Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1904-10-17
HER HERO
BY LILLIAN c. PASCHAL
Copyright, .9O4, by Lillian c. Paschal
BY LILLIAN c. PASCHAL

There aren't any heroes nowadays,
nee my own celibacy."
Nell was nineteen. II want a real
an, one that can do things"
This with lofty scorn and curl Of
Pr red lips as she thrummed her gui-
in the light of the campfire There
hd been light scud of snow during
pc day, and the air was chill. though
was August, but Yellowstone park
no respecter Of calendars.
Il can do one thing, love the most
Rntalizing little witch that ever walked
il over a mans heart"
Jack Stanley sprawled on the thick
arpet Of pine needles at her feet,
lanced up half pleadingly, half quiz
ically into the pouting face of the
mall autocrat of the camp. "Why
Won't you marry me? Your father
wishes it. l have enough
Yes, l know" she interrupted has
lily. You have all the ordinary re
luirements-wealth, position, good
ooks, family" checking them off with
her pink fingers, land | suppose a rea-
onable amount of brains, though in
bur way of living they are needed so
little that She paused suggestively.
well, then, what's the trouble? You
haven't yet said the only thing that
Eyill send me away like the other fell
Ows-that you don't love me-dear
AS for the hero business. and all that
rot
ut isn't rot" exclaimed Nell indig-
nantly. Il know you think me school
girl sentimental. I'm not It's just
this: You men when you aren't impos,
sible are all so much alike these days
can't differentiate. You're like your
ugly black clothes, all cut by the
same pattern and apparently from the
same cloth. How can a woman single
out one of you and feel that he is the
one above all others to love and to
|cling to in sickness and in health -
Till death us do part" he finished
low.
why don't you do something to
make me love you? l want to. l
can't" She stamped her little noun
tain climbing boot hotly. I'VE don't
get at the realness of life. A true,
primitive instinct is unknown to us
all. Even our pretended rOughing it
for the novelty of the thing is an ar
tificial sham. We come in a special
train Our tents are filled with hair
mattresses, down quilts and NavajOes.
You must have a French valet to dress
You each morning in that brave khaki
suit of yours, which never saw real
service and never will. My tailored
short skirt came from Paris and is
silk lined. Do you know my grand
father went over that old Mormon
trail down yonder ~ the south with
an OK team? And my grandmother
walked beside it most of the way
j I'd like to marry a real pioneer, a true
history maker. That's the kind of
man l could love. He'd be a hero to
me if he didn't have a dollar and had
never heard of the twOStep."
Nell held her flushed checks and
shining eyes for one intoxicating in
slant up close to his own, then turned
like a flash and ran back among the
white cleaning tents to her own lux.
urious quarters, where a sleepy maid
waited her coming.
The man picked up her guitar and
held it lovingly like a child in his
arms. 1t was hers, and he loved il
for her sake. He knew he could fee
all the primitive instincts'-the long
ing for wife and child and the warmth
of a home fire instead of the colC
.splendor of his club-but how max
Nell see it and respond to it?
Long he sat there by the ashenin
.embers. while the tall, stately pine
tossed their fragrant censers and II
toned their mOurnful chant above, an
the cold moon lit up, one by one, tn
ghostly pillars of steam which roS
day and night from the geysers an
vent holes in the Fire Hole basin b,
low.
A huge black bulk came lumberin
from the deep shadows back Of Il
Camp and skulked near the commi
sary tent. whence presently rose
sound of falling tinware and the o
iurgations of the French chef as bru
ambled away with paws and jaw
sticking full of the tOothsome co
tents of the butter tub.
AS bruins sticky footballs padd
heavily down the slope a slow 81
overspread Jack Stanley's face. /
stood up and blew an airy kiss to I
smiling moon.
"She wants q real man, eh? we
sweet Mistress Nell has always II
what she wanted, and she mustn't
disappointed in little matter OF N
bandsr'
He called a servant to put out I
fire, tucked the guitar under his a
and strobe off to his tent, where
slept the dreamless slumber of g
eral whose maneuvers are all plann
The next evening they were
grouped about the campfire, which b
been replenished, mountain FASH
with whole logs drawn and STACK
across its first kindling flame by
taem of horses. The little party. CHI