Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-02-21
CHAPTER 7,
Frances.


true Fields of the Cloth of Gold, in which
blue blouses swung and swayed. and
scythes flashed circlewise in the high, bold
sunshine.
1t was thus that he first saw her, blue
and white among the gold, and ever after
in his heart of hearts he called her like
the others. "FIower-o' the-Corn." Common
folk in England called the gay, laughing,
defiant bloom, "Cornfower- In France
little Children leap up and shout aloud,
"Bluet! Bluet!' when they catch sight of
it. or 1t is precious thing to them.
And Maurice Raith, who, in answering my
lords letters, had genius for finding the
right word, knew at once that for this girl
whom he met among the broom there was
no other name possible but just Flower
o'-the-Corn." So Flower-o'- the Corn she
was till time grew old.
Flower -the-Corn stood up, her hands
clasped lightly behind her. There was
bunch of blossoms between them which she
had Just gathered, and she stopped short in
the song she was singing-as bird sends
out the gladness of it's heart and the vivid
brevity of life. Maurice thought that he
had never seen so fair a thng-no, not in
the dreams of the night.
Yet nothing was less in the mind of Maui
rice Raith than maidens fair or maidens
Flemish, as he strolled out into the coEn-
fields to cool his brain after toiling all the
morning writing the dukes letters and lis
tening with one ear to the great captain S
advice. For my Lord Marlborough had
taken a fancy to the young man, and so
for the most part kept him hard at work,
while he permitted the gold-barred orna-
mertalS of his staff to disport themselves
in Brussels. along the shady side of the
Ciraude Place, or to ogle the maids of the
city under the lacework turrets of the town
hall.
So 1t CHANGED that in field a mile or
two beyond the limits of the camp, Maurice
Raith, sauntering heart free. suddenly heard
as 1t were the carolng of bird The road
in which he stood was sunk a little below
the surrounding fields. as is the wont of the
provinces of Ardennes. Here 1t was that
he heard the sweet Tilt of a girls voice
singing as If to herself
And at the sound Maurice Sprang at the
steep face of the bank as he would have
done at an intrenchment. With one i'm
petuous movement he burst through the
broom, and 10! he stood stone-stricken in
sudden amazement, for Flower-o' -the-Corn
had come into his life, and he could never
be the same man any more.
For indeed she was like a flower. She
had the dewy freshness, the Iissome side
sway. the dash of vivid color (Which was
her MOUTH of some tall poppy or pome-
granate flower seen under bright sky.
Yet there was nothing coquettish about
Flower-o the-Corn-a serene sweetness and
simplicity rather eminently virginia.. She
had eyes that varied from dark hazel to
sapphire blue, and from azure back again
to mysterious sea-vioet, according to the
sky that shone above them and the mood
that moved behind them. But her mouth
was her greatest beauty. Not at all re-
poseful mouth. it was rather one constantly
fitting from expression to expression, plead
ing. petulant, disdainful. forgiving-au In
the compass of twenty seconds.
And when she smiled (Which upon the
present occasion she did at his DISCONTINUED
a1,;,
April cloud. She wore a rough country hat
Of naturally coiored straw on her head, set
trifie saucily, and her hair beneath 1t
was Of the color of the ruddy parts Of In
dian corn, with quick wilful lights of red
gold and darker shadows Of nut-brown run
ming through 1t. Flower-o -the-Corn was
not tail, but she gave the impression Of
tallness Slenuer, graceful, dainty, will
low by the water courses, a 1issome
stemmed white My that had somehow
blushed rose red
Ne pen could write down, no tongue could
express the peculiar and invincible charm
of Mistress Frances Wildwood, sole daugh-
ter of Mr.. Patrick Wildwood, chaplain to
Ardmillan's regiment, in the service of the
Queen of Great Britain. France and Ire
land.
What is your name?"
Frances! And yours%
"Maurice!"
There was pause as they looked at each
other blushing with beautiful unanimity.
Surnames were not asked for. somehow,
Flower-o'the-Corn fingered a saffron-and-
purple marguerite. pulling the petals slow
ly from their center pincushion. The two
had turned instinctively and were walking
down the slope away from the camp.
Frances could not tell why, nor indeed she
did not know of it till afterward. Maurice
and searched his empty brain for something
to say. His easy usual volubility had
strangely deserted him. He felt that a COM
pliment would seem incredibly empty even
before II was uttered
Yet at last he found words.
els it safe he said, softly, that you
should wander thus far from the camp,
and alone?'
He seemed to have the right to inquire
A certain brotherly instinct stirred within
him, mixed with something else-the intui-
lively superior attitude of the untrammeled
male whenever 1t becomes protective.
THE camp is dangerous" he went on,
with some eagerness-''the new levies-the
Hadeners-the wild tribesmen from the
edge of Syria
She cut him short.
DO you know Ardmillan's regiment?
she asked. sweetfy enough.
Know t?' he smiled back at her, IAN
a Scot and not know Ardmillan's regimentT
Then you will understand this Also" she
said. God pity him that NEEDLES with
Frances Wildwood to her hurt"
That may be true" he persisted. ''but the
evil might be done-done quickly, and ven-
geance afterward Is but poor thing. You
must take care-I pray you bide nearer
home. In these stormy times"
Then we had better turn now" she in
terrupted "for We are walking away from
the camp"
But you are under my escort-I am the
generals aida fellow countryman-in fact,
Maurice Raithr'
The young man was at that age when
his own name seemed a passport to him.
In spite of his experience he still took him
self very seriously.
MY friend" she said. neither does my
m m W. nHaT nit fl,a
weapons of the flesh. And some skill to use
them
She slid her hand behind her. and 10, as
In a conjuring trick. there were a brace of
pistols in her pretty little hands. In a
moment she had returned them. She bent
slightly, seemed to touch her ankle, and a
"skean dhu' glittered between her fingers
'Wil that dor she smiled up at him,
still STOPPING a little, cor must produce
battery of artillery? Say the word sir.
/ am a battalion of infantry. a squadron of
cavalry and park of artillery all In one"
You are very silly girl" said Maurice
sententiously and with the Hottest kind of
disdain. for he felt that he was being
played with. and did not like 1t.
Then, she turned away at right angles,
you are much too grand a person to
waste your time in talking to silly girls I
wish you a good afternoon! I will show
you 1t was true about the cavalry at any
rater'