The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-07-20

Presently he became quite interested.
why. it's ten years since I left the placer
he cried. 81 shall have changed out of all
recognition, and I shall be able TO talk with
the people without letting them know who
1 am. A sort of Enoch Arden in real life.
Yes. that's it. I'll go to st. Mabyn."
That same day he packed all the things
he thought he would need, and the mex
morning he was at Paddington Station
before 9 o'clock, and took his ticket for
the station nearest st. Mabyn.
by Jove!' he cried, as the train moved
out of the STATEN, II haven't been so in
terested for years"
II.
ITS a brave long drive to St. Mabyn,
master" said the man whose horse and
trap Victor Tremayne had hired at the
little wayside station.
Yes, seven or eight miles, I suppose?"
Reckon ties. Be zee goin' 70 kip shop or
summin' ovver There. maxim so bould?"
why de- you ask?"
you've got enough things in your trunks
and things to set up a tidy shop" replied
the man.
Have I? Well. I'm not going to keep a
shop"
"Bean't 'ee7 Be zee goin' there to live?"
"Only for a few weeks"
You bean't a Johnny Fortnight of
course?"
NO" and Victor laughed. do I look
like one?"
mo; but you've got so many things"
The truth was Victor had, in addition
to his books and some sketching materials.
bought a number of presents for the people
he had known as a boy. Somehow the
thought of going back to his old home had
made him desire to give some OF the viii
layers pleasure.
You bean't a minin' ad~venturer, be 'ee?'
mo"
"Ah, then. I 'spect you've got your missis
comm later"
mo, I've no missis."
Amt 'ee, for sure? Then you do bait
me-"
You know st. Mabyn?" asked Victor, in
order to turn the conversation, for he knew
the man was longing to ask him further
questions.
Yes. I've been there a few times. Old
Jimmy Truscott is my uncle. Be you ac-
quainted with st. Mabyn?"
II used to be, years ago. Do you know
Tregargus FARM"
Yes. for sure I do. Why. Master George
Coad have sold me a lot of wears (farrows
young pigs in his time. Do you know
Master G~eorge?"
NO" and Victor set his lips, for George
Coad was the young farmer who had mar
red Ruth Enedor.
Jaw, 1 do. 1 knaw his wife, too. A nice
young woman is Mrs. Coad. She was good
lookin' as a maid, too: but she's had chill
dren terrible fast"
Victor laughed. His fancies concerning
Ruth were correct.
Lev me zee" went on the driver. "She've
been married bout ten year. That's a bra
lot. edn't ct. then?"
Are they all healthy?' asked Victor
grimly.
IT should think they be-" replied the dri-
yer. Flower great lerrupin' boys. and
three bouncin' maidens. They can oal ait
like badgers. and wear out enough clothes
for a regiment of soajers."
That's very interesting said the young
man. with another laugh; but his heart
was very sore. Even although he thought
he was glad that Ruth was utterly different
from the lissom, brown-haired maiden he
had known. it somehow shattered his ideals
to think OF her as a stout matronly wom-
an, the mother of seven children.
Life is all of a piece" he thought.
Nothing turns out according TO promise.
Even if my boyish dreams had been full
filled, and 1 had married her, 1 daresay
1 should nave grown tired of her. How
could 1 be happy with a woman who could
be content to marry this man Coad? No
doubt it is just as we'll as it is; but, oh,
life is terribly Disappointing"
He found Betty Penrose quite willing to
let him have her rooms. A pound a week
for the use of her little parlor and bed
room was absolute wealth to the simple old
woman.
1t was Z o'clock in the evening by the
time he had partaken of his frugal meal,
and then he went out into the quiet lanes.
Nothing is changed" he unused, moth
ing. Every cottage, every field, every tree
remains exactly the same. And yet it is
all different. Oh, / would willingly give all
my bit of fame and money just to be a boy
again, with a boys hopes and a boys feel
ings. But 1t can never be. 1 must live my
life alone, and the dream Of the past will
only mock me-"
He walked on for some distance, and
then he stopped suddenly, while his heart
gave a wild leap. Before him. EMPOWERED
among trees and shrubs, stood a quaint,
o~ld-fashioned house. For a few minutes he
stood looking at it like one entranced.
who lives there now, 1 wonder?' he
said presently. "Ruth's mother was a
widow. and she was an only child. should
not think Mrs. Enedor would remain there
alone"
Just then the sound OF childish laughter
reached his ears, as we'll as the merry
shouts OF men and women.
Evidently some one with children has
taken it," he went on. II should like 10
see it again, though. But not tonight. 1t
would pain me TO see others occupying the
old place, even although
Hearing footsteps coming toward him. he
moved rapidly away, and continued his
walk towards the sea.
Yes, ! finished my novel as ii ought to