The Monticellonian., 1902-11-13
On the BeaverkiIl's
 Banks
By EDWARD B. CLARK.

GEORGE SCHUYLER belonged to u an old New York family. Perhaps the name tells that, and enough said. Helen Ganzevoort also belonged to an old New York family, and here again the name speaks for itself. Georges branch of the Schuyler fam ily was poor. Helen's branch of the Ganzevoort family was rich.
 The parents of both young people bad been the stanchest kind of friends since they had been old enough to know what friendship meant, and friends had the ancestors been for generations back to the time of the stump-legged Peter. George Schuyler was five years older than Helen Ganzevoort. There was enough of the Dutch idea left in George to make him dutiful son as there was enough of the same Dutch ill Helen to make her a dutiful daugh- ter. George Schuyler had been brought up to believe that one day he must marry Helen Ganzevoort, and Helen Ganzevoort had been brought up to believe that one day she must marry George Schuyler.
 The Schuylers were not rich, as has been said, and when George was Is, instead of being sent to college he was shipped west to see if he could pick up fortune. Helen was at that time II years old, and she did not feel lIeenly at all the parting with har rrocDarfiva husband opd it rnuc+ be confessed that George didn't shed many tears when he said good-by to this plain little girl with her hair in pigtails.
 George Schuyler went to San Fran cisco, and there in the course of nine years he did manage to pick Hp what the farmer calls a tidy bit of money" George went east twice dur ing his San Francisco stay, but both times Helen Ganzevoort was abroad They wrote to each other once every three months, and while there wasn't a line of affection in the letters on either side. there was enough in them to show that each felt that the old marriage arrangement made by the parents still stood.
 George Schuyler was 25 years old His income now was large enough to justify him in marrying, and in feel ing that he wouldn't have to go to the bureau drawer every Monday morning to find his wife's purse George was going back to take a bride that he hadn't seen in nine years. and it's just barely possible that he didn't feel overly comfortable at the prospect. As a matter of fact, George Schuyler liked bachelorhood. No woman ever as yet had stirred his pulse. His gun and his rod were more to him than all the women in the world. But George had been get ting letters from his aged parents. who said that it was time he came east and went to wooing in earnest He wrote that he would start in a week, but that on his way he was to stop for a few days fishing with an old friend on the Beaverkill, that ideal trout stream which tumbes down the southern slope of the Catskills on its way to the Delaware.
 George Schuyler took his fly book and his split bamboo rod on the first morning after his arrival at his friends wilderness lodge and started out to whip the stream for speckled beauties. He was in wading boots hip high and down the stream he went, dropping his "coachman" lure cn the surface of every pool where ii looked as though a trout might turk.
 Luck was only fair and the sun was getting high. Trout don't like the glare of the midday sun and they keep away from the surface, no mat ter how tempting the morsel offered for consumption. George Schuyler was thinking about reeling in and go- ing back to the lodge, when suddenly al place where the Beaverkin broadened he saw country girl, in calico dress and sunbonnet, sitting at the waters edge. She was listen ing to the song of brown thrasher that, tilting on low tree top, was pouring forth his melody for the
 benefit of his suubonneted friend.
 George Schuyler stopped in mid
 stream. He did not wish to disturb
 the birds solo, upon which the listen ing girl seemed so intent. He stopped.
 but slipped on round stone and l sPiashed the water, which was calm
 ard still just there. The thrasher went
 into the thieket like a flash and the girl
 turned her head just as quickly.
 George Schuyler saw face under
 the shadow of the huge country bon
 net that was much more than pretty
 and which had in it that which men
 rightly call character. Geoge's fish
 erman's cap was off in an instant
 Good mornings" are allowable in the
 wilderness without the formality of an introduction.