The Savannah morning news., 1901-08-29
Our Daily Short Stories
COUSIN CLARA.
BY FRANK H. SWEET.
Copyright. 1901. by Authors Syndicate,

Nioi aS anu dHdlyze tnem; but / FORE
see 1t will be a hopeless job"
The next day he sets himself to work
more assiduously than ever to culti-
vate new acquaintances. He even goes
10 the Times office and has a local put
IN the daily paper to the effect that
Robert Leighton Of Paris is stopping
few weeks at Narragansett Pier"
He is persistent in his efforts 10 get
introductions, and is strangely eager
to forget all about them after a few
| minutes conversation.
One day Miss Stanton expresses sur
prise at his large circle of acquaint-
ances, and that puts an abrupt end
to the search. He is not ambitious of
posing as society man. He is eager
TO unravel Cousin Clara; but after all,
When IT comes to a point of issue, she
is only a secondary consideration.
In quiet way Miss Stanton is prov
ing herself to be a very fascinating per-
son, but he does not fully realize his
position until near the end of August
then he takes himself suddenly to task.
There are but two courses open to him.
an abrupt retreat or an unconditional
surrender, and only one of them seems
! feasible. He retreats.
There are few persons in his car the
next morning. He is too early in the
season, and decidedly too early in the
day. But as he settles himself COM
fortably back in his seat and glances
around he encounters the brown eyes,
and is conscious of a sudden thrill of
CONSERVATION. They give him a pleas
ed look of recognition, and he crosses
over and takes a seat beside their
owner.
Going away?" he asks. guf1tily
"Oh, no; only to Providence l will
return tonight. And you?"
He rises abruptly and places his light
| baggage in the rack overhead When
he sits down the train is in motion,
and he tries to keep her attention on
the things outside.
THAT is Silver Lake off there" he
says, as a broad sheet of water glides
| into view on the left. Notice the ir-
regular little island in the center, and
the trees just awakening to the possi-
bilities of color. 1t is worthy of a
| frame and a position beside Nozars
| Bay of San Michel"
She smiles in pleasing assent and
gazes at the small lake until interven-
! ing trees and rising ground conceal it
| from view.
at is charming" she says. "I like
| the country down this way very much.
I have been through most of the viii
| lagos, through the mills at Pearce Dale,
up to the Wolf rocks, over to the
| Stuart place, and-I cannot begin to
| tell you all the little trips have taken.
l enjoyed them, every one. shall most
| certainly come here again"
Yes, it is very pleasant. I almost
envy the small farmers"
Envy? Your" she queried, incred-
ulously.
Yes, why not? There is no unceT-
| tainty about their work and pleasures.
II l1z tnv@ -n 1rh a a
man is rich or poor, as long as all his
friends are in the same condition. II
/ could have my-my friends with me
would gladly exchange with one OF
| these farmers" 81
She gives him a curious look from
under her long lashes. He notices it,
and laughs constrainedly.
You must not mind what [ say.
| feel out of sorts this morning--almost
like a criminal running away from JUS
| tice."
so? I fancied that something was
amiss" She speaks quietly, but there
| is a taste of sarcasm in her voice.
when you first glanced toward me
you started as though / were the sher-
if you dreaded"
you are" he bIurted out, desperate
ly. The conductor stops at their seat
| and he hands him the tickets. After
they are punched and returned he con-
tinues, In low voice: 81 have felt like
a criminal all the morning, but it
seemed the only way. You know why
I am leaving?"
mo" A delicate flush is stealing
into her face, but she looks at him
| inquiringly.
you are very rich, and 1 am very
poor"
the look of uncertainty vanishss from
the brown eye. They look straight in
to his now. "Is that all?" she repeats.
| What a cowardi
Miss Stanton!"
i "Resides. I think there is a mistake.
she continues. hurriedly. II am not Sc
very rich. The Miss Stanton who is
| renuted 10 be enormously wealthy is
the one at the Imperial. And on the
| other hand, it does not seem to me
that an artist who receives a thousand
| dollars apiece for his pictures is de-
serving of much sympathy on account
of poverty"
"Such sales are very rare. But how
did you know? l never told
"No: but your Uncle Henry paid that
| for the Trout Brook and Sunrise,
through his agent in Paris.
"Uncle Henry-whoY
Your Aunt Helen's husband. Didn't
you know his name?"
He shakes his head and leans to-
ward her with a sudden understanding
coming into his eyes. But at this mo-
ment there is a slowing of the train
and a stentorian voice called out
Wakefield Under cover of the con-
fusion he touches her hand.
"And you are-Cousin Clara? Win
eager inquiry in his voice.
Yes, by courtesy. Mr.. Willard was
nv guardian, and after Aunt Helen
came | grew to regard her family al
most as my own. She often spoke OF
vou. and wanted me to call her Aunt
Helen and you cousin Robert. She was
| very good to me"
"And you have known me all these
weeks and didn't speak? Strange that
should have been such an ardent
hunter of Claras and not even learn
your first nameI How did you obtain
my address?"
"By the merest accident You had
changed places so often that we lost
ali trace of you. Even the dealer IN
Paris could give no information. When
I started for Narragansett Pier you
and your bequest had about slipped
from my thoughts. You can judge OF
NV surprise when I picked up piece
| - ooetahoard from the car seat and