The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1900-08-15

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and all.
With his great sombrero of hat, his
somewhat careless attire and gait, he
presented striking contrast to the
object of his attention--a maiden in a
soft, gray dress, white neckkerchief
and neatly folded hair.
Allen Weir was an artist and n
young man, and must be excused for
staring. for both nature and art plead
ed for him. However, he returned to
q sense of the proprieties before he
had quite .disgrnced himself.
No sooner had he reached his place
OF destination, under n great oak tree,
than out came canvass and colors, and
the ihdefatigable pencil toiled until
the sunset stayed It.
1t was pretty bit Of form and color
he left upon the canvass. am sure
there was something deeper in it than
color and form, something more than
a pretty Quakeress watering sweet
peas.
He was up In the morning hard at
work He passed the farmhouse again
sweet peas now, but stitching "a long,
white seam;' watched her long and 81
lently, himself out Of sight, and went
back once more and worked up the
expression. The picture was success.
The greatest one Allen Weir had ever
achieved. But something about the
affair was altogether unsatisfactory.
The evening found Allen Weir ut the
Quaker farmhouse, with pitiful story
OF fatigue They were kindly people
DIT the farm. II lie was sketching near
the place, they said, he must leave his
portfoiio and easel there till morning.
And his heart and step were very light
rs he went his way. thinking Of Ruth
that was her name. Sweet Ruth.
tenderness and pence, and maiden love
md Innocence and purity, It seemed
to him as well.
The Aroma OF coffee and buckwfieet
came from the kitchen, the sound Of
ehurning from the dairy, ana Ruth,
with a great eaTthen pitcher of milk,
walked In at one door Of the hall as
Allen entered the other.
.sRuth." he spoke out He was glad
he could call her so without offense.
Ruth, let me show you something"
She p looked up hastily. He had
turned back the cover Of the huge port
folio and she stepped forward, with
the slightest tinge OF pink rising in
her fair checks, and looked upon her
image with a little, suppressed cry of
wonder and delight.
"Is 1t pretty?"' he asked her. It was
not what he meant, but he said the
words that came first.
II think 1t is like me-. said Ruth.
softly; 'but thee has made It too-too
bright"
His hand was laid ever so gently on
hers and they both started, for face
like Ruth's, but older and n little sad,
was looking at them.
Ruth. thee had better come now.
Thy father is waiting breakfast"
on trudged Allen, half ashamed of
his rash beginnine-half fearful Of the
effects of his temeiity. 1t must be
over soon-this going and coming from
the Quaker farmhouse-and what after
that?
There was heavy fall in the pas
sageway. The artists great portfolio
had slipped from it's resting place
and lying, bulging at one end. appealed
for assistance. Ruth's father lifted 1t.
They turned them Over-pretty
sketches OF rock and river and wood
land mosses--and Mt last one that was
lifted out and looked at long and
steadily by the old man sternly, hut
his wife's face showed q half-pleased
smile that lightened its sad expression
wonderfully.
Hannah, thy daughter Ruth mus,
not see this thing" he says, sternly
and solemnly.
II doubt she has seen It," whispered
the wife; "but 1t cannot harm her, ]
think. He is going tomorrow In an
other direction"
Out In the moonlight, down In the
pine grove, Hannah walked with Q
great shawl wrapped close around her
for the night was cool. She had seer
what she had seen. though she hat
held her peace. for her daughters sake
and It may be she had noticed sign.
and tokens MS well. Ruth came ant
went In her accustomed way, and dc
her accustomed duties, but mother
eye IL keen. There was something
astir in the heart under that placi<
face. '