The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1901-08-15
RUSH TRAYERS' CAPRICE.
BY BELL BLOSSOM,

nTHIRTY years Of age. possessor
of a handsome fortune and q
handsome face, and already become
cynical! Seriously, Rush, / would ad.
wise you TO become n hermit. l think
few months so spent would raise
you to the appreciation of your bless
| ings. Take it into consideration, old
fellow. Au revoir!"
And Harry Withers, touching his
hat, hurried off at the corner of the
street the two friends had ap-
preached together.
Rush Travers walked on alone. The
words to which he had just listened
had been lightly, iestingly spoken;
but somehow they had hurt. Was
1t true that he was ungrnteful? Did
the heart never cry out, In its empti-
ness, even when filled with the favor Of
fortune, the good will OF men. the
caressing smiles OF women? Did not
the two latter hang upon the former? ?
What man, what woman cared for
the man and not the outward sur
roundings which he owed to chance I?
The one true heart on which he
might have leaned was stilled for
ever.
Ten years before, in the first flush
OF his young manhood, he had lost
his mother. There now remained
to him but a cherished, idolized mem-
ory. His father hsd died in his in
fancy. He had ncither brother nor
sister.
At Is he hod fallen in love with a
woman whose falseness he had dis
covered in time to save the wreck of
his life, though scarcely Of his happi-
ness.
He stood alone In the wofld-alone
on his iehiy-freighted bark. Could
an its treasures atone for the realiz-
ing sense Of desolation the world i'm
parted.
''Will you buy my vioiets, pleoss,
sirf Only . dime. siTi"
II was . sweet. pitiful, pleading
voice. sweet little, ptiful face,
looking At him from beneath the brin
Of a tattered hat, thrust on TO q
mass of bright chestnut ,curls.
Children were Rush Travers' weak,
ness. At any time ne could take into
his arms q crying child and hush Its
sorrow.
He thrust his hand into his pocket
and drew therefron a piece of sill
yer, which he placed IN the tiny. out
stretched palm; then, from very idle
ness, he walked on, questioning the
little girl, who ran beside him.
"Poor little waif. How singulariy
pretty she isl" he thought.
what is you, name?" he asked.
"Fansy, SIR" she answered. "Man-
ma used to say it was the cuaor Of
my eyes."
He locked down with smile in the
purple depths, half-shaded by the
long lashes, upraised from the brown
cheeks.
Where is your mothes?' he asked.
I'm Heaven, sir"
"And your fatherT
"He is dead, too"
with whom do you Hve?"
with a woman who h kind 70 me,
and whom pay by selling my flowers
am all alone in the world!"
"Alone in the worldi Who could
realise as he the pathetic eloquence
held In the simple avowA? But II
to him the word meant % much-to'
him in the pride and strength of man
hood, and position, and wealth-what
new meaning did it gather when it
included dependence, and poverty,
and womanhood?
A sudden thought came to him. Il
was almost an inspiration. He locked
once more, earnestly, searohingly,
into the little, upturned face.
The child was beautiful; the eyes
were large and truthful; the mouth
showed character, which might be
nodded for good or evil.
"Pansy," he said, scarcely conscious
of his own intention until the words
had escaped him, "you say that you
are alone in the world. So am !.
Suppose make you my little girl?
Do you think that you would be hap
pier?"
do you mean that I am to live
with you, and bring you the money
for my fowers7 Oh. should like
that very, very much"
II mean that you should live with
me, yes; but you will not sell flowers
then, though you shall have all that
you want"
The child looked up in wondering
amazement. She could not compre-
hend the words, but Rush Travers
had not uttered them lightly.
What he should make Of the little
waits future he had not determined.
1t should greatly depend upon her
self; but while he lived she should
never again be friendless.
It was an easy matter to gain the