Smyrna times., 1905-12-13
AnSosne's
Marie
BY Vireinia Leila Wentz
Copyright, 1905, By X. H. Whtteneod

One august morning, with his HIGH
leather leggings. his easy costume bis
hshlng basket and tackle. Paul RIo,,o
strode along through the dew wet Cana
uian grass. He knew of a certain deem
hollow in the brook which on sucb a
gray moist day as this would ha +ba
haunt of juicy trout, and for the sheer
JOY OF expectation he whistled For
equal to Blakes love for the art of
painting was his love for the snort op
hshing. He was not only enjoying his
summer gathering French Canadian
landscapes; he was reveling in his fa-
vorite sport as well.
After an hour of successful fishino in
the quiet spot which he had selected
he spied a splendid trout tucked cozilv
under stone. But it was written in
the book of fate that this fish and tbe
Trying pan should not lightly be
Drought together. Fly after. fiv was
thrown in vain. Down through tho
crystal clear water he could see the
sleek sides and the round, unspecula-
i've eye of his intended victim. and he
resolved to try the method of tickling
50 he undid his sleeve links. barred
his arm and knelt upon the lichens
clinging with one hand to an overhang-
ing birch. He was dipping cautiously
toward the water when there in the
pool Defore him, close to the reflection
OF his own, flashed another face.
1t was q girls face, and in its un-
usual loneliness it lay, for a second like
some magic picture. The next second
Blake observed with thrill that the
vision was being changed by the cur
rent and that his own blond curls were
made to trespass gently over the girls
dark ones. Then while he gazed at the
reflection with Narcissus-like intent
ness the other face vanished as sudden
ly as it had come
Springing to his feet, Blake perceived
the bent trunk of an alder which pro-
jected across the stream from the top
of the bank above, and he knew that
the girl must have been leaning over
the trunk from that higher bank, uncon-
scious of his presence, until, like
startled deer, she fled
'She was like one of Murillo's gypsy
eyed MadOnnasw he exclaimed. And,
though he went ON for awhile longer
with his trout fishing, the sport seemed
to have lost bit of flavor.
The next day Paul Blake drew up his
horse before the kitchen door of a
whitewashed farmhouse, and Antoine
Martin rose to greet him.
"Bienvenue, msieu," said he, with old
French hospitality. "And will m'sieu
dismount?"
Blake did dismOunt, and as he stood
in the wide doorway he tried to ac-
count for his presence. He was a
painter, forsooth, and doing this section
of Canada. He had already collected
a good many views, but among them
all there was not one more wonderful
than tnat which could be obtained from
the level plateau on which Antoine's
farm stood. 1t was as If the hills had
here withdrawn to leave an arena for
some great spectacle, some ancient
savage pageant. Might he, therefore,
be permitted to fetch his easel and
palette and to put upon canvas the har-
mony and beauty of it all?
Blake saw the 1.-THE figure of a girl
sitting opposite to him, her arms upon
the table, her dimpled face with the
AIurillo eyes framed in both hands. her
scarlet lips parted in breathless listen
ing. hanging upon his words. All, luck
was with him. to be sure. If he had
lost the trout yesterday he had found
the girl today.
Come here, cherie." said old Antoine
10 the girl. and to the stranger, my
d, niece, Marie"
"But, you little water sprite, you lit
tie Undine. however did you get youl
face so mixed up with mine that day