Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1896-11-03
LOVES REWARD.

Philip had known her ever SO long,
ever since she came here, little, rose
Tipped child. He drew her to school on
his little cart, he taught her to ride
when older, and when her favor was no
longer to be won by snowy kittens or
sugared sweetmeats he had laid at her
feet a mans strong love, heart that
was brave and loyal and true as steel.
And she-she thought of the face she
had seen for the first time but one short
month before, the dark, handsome face
that had lighted into look of involun-
tary admiration at sight of her, the face
of the wealthy city stranger-Edgar
Reynolds.
Only one month ago, and already the
lustrous eyes had learned to watch for
his coming, already the girlish heart
had learned to throb at his voice.
And he? No wonder he was fascinated
by that fresh young face, and as the
days went by he smiled to see how the
love of the woman crept into the inno-
cence of the child. And so when Philip
Howard asked her for her love she had
no heart to give him. She told him so
with womanly tenderness and pity, and
he had left her presence very sad, very
silent man.
The following day broke fair and
bright, with golden sunlight on the hill
tops and June time mists in the valley.
Along the white, winding road lead
ing to the village, in the GOODNESS of the
dewy morning, walked Florence Thorne.
The birds are singing their mathis in
the tree tops; the brook is laughing as 1t
ripples DER its pebbly bed. In the midst
of all this glorious, sylvan beauty the
elasticity of youth reassegts itself, and
the girls step grows lighter, her heart
happier, till she almost forgets her little
troubles.
In the village she posts her letters
and turns to retrace her steps. She meets
many laborers on their way to work,
and each man touches his hat and smiles
pleasantly on seeing the bright, pretty
face, for, young as she is, she has spent
many hours helping with kindly offices
and gentle pity their wives and little
ones.
Coming home, she passes house that
stands in its own grounds-a house
with snowy curtains, stretching veran-
das and well rolled tennis ground at
tached. 1t is far more pretentious than
her own cozy house. And well it may
be, for it is the boarding house of this
rustic little village. 1t is filled with
fashionables just now who have fed
from the crush and heat of the city,
and, among others, Edgar Reynolds.
At the gate a sudden thought strikes
her. The housekeeper's little child is
very i'll. She will go in and inquire for
her. No one save the servant can be up
yet. She pushes open the gate and noise
lessly fits up the garden path to the
rear of the house.
She accomplishes her mission and is
returning, when she sees futtering on
the path before her a sheet of creamy
note paper. She picks it up and glances
around. 1t must have blown from a
window left open on retiring. Yes,
there is one directly overhead.
She is about to take it to the house
keeper to return to its owner, when her
eyes chance to fall on two words written
in a firm, bold hand, Florence Thorne. -
1t is but short letter, and the girl. for
getting all honor in the intensity of her
surprise, reads every word of it. almost
before she knows what she has done.
Dear WILL" it runs, "expect me
back ON Thursday. Am tired of rusti-
eating. 1t would have been an unbear-
able bore were it not for an awfully
pretty girl, flirting with whom has
helped to pass the time She IS the
daughter of Allen Thorne, the million
aires brother, you know. Made a fool
of himself by marrying school teach
er's daughter years ago. Florence
Thorne is a shy, wild rose-poor, pretty
and proud as a princess-but couldn {
afford to ruin my prospects for her, you
know. Much as could do to keep from
losing my heart in earnest. Had half a
mind to throw over Agatha Vere's thou
sands, but-pshaw, the bank account
carries the day"
There is little more relating to bust
ness matters, then the letter closes with
the hastily scratched signature, edgar
Reynolds ="
The girl stands stiff and rigid in the
bright morning sunlight, a great startled
horror in her eyes. All the pretty, child
ish beauty dies in the strained intensity
of that gaze
Harkl Is that some one coming? For
a moment she lifts her hand to her head
| in confused, helpless way. Then, crush
ing the letter into her bosom, she turns
and flies fast as her leaden weighted
feet will bear her down the path,
through the gate. along the dusty high
way-home.
Her uncle came to her on receipt of
Philip Howard's letter, stating how i'll
she was, his lonely old heart warming
with love toward his brothers orphan
child. AS for Edgar Reynolds, he had
heard of her illness with his usual well
| bred Indifference.
"Poor little thing Perhaps it's the
hest way it could have ended after all,
he said, and so. congratulating himself,
] L. lad c,nne hack to town. Mhile Philip