The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1897-04-23
VI.
A RELUCTANT SAMARITAN.

A RELUCTANT SAMARITAN.
Robert Protheroe was not the man to
let good resolution warp in the cool
ing. He was selfmade, in the sense
that he owed his parents little beyond
the fact of existence; and the world,
| after it's wont with waits, human or
otherwise, had tempered him in a salt
ish bath of adversely and sharpened
him upon the grindstone of experience.
| Having made shift to climb some in
| considerable distance up the slippery
| hill of knowledge by his own unaided
exertions, he fell easily into the habit
of thinking himself more capable than
| other men. The demonstration was
simple and conclusive. He had proved
his ability to wiring measure of sue
cess out of adverse circumstances where
others, with all the advantages of pre-
paratory training, had failed. He was
too kind-hearted to be cynical, but he
could not help making comparisons;
and they were usually unfavorable to
those who inspired them.
In the short conversation on the ho-
| iel veranda, Protheroe had taken
Thorndyke's measure with a consider
able degree of accuracy, and but for
the enlistment of his sympathies he
might have been inclined to look upon
the New Yorker as a. person who would
| probably serve, upon better acquaint-
ance, to point the moral of another
comparison. AS it was, however, crit
icsm was swallowed up in charity,
and Is minutes after leaving Thorn
| dykes room Protheroe was galloping
ont one of the prospective streets,
which. turning abruptly around the
shoulder of Johns mountain, became
a country road leading up the valley
of the Little Chiwassee. His destina-
ton was a small farm-the home of
the Duncans--lying six miles up the
valley; and his object was to prevail
upon his friends to open their doors
to the sick man.
There was a small romance at the bot
iom of the Scotchman's settlement in
Alabama. Duncan had been a school
master in Lanark shire, and Martha Kin
ross was first his pupil and later his
sweetheart. Martha was the laird's
daughter, and the laird, having just
regard for worldly gear, objected to
The penniless pedagogue. For once in
q way, Duncan put his hereditary eau
ton under foot, gave up the school,
married the girl, and together they ran
away from the laird's wrath and from
the old world. Once over seas, the win
ters of Quebec became u sufficient pre-
text for farther wanderings, and these,
| Jol IN, lo1
lis elsewhere. They had bought the
worn out farm in the Little Chiwassee
valley before Elsie was born, and the
chief motive in it's selection was one
which neither Duncan nor his wife
would have acknowledged. The mar
row valley was Scottish glen; the sur
rounding mountains were the hills OF
La1uark magnified somewhat by the
kindly perspective of time and distance;
and it was within the compass of a mere
Iy practical imagination to transform
the small river into Scottish burn.
Not to be outdone in a matter of
sentiment, the valley had repaid the
parents in kind by giving what mild
climate and inspiring scenery may give
toward the endowment of the daughter.
Elsie Duncan was comely and passing
fair to look upon, as the native-born
daughters of aliens are wont to be;
moreover. she was simple and true
hearted, thinking that there were no
mountains like her own mountains and
W mcn as good as her father. She
vas the apple of Duncan's eye, and for
Aer sake he had turned schoolmaster
gain, giving her what she had other
wise gone wanting in a bookless land.
Without having been pointed thither-
ward, Duncan's efforts to lift his
daughter above the educational level
of the neighborhood brought about
n result which was not the less crafty
ing because it was unforeseen. The
book-learning raised a barrier between
the girl and the mountain and valley
youth which was more impossible from
their side than from hers, and until
Protheroe had stumbled upon the Dun
can homestead on one of his prospect
ing journeys there had been no suitors
at the farmhouse. Nor is it quite fair
to say that the young engineer was
the exception. He had always been
welcome at the stone house in the val
ley, but he had not yet got beyond the
unspeakable stage with Elsie.
1t was the uncertainty of his stand
ing with her that made Protheroe hesi-
tate to introduce possible rival; and
it was his assumption of superiority over
the common foibles and weaknesses of
humankind in general, and of jealous
lovers in particular, that united with
his sympathies to make him change his
mind.
The wagon road up the valley of the
Little Chiwassee follows the stream to
a point within a quarter of mile of
Duncan's house, where it climbs low
wooded spur of Johns mountain. From
the top of this spur the young engineer
could look down upon the house and its
surroundings, and he saw Duncan in the
barnyard talking to a stranger-an old
man with white hair and beard falling
over the cape of tattered army over
coat. At sight of Protheroe the man
climbed the fence and ran up the noun
tain, while Duncan came around the
house to the gate.
"Good morning. Mr. Duncan: / hope