The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1901-07-13
RUSH TRAVERS' CAPRICE.
BY BELL BLOSSOM.


dfTHIRTY years Of age, possessor
l of handsome fortune and a
handsome face, and already become
cynical! Seriously, Rush, / 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 corner of the
street the two friends had APP
preached together. N
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 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
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 cherished. idolized mem
.ory. His father had died in his in
fancy. He had neither brother nor
sister.
At 25 he had fallen in love with q
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.
''Will you buy my violets, please
sir? Only dime, sir"
1t was sweet. pitiful, pleading
voice-a sweet, little, pitiful face
looking at him from beneath the brim
of tattered hat, thrust on to q
mass of bright chestnut curls.
Children were Rush Travers' weak
ness. At any time he could take into
his arms a crying child and hush its
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 isl" 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"
"And your father?"
"He is dead, too"
with whom do you live?"
"With woman who is kind to me
and whom pay by selling my flowers
1 am all alone in the world"
"Alone in the world! Who coult
realize as he the pathetic eloquenc'
held in the simple avowal? But j
to him the word meant so much-tt
him in the pride and strength of man
hood, and position, and wealth-wha
new meaning did 1t gather when i
included dependence, and poverty
and womanhood?
A sudden thought came to him. i
was almost an inspiration. He looked
once more, earnestly, searchingly
into the little, upturned face.
The child was beautiful; the eye
were large and truthful; the moutl
showed character, which might b.
nodded for good or evil.
"Pansy," he said, scarcely consciou
of his own intention until the word
had escaped him, 'you say that 20,
are alone in the world. So am
Suppose / make you my little girl
Do you think that you would be hap
,pier?" y
"Do you mean that l am to iiv
with you, and bring you the none
for my flowers? Oh. 1 should lik
that very, very much"
81 mean that you should live wit
me, yes; but you will not sell flower
then, though you shall have all tina
you want"
The child looked up in wondering
.amazement. She could not compre
bend the words, but Rush Traver
had not uttered them lightly.
What he should make OF the littl
waits future he had not determined
II should greatly depend upon he'