The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1899-06-29

and awkwardly. Perhaps to all but
myself the change was natural, meet
ing now, as we did, as man and
woman; but to me it was an unexpect-
ed and uncomfortable experience.
Mabel could not stay with us long, hav-
ing home duties to attend TO.
L saw you coming down the street"
she said, 'and threw OH my hat and
ran after you to shake hands with
you"
THAT vas good of you, Mabel"
said I.
"Good!" she exclaimed. "See what
a time you have been away-so long
so long! 1 have been looking every day
for your return"
"And if l had never come back, Ma
bel?"
The first answer she gave me was
a reproachful look. Then she said:
There are some things we should not
speak lightly of. Death is one"
"A sailor looks it in the face very Of
ten, Mabel, and grows to think more
lightly than landfolk. You have
really missed me, them"
Indeed I have"
"And thought of me?" :
Indeed 1 have. And spoken to you,
and seen you"
why, Mabel" l cried, in surprise,
not understanding her.
Her hand was lying lightly on my
arm, for these words interchanged be-
tween us as I walked with her to the
end of our street.
"You forget" she said, "that the
shells you gave me have voices, and
that when you put them to your ears
and close you eyes, you can see and
hear things"
"Ah, that's like my little Mabel, like
my little maid that I have always
loved. Look at me, Mabel. am 1
changed?"
mot a bit. 1 should have known
you anyhere. Am II"
She put the question laughingly, and
with the prettiest little toss of her
beautiful head. I gazed at her in full
est admiration.
tits well I met you here instead of
in foreign lands; for then I should have
wondered, Can this be the little Ma
bel l left behind me?' 1 should have
doubted until you spoke to me. For
your voice is not altered"
Nor my heart" she said, softly.
A sweet and sudden joy stirred
within me at these simple words. In
the endeavor to set down my feelings
here, l am not sure that I shall sue
coed in making myself understood,
especially when I remember that Ma
bel was a girl of seventeen, and [ a
man of forty. I had never. giren
much thought to women; l had been
satisfied with my old mothers love,
and for the last ten years with the
love of a child. They were enough fer
my thoughts to turn to during my voy-
ages, and they formed, as it might be.
a star which shone brightly for mo
during the darkest night and through
the fiercest storm. But now that I
came home, ard, without forewarning
or thought of it, found in the place OF
IlS CI1llu a WOIudn, WILL oil q WOLudu y
soul shining out of her eyes, and pro-
claiming itself-at least to my fancy
in every graceful action of her beauti-
full form-now it was different, and il
opened new channels for my thoughts
to wander in. Why, when I caressed
the child Mabel, and played with her
fingers, I had no other idea but that
we two were good friends, and would
forever remain so, she always a child,
and I always a rough man. Now the
pressure of her soft fingers remained
upon my hand for hours, the light cH
her beautiful eyes was ever before me,
the sound of her sweet voice fingered
in my ears like the faint music of n
harp which needs but the whisper Of
a summers breeze to awaken it's
sweetest melody. How often during
my next two voyages these new in
pressions came upon me I cannot say.
ITO BE ~coNTINUED.I