Williston graphic. (Williston, Williams County, N.D.) 1895-1919, 1901-11-07

had gone without! land had pretended
with airy laughter that they found the
weather really oppressive when they
were half frozen. Tradesmen who had
been rude became respectful-such q
promoter of courtesy is the reputation
of being in easy circumstances.
And Madge had letters from this and
that magazine, asking for her picture
and sketch of her life. Critics COM
mented on the amusing character OF
her work, and even found>in it won
derful depth of philosophy and sur
prising knowledge of human nature.
She was invited to become member
of literary societies and press clubs.
Young editors Of new-fedged maya
zines besought her to furnish articles
for the opening understanding
bright and catchy-something in the
style of "Ma' James Quiltin'," or "The
Ghost Jim Saw"
ooh, how my ambitions have all been
wrecked" she cried, piteously, one
day. II know am capable of better
work than this. feel ashamed of all
this notoriety. have degenerated in
to mere scribbler of comic sketches
"a kind of clown, whose business it is
to grin and prance and make funny
speeches, to keep the people on the
benches amused"
'Stiil, we paid the milkman," said
Kate, succinctly, looking up from her
work.
"And after awhile you will be able to
go on with your real work." added
Marian, hopefully.
II wonder if ever can?" she unused,
wistfully. 81 wonder if the world will
let me do it? Somehow, am afraid
they will refuse to let me wash off the
paint and be my real self"
II do believe Madge is growing NOR.
bid" Kate announced, gayly. "She isn't
thankful for her mercies,' as Aunt
Patsy used to say. She forgets how
she used to write beautiful stories that
went down to the very heart of things,
while the irate milkman camped on
the front steps and the grocer charged
us three prices on his books for his
mesnest little old potatoes. If she
wants to keep happy, let her keep
those people, in mind, and 60 on writ.
ing pot-boilers. 1t is better to be
merely funny than not to be at all"
And so they all laughed and two
of them did not realize that there was
kind of heart-hunger about her for
something she had missed.
One evening she was tempted out
to some social function at the house
of friend and there she met certain
great editor. For one awful moment
she wondered if he had ever heard of
her-if he knew that she was living.
1t appeared presently that he had
taken cognizance of her existene i.
some time before, and had followed
her career with interest; that he had
even, on his own confession, been
somewhat ANXIOUS to meet her.
"Can you call it a career?' she
asked, with a touch of bitterness in
her voice. II have drifted into it al
most unconsciously-but it is not
what I once thought my lifework
would be-"
"Since you have been so frank" said
the great man, unbending, II will ad-
nit that have thought you capable
of higher class of work"
Madge lifted pale face and looked
at him. He was the editor who had
sent back the beautiful story that
wrote itself.
"What would you do" she asked,
with thrill in her young voice, iii
YOU were poor, and could not wait;
if there were others depending on
you'll anxieties were crushing your
very soul-?"
He. had caught the look that flashed
over her face.
"Wen," he said, carefully, "there
are higher duties, perhaps, than mere
~ writi1 what one likes to write. Per-
haps we are too quick to judge what's
our lifework. If we only knew, it may
be that our lifework is keeping the pot
boiling, and paying debts, and taking
care of those, dependent on us. 1t
seems pity that-that we cannot all
work out our dreams. You see, hav-
ing once established reputation of
this kind, one becomes its slave instead
Of its master. regret that I did not
have the opportunity to examine some
of your serious work before you start
ed out on this line. There might have
been great power in it. judge that
you would have written with strength
and no doubt with wonderful path
os"-for he had seen the glance she
turned on him.
She read it over again thai night aft
er she went home-the story that he
had returned-the story that wrote it.
self. Her pen was going until long aft
er the morning star had risen, and the
story which she sent him that day,
and which he published soon after,
was pronounced by competent judges
to be far more amusing than anything
else she had written. Kate shrieked
with laughter over 1.-THE editor in
that story was so droll, and the coun-
try girl with her inconsequent dreams
of greatness and her absurd little am
bitions-was there ever anything so
amusing? But Marian read the story
in silence and looked up at Madge with
a little wistful anxiety.
"Madge, are you giving up the old
dreams?" she asked.
eyes," was the gay reply-or was
her voice altogether gay?-and what
new tone was thrilling through it? II
have discovered at last where my gen.
Jus lies. Ihave the most undoubted tai.
ent for pot-boiling, and from this time