Waterbury Democrat., 1902-11-29

EJream 1JSeIfG
The girl nodded brightly. ssYes, 4
she said, "you can take the trail
through the tamaracks. It begins
just here" Then the girl turned her
attention once more to the brown
thrasher, who gave symptoms of be-
ing willing to start his solo again.
Schuyler thanked the girl courte-
ously and after reeling in his line
started along the trail Indicated
When he reached his friend James
Payson's lodge the first thing he said
was: Jim, in the name of all that's
lovely who is your sunbonneted
neighbor with voice like bubbling
spring and eyes like those of the
girls in old Herrick's poems ?''
Jim Payson laughed. "You must
have run across old Cheney's daugh-
ter. He has four or five hundred
rocky acres with little house on
them. Mary is his only daughter and
he put her through Vassar and made
quite a lady of her. She is a beauty
and no mistake. Hit you first time,
Ell, old man?"
Scluyler coIored a. little and said:
Well, not exactly hit, Jim. | must
not be hit, you know, but the girl il
attractive and no mistake"
That ewing Jim Payson asked his
guest if he wouldn't like tokyo over
and call on old Cheney. There was
no hesitancy in falling in with the
proposal. They found old Cheney on
the porch smoking his pipe. He was
a white-haired old fellow of the far
mer type, and while he admitted 1t
was hard wringing crops from the
stony Catskill slope, yet he said he
wouldn't give up his mountain side
with it's air and it's scenery for the
best valley land on the continent.
Then George Schuyler met Mary
Cheney. James Payson did the intro
ducing. Schuyler found this noun
tain flower all that he had expected
from the glimpse that he had caught
of it's beauty in the morning. The
girl was refinement itself, and as
Schuyler looked at the old fellow sit
ting in the porch corner putting con-
tentedly at his corncob pipe he won
dered how this slip could have come
from such a parent stem.
Well, it's bitter to make it short.
George Schuyler stayed week and
then fingered for two more. He wrote
to New York that he was enjoying
the fishing So he was for about an
hour every morning. One day he
brought himself up with a round
turn. He thought of his duty to
Helen Ganzevoort. 49,. .e-
He knew in his heart that he loved
this girl of the mountain side who
had a voice like one of the >veeries
that sang every day at sunset.
That night he went to Mary Cheney
and told her all. He knew somehow
that the girl had grown to love him
as he had grown to love her. They
stood on the porch looking down
onto the far-off valley. Ii was twi-
light and the veeries and the vesper
sparrows We're singing everywhere
He told her of his Childhood en-
gagement to Helen Ganzevoort. 81
Lave not seen her since she was II
years DID," he said. "She cares moth.
ing for me; she cannot. She doesn't
even know me. The whole thing was
q bit of parental foolishness, but
there is the question of my duty.
shall leave for New York the day af-
ter tomorrow. I will see Helen, and
upon what she says and does depends
all. I may have done wrong, Mary,
in lingering here, but L loved you, and
let that fact plead for me-" He left
her standing there just as the last
bird voices of the day were hushed
and the whippoorwill took up his
/ nightly chant.
Two days later George Schuyler
stood in a Fifth avenue drawing
room waiting for the coming of
Helen as he had last known her nine
years before as child. The eyes
seemed to look at him a bit reproach-
fully. ~ @
There was light step behind him.
He turned quickly. For moment he
felt frozen, then the blood went
through him like a torrent. In front
of him in evening dress stood the girl
whom but 48 hours before he had left
on the mountain side. MARY" he
said.
Something like smile came into
the, girls face. ''Not Mary, George"
she said, ''but Helen" George Schuy-
ler's mind was befogged. II don't
understand" he stammered.
cts easily enough understood,
George" she laughed. You didn't
suppose for a moment, did you, that
wished to marry man I never had
seen and who knew was to marry
me from sheer force of duty? Your
mother told me you were going to
stop at the Beaverkill to fish, and Mr..
Payson, who is an old family friend,
and Giles, who is an old family SER
want, and who, by the way, made a
good farmer, did the rest"
Helen, what do you think of me 2"
II think, George, that you fell in
love with me for what | am, and
smiling II think shall have to take
you for what you are. Chicago Rec
ord-Hera