Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1901-07-25
Rush Travers' Caprice.
BY BELL BLOSSOM.

luHly yedl0 VI d6C, poooSSSoi VI q
handsome fortune and handsome
face, and already become cynical! Sc
riously, Rush, l would advise you to
become hermit. l think few
months so spent would raise you to
the appreciation of your blessings
low. Au revoir!"
And Harry Withers, touching his
hat, hurried off at the corner of the
street the two friends had approached
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 its emptiness, 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 surroundings
which he owed to chance? The one
true heart on which he might have
leaned was stilled forever.
Ten years before, in the first flush
of his young manhood he had lost his
mother. There now remained for him
but cherished, idolized memory. His
father had died in his infancy. He
had neither brother nor sister.
At 25 he had fallen in love with 4
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 its 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 a sweet, pitiful, pleading
voice-a sweet. little pitiful face, look
ing at him from beneath the brin Of
tattered hat. thrust on to 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 it's
sorrow.
He thrust his hand into his pocket
and drew therefrom piece of silver,
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, slr," she answered Mamma
used to say it was the color of my
eyes," 20
He looked down with smile
purple depths half shaded by the long
lashes, upraised 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 a woman who is kind to me,
and whom l pay by selling my flow
ers. l am all alone in the world"
Alone in the world! Who can real
ize 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 manhood,
and position, and wealth-what new
meaning did it gather when it includ-
ed dependence, and poverty, and wom-
anhood?
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 l. Sup
pose | make you my little girl? Do
you think that you would be happier"
do you mean that 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 cnild looked up in wondering
amaZement. She could not compre-
hend 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 herself;
but while he lived she should never
again be friendless.
1t was an easy matter to gain the
consent of the woman with whom she
she lodged. The sum he put into her
hands would more than requite her
for any loss she might suffer through
Pansy's flower selling. From the
woman. too, he learned something
more about the child's history. Her
Darents were artists: the mother had