Iowa state bystander. [volume] (Des Moines, Iowa) 1894-1916, 1901-01-04
freckled urchin.

"Hes Thorn, too-a brother to the
girl my granny says" replied the boy,
as he chased recreant marble.
This information gave Morrill, in
slant relief. Noble Angie! 1t was a
crippled brother whom she was trying
to support with her pen.
Morrill, went home fully resolved to
help the girl to the entire extent of his
power in her literary efforts. He de-
clined nothing that she wrote for his
magazine, but patiently went over her
work, eliminating crudities and chang
ing word here and there. thus add
ing vigor to the story. Then he wrote
her kind letters of advice and sent her
books to read. Under his friendly
criticism her style soon improved, and
her fame through the pages of The
Nutshell grew each month. Then the
editor began to be deluged with letters,
asking all kinds of questions about this
new writer, and several Of his editor
friends wrote him, ngratulating him
upon his discovery of this new star in
the production of short stories.
Morrill, then wrote Angie, begging
permission to use her portrait and a
short sketch of herself in his maya
zine. But she firmly refused his re-
quests, and Morrill's most eloquent en-
treaties were futile to change her de-
cison not to give her picture to the
public. Although slightly vexed at
her obstinate caprice, as he called it,
he liked her more for not showing q
common vanity"
The park opposite No. ia became
his favorite resort for taking his con
stitutional." If he caught but
glimpse of a graceful, willowy figure
among the flowers, he went back to
the Office well rewarded for his long
journey.
One day he found her reading in the
park.
do not co." he begged, as she start
ed to leave. 81 have something of i'm
portance to say to YOU You must stay
and listen. I have kept my secret for
months"
He came toward her, and the warm
light in his eyes made her turn pale.
Angie, if you will only give me the
right to help you always with your
literary work." he pleaded. hardly
knowing how to tell his story-his
hearts sweet tale-now that he had
begun. "You can help me so much,
too; we will"
"Stop!" she cried, sharp, cruel ring
in her voice II have deceived you. l
am not the writer Of those stories"
you are testing with me-" he said,
"No; have been the copyist; an.
other is the author" her hands work.
ing nervously with her book.
But you signed your own name to
the manuscripts" he said.
"Yes, because he wished me to do
So"
"He? Oh! I understand. The stories
were dictated to you by your brother
II have no brother" with flushing
cheeks. 1.-THE stories were composed
by my husband
Husband" Morrill, gasped the word.
and started back as if she had struck
him.
YES" she went on in tones that
seemed to freeze him. my husband
met with an accident that made him
a cripple for life. We came here to
please friend, who insisted that we
should live in this house, rent free.
We are poor and must work. My
husband decided to try writing for
papers and magazines. We both be-
Iieved that a woman, as a beginner in
that field, would get more kindly
treatment from editors, than a man.
So my name was used and played
author"
She gave a little laugh at her own
cleverness. Morrill, looked into her
eyes with reproach too deep for speech.
Then he walked away.
He resigned the editorship of The
and went to Japan as CORE
spondent. Angie Tohrn is sending
MSS. now to other periodicals.