The Monticellonian., 1903-11-12

that it YVES the tall pines and the starr ttooping over them that awoke those mystic vearnings; that it was the
 moonlight and the quiet that sent him of into those long. long reveries wherein the big things dwindled ard shrank and 1t seemed good just to live on in silence at peace with all human kind. Yea. truly, he thought it was all a case of atmosphere, the poor artist Little dreaming that it would have been the same in Broadway or Boston had the incorrigible angel been there, Like most men he shrank from analyz- ing his emotions. But, Aspasi. the in- corrigible angel. analysed them for him. An. mais oui Her eyes danced when she beheld NJ le artiste smoking with his eyes on vacancy, and her lips quivered with suppressed smiles when he stammered over the request to be allowed to chop her kindling.
 Alas, he was better fitted to draw ] pictures than to chop kindling, le paul ! vre artist, with his long, slim fingers. As Aspasi watched him she seemed to see in contrast blue flannel shirt straining over straight shoulders while keen ax flashed up and down with 1 poetical precision. But who would have suspected that she saw such viz sions, the deer-eyed maiden, as she heaped the chips in her apron with shy:
 T tank you, sir"
 Hein! It is the poets that tell us the woods is the place to see visions and dream drnan Nni1a ci xu many visions: of broad shoulders. as we have said; of fearless black eyes when she looked at the artists gold-rimmed glasses; of swift. strong strides when she watched the artists strolling steps; of baek-fung head and laughing lips while she responded to the artists well-bred smile. An, mon ami. beside the machinemade man she kept seeing the man primitive with the beauty of a sun god and the bravery of dumb beast-and she could not comprehend culture But, yet; it was fun to have man who wore store clothes every day for beau. It made the other girls si jaloux.
 And then the edge came up to the artist, sharp and keen. It was a letter that did it. A cold. typewriter, dic- tated ten lines. Hein, that this fugi- tive from a hustling world center" should have found it's way into that delicious land of dreams and visionsi An offer which if accepted meant a cool thousand or so-and prospects; but which, if rejected or even ne- gleeted, was as door slammed in the face of success.
 The artist walked the night away. How could he go and leave her. his ineorrgible angel? But how could he take her with him? In that hot-house atmosphere would she not droop and An. he had meant to give it all up for her. To have cottage on a hillside with flowers blooming about the door. and now And now the incongruity of it all struck chill to his heart. Broadway and this beautiful child. Poor little incorrigibie angel And he had deliberately taught her to love him-had wooed her wistfully. think ing of that home upon the hill that was not to be. Must he go away in silence? All the manhood culture had left with him rose in protest. At the thought of those beautiful eyes darken- ing with pain and those perfect lips dropping in sorrowful patience his heart began to hurt him. He did love her She fascinated his fancy. An, she appealed to his tenderness-a ten- derness he had not before suspected. Dear little incorrigible angel She would be pitifuliy corrigible taken away from the hills and the sunshine that were as the very breath to her. But ne must do it. Must take her away and train her to be proper partner for his prospects He was man enough to give small thought as to what his friends would say, and before morning even man enough to rise above the crushing inconvenience of this unexpeeted expense. The day wore to evening and, eh bien, it was bigger man than the artist had ever planned to be that sat down beside his host when that host had eaten his supper and washed his feet and was feeling at peace with himself and Heaven. Very honestly he told this honest man what was in his heart and thought, and his host, being slow-tallling as we'll as honest said, refectively:
 "Yas?" He smoked a cigarette and added: "Yas; das one beeg ting, ed'- cation I ain't had none, me. But, I know Vas; das one beeg ting" And then. unexpectedly. "Ou est-elle donc Aspasi. Aspasi. vien. chere."
 In mingled French and English he told her of the artists intentions to- ward her and Aspasi sat with demurely lowered lashes. As he watched her color quicken the artist felt his heart begin to swell He was doing a noble thing-and how was he to know that those divine blushes were for a dark eyed boy beyond the bayou who could do his own love-making The old man summed up gently:
 Its fo' you to say. chere. But me, tink vas.
 The incorrigible angel raised her lashes and swept the artist single swift glance of still disdain.
 But me" she said. "I t'ink no"