The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1901-07-19
RUSH TRAVERS' CAPRICE.
BY BELL BLOSSOM.
Observation-Disclosures

@2xassa&aa4a1a@t@&@1Er1ssH+sssHa@s@4*s
nTHIRTY years of age, possessor
| of a handsome fortune and a
handsome face, and already become
cynical! Seriously, Rush, L would adj
wise you to become hermit. / think
a 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 APP
preached together.
Rush Travers walked on alone. The
words to which he had just listened
had been lightly, jestingly spoken;
but somehow they had hurt. Was
it true that he was ungrateful? Did
the heart never cry out, in it's empti-
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?
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
DRY. His father had died in his in
fancy. He had neither brother nor
sister.
At 25 he had 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 world-alone
on his richly-freighted bark. Could
all it's treasures atone for the realiz-
ing sense of desolation the world i'm
parted.
evil you buy my violets, please,
sir? Only a dime, sir!''
1t was a sweet, pitiful, pleading
voice-a sweet, little, pitiful face.
looking at him from beneath the brim
of tattered hat, thrust on to
mass of bright chestnut curls.
Children were Rush Travers' weak
ness. At any time he could take into
sorrow.
He thrust his hand into his pocket
and drew therefrom 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 singularly
pretty she is!'' he thought.
''What is your name?" he asked.
"Pansy, SIR" she answered. "Mam-
ma used to say it was the color of
my eyes,"
He looked down with smile in the
purple depths, half-shaded by the
long lashes, appraised from the brown
cheeks.
"Where is your mother?" he asked.
"In Heaven, sir"
Sand your father?"
''He is dead, too"
"With whom do you live?"
"With a woman who is kind to me,
and whom pay by selling my flowers.
l am all alone in the world"
"Alone in the world! Who could
realize as he the pathetic eloquence
held in the simple avowal? But if
to him the word meant so 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. 1t
was almost an inspiration. He looked
once more, earnestly, searchingly,
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 I.
Suppose 1 make you my little girl?
Do you think that you would be hap
pier?"
"Do you mean that L am to live
with you, and bring you the money
for my flowers? Oh, should like
that very, very much"
81 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-
bend 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