The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1896-01-16


dow, and said nothing.
"And she was young-young in all
things. 1t seems 80 short time since
she came into my life. I can't remem-
Der time-time is nothing to me. 1t Is
u plebcian method of marking ones
life; one should rather determine the
light Of the oges by the cycle OF ones
emotions, and of ones sensations.'
"But I thought you had no emotions"
broke in the captain, brusquely. w't"-
out turning his head.
Mundane emotions-none. replied
the other, stopping again and looking
ut the soldier. Such things that make
up the pathos and tragedy OF other lives
touch me not; I live only in a world OF
my own---!ose myself IN a world of tancl-
full dreaming, peopled with my own
creations, you know. Genius is ever,
cratic, the sport of the Grant Muses.;
it is seldom appreciated or understood
by the ordinary man: it is scarcely de-
sirable that it should bet would then
cease to attractive to the cultured
mind"
The captain turned his head slowly,
with raised eyebrows, and looked at
the tall figure pacing to AMI fro: not
without some contemptuous wonder
ment. He had turned his head again,
and was looking modify out of the win
dow when the door was suddenly thrust
open and childish voice broke the
silence of the room.
81 will know-I will know!' cried the
voice passionately. mo one will tell
me; they only shake their heads and cry
and turn away. And ner door is locked,
and they will not let me in; and she does
not hear me when call to Her. Father
what have they done with her?"
The captain turned and saw sturdy,
boy-a mere child OF some
six years--standing in the middle of the
room. There was a desperate earnest
ness about the little figure, and yet,
withal, q sense of timid reluctance, as
though he stood in some place to which
he was denied, that touched the stern
man of war. There was something else,
too, that touched him, and startled him,
even more than that; it was in the child
ish face-flushed and tear-stained and
eager; it was so like the other
face that the unseen power had
touched, and Gained, and ttilled for
ever-so like, and yet so unlike. The
fair hair was massed about The face in
the same picturesque confusion; the
same dark eyes were here. Only this
face was young, and fresh ant; hopeful;
the other as the captain had seen it last
might have been all these in some far
off time, but had been then but
shadowy picture, fast dimming. Prob
ably the captain remembered only the
far-off time. Maitland Kearslcy stopped
in his walk and faced the boy petu!ant-
ly, stamping his foot like al irritated
child.
"You little barbarian" he burst out,
chow dare you come in here! Go away
ut once, sir, I'll have you sent away
to school. Where all should be quiet,
graceful and palpitating with restful
thought, this boy blunders in, and
brings one back to the harsh and sordid
realities of everyday, hideous. common
place life. Go away ut once. There is
nothing reposeful about you.'
II won't go away" said the child.
"I'll stop here until you tell me where
mamma is. She was always lonely
when was away from her. They sent
me away this morning; 1t was trick
I know it was. I won't go until you tell
me-"
The captain was about to speak,
when Kearsley, with aharsh cry, caught
up stick that stood in q corner, and
rushed at the child. The little fellow
did not move, but the captain sprang
forward and caught the fathers up
raised arm and twisted the stick from
his grasp, and sent the poet reeling
backward some PAGES.
"What are you doing, man ?" he cried
holly. finging the stick from him.
Would you beat a child like that?"
t'Yes-I would" almost snarled the
other. II have told him, thousand
times over, not to enter this room. I
will not be disturbed, at any time. My
work-my arts my life; all else is
insignificant and sinks into nothing
hess beside it. I discarded and disre-
garded all else" Which he thereupon
did, by flinging out his hands suddenly,
and turning his back upon the boy, and
walking to the other end of the room.
"You discard all else-even your
dead wife's boy ?" said the captain slow
ly. "And behave like q wild beast to
him when he comes to you in his lone
liness and misery"
"What of that?" exclaimed the other,
pacing the room. II tell you, sir, that
I owe a duty to posterity-my art, my
poetry"
"You owe duty to her child, man."
cried the captain, angrily. "Your
poetry! Good God, man-have you
lived with the Muses. so long, and never
learnt the sanctity, the beauty, the
poesy of the soul of q little child? I'm
no poet-the powers forbid; scarcely
read line of it in my life-but to me
you are like a man catching at with
cred leaves blown down the wind, and
trampling Gods flowers under your
feet the WHILE"
Mr.: Maitland Kearsley was stag