The Minneapolis journal., 1902-08-07

e - Z! 5ua s j. z u
the orchard gate. Please tell them good
night for me. Wont you speak to met
Good by ss
He stood waiting while the rising wind
blew their garments about them. She leaned
against the wall OF the house. Wont you
say good-by and tell me you can forget
MY
( She did not spea k.ass 5f,-., s4.st
q II 9 No!", he cried, wildly. nsnce you don't
forget 1t! have spoiled what might have
been pleasant memory for you. and know
it. You were already troubled, and ] have
added, and you won forget It, nor shall =.
nor shall ]! Don't say good-by-I can say
1T for both OF us. God bless you-and good
by, good by. good by! = 3s$5s s..j y
He crushed his hat down over his eyes and
ran toward the orchard gate. For mo-
ment lightning flashed repeatedly; she saw
him go out the gate and disappear into sud-
den darkness. He ran through the field and
came out on the road. Heaven and earth.
were revealed again for a dazzling white
second. From horizon to horizon rolled clouds
contorted like an illimitable field Of inverted
haystacks, and beneath them enormous VOL
umes Of pale yapor were tumbling in the
west advancing eastward with sinister swift
ness. She ran to "a little knoll at the corner,
of the house and saw him set his face to the
storm. She cried aloud to him with all her
strength and would have followed, but the
wind took the words out of her mouth and
| drive her back covering to- the shelter of
| the house. S ~ =, .,.E.@ .-sZa, @s rs4.
Out on the road the dust came lashing
and stinging him like Thousand 5nettles; 1t
| smothered him, and beat upon him SO that
| he covered his face with his sleeve and
fought into the storm shoulder foremost, dim
ly glad of its rage, scarcely conscious Of It,
| keeping westward on his way to nowhere.
| West OF east, south or north-it was all one
| to him. The few heavy, drops that fell boil
| ing into the dust ceased to come; the rain
| withheld while the wind kings rode on earth.
| On he went in spite of them. On and on,
| running blindly when he could run at all.
AT least, the wind kings were company. He
| had been SO long alone. He could remember
| no home that had ever been his since he was
| a little child, neither father nor mother, no
| one who belonged to him or to whom he be-
/ longed, except one cousin, an old man who
| was dead For day his dreams had found
| in a girls eyes the precious thing that is
called home-O, the wild fancy: He laughed
| aloud. s..H =, : - -, ~
I There was a startling answer; a lance of
! living fire hurled from the sky, irving the
! fields before his eyes, while crash on crash
Of artillery numbed his ears. With that his
! common-sense awake and he looked about
him. He was almost two miles from town
! the nearest house was the Briscoes', far down
| the road. He knew the rain would come
| now. There was big oak near him at the
roadside. He stepped under it's sheltering
branches and leaned against the great trunk,
wiping the perspiration and dust from his
! face. A moment Of stunned quiet had sue
I ceeded the peal Of thunder. 1t was followed
I by several moments of incessant lightning
that played along the road and danced in the
fields. From that intolerable brightness he
turned his head and saw, standing against
the fence five feet away, man, leaning over
the top rail and looking at him.
| (To be continued tomorrow