The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1898-10-27

tie hands. One strong pull, and they
were both safe-safe at least from the
waters that surged below them, but
with no further chance of release.
Alone, Jasper perhaps could have
scaled the rest of the cliff, though it
would have been a perilous ad-
venture. With Marjorie it was
simply impossible, and there was
nothing for them to do but to
wait patiently until the tide went
out, or until some help should be sent
them.
1t was very cold, and night was CON-
ing on fast. Marjorie's dress was
wringing wet. so Jasper took it off,
and wrapped her in his own warm
jacket.
She was very quiet; poor little girl,
but her face was so white and piteous
and she tre1nbled so violently, that her
cousin felt his heart sink at the thought
of keeping her all night on this bleak
rock without either food or covering.
He found the most sheltered spot he
could, and, sitting down, took her in his
e'@ AAAo, Will lCI settle.
proach, that she might die through his
disobedience and folly. The sea had
now covered all the sand strip, and the
waves, beating silently against the
rocks, as though reaching after their
prey, drenched them with spray.
From sheer exhaustion, Marjorie by
and by fell asleep, only to awake in
fright, thinking she was drowning, and
then sob herself to sleep again. When
1T grew quite dark, the sound of the
waves at their feet frightened her more
and more. for she could not see how far
below they were, and all Jasper's eff.
forts to reassure her were in vain.
He, shivereing in his shirt sleeves,
and cramped from his constrained posi-
ton, felt the night air keenly, and
wondered if the morning would never
come. He thought, too, of his mother
and aunt, and of the terror they were
suffering; he thought of the warm
rooms at home, and of the cold sea
foaming beneath him; he thought of
his night prayers, and said them with
much more fervor than usual; and
then Marjorie, starting up with sharp
cry of terror, he soothed her gently to
sleep again, her dark curls resting on
his shoulder.
When, at last, the sun rose over the
dull, gray water, he seemed ten years
older than the boy who had played IN
der the fir trees the afternoon before,
| and when the receding tide had left the
sand strip bare and glistening, and the
two children crawled slowly down from
the rock, no one would had known
them for the lighthearted pair of yes
terday-no one, at least, but their
mothers. And the long nights watch
ing and searching had left traces on
them. too.
The weary, haggard little figures
toiling up. the beach in the morning
light were not more changed by the last
~ hours than were the two worn-out
women who caught them, in their arms
with broken cries of JOY and gratitude
| And. though Jasper deserved all the
blame. he never got it, for two reasons:
II he had imperiled Marjorie's life
through HIS cdTeleSSHeSS, ne mao aaVeO
it through his courage and, while he
had kept her warm and dry, so that,
beyond the fright, she had suffered
nothing, the cold and exposure he had
endured brought on fever, and for
five weeks he lay parched and aching
and unhappy, while his auntsand cousin
nursed and petted aim. ~
1T was so wicked in me, Aunt FL
eanor," he managed once to whisper.
But she only smiled and sealed his
lips with kiss Golden Days.
| rr.-..,,. - 80 q