The St. Mary banner. (Franklin, Parish of St. Mary, La.) 1889-1931, 1901-11-02
Edwin Brown" repeated Anne.

began at the beginning again and read
1t over carefully, dwelling in particu-
lar on one paragraph:
when l think of the apparent hope
lessness of our engagement, | feel that
l can't in honor bind you to it. My
struggles here in my profession have
as yet barely gained me meager live
lihood, and the time when l can offer
you even the simplest of homes seems
desperately distant. With the ocean
stretching between us 1t Is difficult
to discuss this vital matter, but, Anne,
darling, | want you to know that as
dearly as love you will not be self
ish enough to keep you to a promise
that was generously made when hope
shone more brightly upon us. If the
thought of me interferes with your art
or arrests your study in any way put
me from your mind. l can't bear to
feel that l should be hindrance or
a drag to you-" Here Anne
stopped reading because she could no
longer discern the written words
through the mist Of tears that had
gathered over her eyes. She felt blind
ly about for handkerchief to brayely
dab them away, that she might 20 on
with the letter, which continued in tho
tenderest phrases to assure her of his
constant, unfailing love. She knew
that he was sincere; that her welfare
was all that actuated the letter.
How like him." she murnured.
"No other man but Edwin could write
q love letter like that, and l hope he
never will again: could not stand
it,"
When at last she fell asleep, the
letter was clasped in her hands, which
lay folded on the steamer rug, an ad.
dition to the scanty bedding on her
cot, and her breath came in quick
gasps, like the sobs Of a little child.
The "atelier" was crowded when
she went to her work in the wet clay
the next morning, and she hoped to
gain her own corner without attract
ing attention. But her pale cheeks
did not escape the notice Of the tall
American who was perpetrating sad.
ly misshapen figure near her own
well blocked out work.
Are you not we'll, Miss Weber," he
asked, with a note in his voice of
deeper feeling than the occasion
seemed to demand.
"Quite we'll, thank you," Anne re-
piled YEARLY, and the young man
looked at her reproachfully. He want
ed to tell her that she was doing al
together wrong, abusing her health,
wasting her strength, and, worst Of
all, breaking his heart, but experience
had taught him that it was not safe
ground of conversation.
It was the day on which the master,
the great Partisan sculptor, was ex-
pected to criticize, and Anne applied
herself assiduously to her clay, which,
under her def fingers, rapidly grew
more and more like the model.
II am through with this" said the
young man at length. II have tested
my artistic ability and found that
can't even mold a snow man." He
scornfully chopped off the nose Of his
clay figure, which only added another
deformity to the already maimed-look-
Lug C1cdIuIC.
my old man always said that art
was not in our blood, but l wanted to
see for myself, and it didn't take me
long. Don't think I have not realized
how impossible my work is, but I
have stayed in the atelier-you know
why-and I'll stay yet If you will give
me any hope" he added eagerly.
''No, don't stay" Anne replied, soft
~. He was such dear boy she could
not be anything but gentle to him.
well, then" he said, disconsolate-
ly, "I'll throw art over and go into
the string business with Dad, as he
has always wanted me to do"
"That will be better, I am sure,
said Anne, smiling at the mutilated
torso, for the young man had been
carelessly hacking it while he talked.
1.-THE old man is certainly dead anx-
ious for the prodigal's return, for
got a fifty-dollar cablegram from him
this morning. asking me to pull up
stakes and 60 at once. The dear old
chap wants junior partner. now bus