock down there being mine, it
sort of makes me feel queer all over.
| have made other fortunes before and
| lost them, but I didn't care much
about them then; there was only myself
| to look out for, but now you see it is
different. 1 don't know what I'd do if
! I'd awake up tomorrow morning and
| find this all dream" He had been
rambling on as though to himself, for
getful of his companion, who had sat
halfway in the shadow putting con-
tentedly at his short, black pipe. After
little the young man continued:
You see, things are different now,
and it is all on account of a woman"
He made the confession as though 1t
were the most natural thing in the
world.
You boys wondered a great deal
when named the mine the Philomela
I didn't tell you then, but will tell you
now that I named it after her. I think
I loved her from the very first. She is
my ideal of perfect womanhood. And
this little girl was kind to a great rough
overgrown fellow like me-" He paused
and the old man waited.
We'll" he said at last, there isn't
much more to tell. I hadn't seen any
women, real nice ladies, you know" he
explained hurriedly, "for several years.
You see, had been knocking about the
country, in and out of mining camps
and other such places, and 1 had almost
forgotten how to talk to a lady. Why"
he continued, while an involuntary
laugh escaped him, II felt for all the
world like a great hulking, awkward
schoClboy in her presence. / had sort
of notion ! ought to attend to my own
hat, and how l wished my arms were on
somebody else's body, but she didn't
seem to notice my embarrassment, and
after the first visit I found myself go
ing there every day, and sometimes
two and three times a day, kind ,
drawn there, you know, by some sort
of an invisible power. She used to sing
for me, too; she didn't have much of
voice, but it was sweet and clear, and
when she would be singing those love
songs of hers 1 just longed to clasp her
in my arms and tell her how dear she
was to me. But what would tender,
delicate little flower like her want with
a great rough hobo like me?'
did she love you?" asks the old man,
between meditative puffs.
Love mel" cried the younger, "why,
man alive, you must be crazy! What
could she see to love in me?" The other
shook his grizzled head.
women are queer creatures" he
said, sententiously. You never can
tell who they will fix their hearts on
Now, if / were you, d go down and see
this little girl tomorrow. I'd tell her
my feelings, and I'd see what she would
say"
But suppose she refuses me?"
"She will not be likely to refuse the
owner of the Philomela," replies the
old man with a short laugh, as he rose
and shook the ashes from his pipe. The
young man gives voice to an indignant
protest, which the old man heeds not,
as he goes off to his own little white
tent The owner of the Philomela piles
more logs on the fire, and sits there the
rest of the night By the next days
pony express there goes letter to his
little sweetheart in the city.
PART II.
A pair of anxious eyes peering through
the window at the postman as he makes
his way up the street.
"Will he stop here?" is the question
she has been asking herself all morning
How aggravatingly slow he is He is
stopping at the house on the corner now;
ah, he comes this way at last No he
has gone across the street. The girl at
the window stamps her tiny slippered
foot in vexation, but her eyes follow the
postman's every movement. Now he re-
crosses the street he walks slowly; he
| is taking something from his heavy
| bag; he runs lightly up the front steps,