Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1900-05-30

| perhaps" dryly; but man mus
work with his head or his hands. IL Ism
every one who gets the chance to choose.
/ The following day Mark Barrlston I'M
| packed his books and set himself 10 STUDY
| furiously. But how might one study
/ books when day by day nature turned
/ over fresher and still more enchanting
/ page of her own inimitable yolumeI but
| il was not wholly the charms or nature
| which made Mark Barriston change MS
mind about accepting temporary resi-
/ dence on the farm in the North belonging
to his father. II was quite casually ne
/ learned that this farm which his father
| had but lately purchased was near an
other belonging to and occupied by Ed
ward Thorn.
He told himself he would not attempt
to see Della but 1t must be admitted II
was a little difficult to avoid doing so
when he was obliged to pass her home
every time he went to or returned from
town. The romance was an innocent one,
and as sweet as it was innocent. Ram
bles along the ereek--a search for the
latest howers--the steadying clasp OF a
hand in abrupt descent or ascent-the
discovery of mutual tastes-snatches OF
song-the hutter of her sash ribbon
against his hand-silences embarrassing
but delicious, and-that was all.
Only Edward Thorn used to remark to
his wife that really that girl was growing
too pretty to be useful, and the man on
John Barriston's north farm averred he
never seen that kind of q farmer afore.
1t was he who blunderingly precipitated
the climax of the situation. He had rid
den over to John Barriston's relative to a
shipment of cattle.
You'd better go through to Chicago
with the stock Dan," his master said.
my son can attend to things until you
get back"
He can, IL he takes time enough from
pickin' posies with Della Thorn"
"Whatr' screamed John Barriston.
WHAT
II didn't think, sir!'' Dan had shambled
up aghast. II forgot the bad blood
atween-"
Saddle my horse-Quickl This min
utel Quick!
Five minutes later he was riding north
at breakneck speed.
Mark CHANGED to meet Della at the
abandoned bridge down by the walnut
grove, when his father came tearing
along. But when that father dropped
from his sweating horse, so shaken was
he by passion-so racked by rage-he
could not utter one syllable.
"What-what Is the matterT Della
turned appealingly to Mark. She had
never been told of the enmity between the
houses.
Never mind-now. Go home" he said
in the tone of authority no man dare use
except to one woman, and she that one
to whom he is most madly enslaved, most
willingly subseryient-she who holds his
life in her fingers as one may hold a rose.
Stop. cried John Barriston.
he burst out into a storm of abuse Of
his son-her father-berself! There was
no stemming the tide Of his fury. 1t
came down in a sweeping food-a parti-
ally incoherent fury, 1t is true, but none
the less overwhelming -resistless. Once
Mark strove to speak-twice. In vain.
Suddenly he turned-held out his hands
to the girl. He had never spoken one
word Of love to her. He spoke none now.
But there was that In his eyes which no
woman needs words to interpret-a look
a
mand.
The old man saw the gesture-saw the
look. A silence fell upon him. Indeed,
there was no sound betwixt earth and
sky just then save his heavy breathing.
Mark put his arm around Della, drew
her to him. And he faced his father, not
irreverently, but fearlessly.
She has done you no wrong, fatherlp
he cried, ''she-nor 1. You said you would
curse me. II you must-curse us! We
can bear it better for sharing it!'
Again, as that day in the cemetery on
the hill, John Barriston lifted his hand
aloft.
A little, futtering cry broke from the
girl.
"Papa-here is papar'
And there, indeed, stood Edward
Thorn.
He saw the young people. He saw tho
gaunt old form towering before them He
saw the hand uplifted in wordless maIo.
diction.
They heard one wild word--saw MorL
Barriston spring forward. Then the ola
man, tottering down, was caught In the
strong arms Of his son and lowered 70
the ground. His face was purple. ri.
teeth were clinched. There was ,osm
on his lips.
Although Barriston was borne at onco
to his sons bed, although the physician
drove over in hot haste, and all was done
that could be done. it was many months
before CLEAN Of consciousness irradiat.
ed his eountenance-before he gazed in.
telligently into the faces which came and
went at his bedside. Della was sittiny
with him one radiant January day. Her
right hand held book. She felt a touch
upon the left which rested on his coyerlid
"a caresslng touch.
"A pretty hand" she heard voice
murmur. Annie had pretty hands. An.
me The murmurous sound trsilad
on INTO silence. And he slept.
In March John Barriston wss uouo,
back to his old home. He was wasted
ran, patient to the point of pathos, He
nearu all his son had to say on business
matters gave replies that were clear and
logical but left to Mark every arranas a
,mi,ent-eyery decision. In Anril when tha
mac trees in the front garden were nur
pie and fragrant, he went ont for tho fr..