Danville intelligencer. [volume] (Danville, Pa.) 1859-1907, 1905-12-08
A STUPID
FELLOW
Ey EDITH M. DOANE
Copyright, 1905, by p. G. Eastment

The low, rambling farmhouse lately
purchased by the Rod and Gun club
lay glistening in the early morning
sunshine. Long shafts Of golden light
stretched across the leaf screened
porch. In the old fashioned garden at
one side huge pineys lifted heavy,
dewy heads. A robins song came from
the orchard, and over all brooded the
sweet silence of the Berkshire hills.
A mischievous little breeze strayed
around the corner of the clubhouse,
shook the dew from the lilacs, scatter
ed the pink petals of an almond bush
and with a sudden little puff tossed
the bright hair of the girl who stood
ON the clubhouse steps in the flood Of
sweet June sunshine, her eyes fixed on
the distant hills.
1.-The hills, rock ribbed and ancient
as the sum-" she murmured softly,
stretching out her arms with an i'm
pulsive little gesture. She dropped
them suddenly, u quick wave Of soft
color dyeing her cheeks as she en-
countered the admiring glance Of q
slender, dark eyed man who came
lazily toward her.
Invoking the poet of these hills?"
he said easily. by the way, what do
you say to a little pilgrimage to his
old home this afternoon? 1t must be
somewhere near here. Perhaps Eller-
ton will know" he went on, turning to
n tall, broad shouldered young fellow
who came toward them across the lawn
with long, easy strides. His rod, his
long wet boots and his mud streaked
clothing bore mute witness to his re-
cent occupation. At sight Of them he
snatched off his cap and waved aloft
an adder twig from which glistened
the body Of a good sized trout.
Three pounds IL he's an ounce, Miss
Blair" he called, flourishing the branch
triumphantly. 1.-THE old sinner! knew
I'd fetch him, and in time for your
breakfast, too," he went on eagerly.
She thanked him in her pretty, gra-
cious way, smiling into his happy, sun
burned face. and, still smiling, her eyes
followed the tall, strong figure as he
proudly bore his trophy through the
garden in search Of the cook.
Robert Underwood, leaning on the
scene impatiently.
poor dufferw he said aloud. "Pity
the fates didn't give the same careful
attention to his brains that they did to
his bank account"
The smile faded from the girls face.
Hardly the remark to expect from his
chief friend" she said coldly.
He colored with annoyance. "Oh, he's
a good fellow" he returned lightly.
Say, Billy" he demanded as Eller-
ton came again into view, "do you
know how far it is to Bryant's placer"
"Bryant" The blue eyes were dis
tinctly puzzled. what Bryant is that?
Not Tom Bryant on our team? didn't
know he had place near here"
'Never heard Of poet named Bry-
ant, suppose" Robert returned, with
a quick, amused glance at Kathleen,
whose eyes were again fixed on the
distant hills.
Billy's good humored face colored un-
der its coat of tan. "Oh, yes; the
"Thanatopsis' fellow. I'm afraid don't
know much about him." he went on,
with an embarrassed little laugh.
this afternoon-that is, IL I can find
anything to take her in," Underwood
continued, with calm assumption.
"Oh, I say, Miss Blair wanted to
take you q run over to- Billy stop
ped abruptly, his eyes fixed miserably
on the couple above. He saw Robert
Underwood's dark, alert face, the ten
der, troubled eyes Of the girl standing
sweet and gracious beside him, and in
sudden, unhappy fash Of comprehen-
sion he understood. And I imagined
she might care for such stupid fel-
low as l am," he thought bitterly.
'"Take my car. l shall not be using
it," he said shortly, and, plunging his
hands in his pockets, he turned alb
ruptly and walked slowly away over
the dew wet grass.
The automobile had been left at the
entrance of the quiet, elm shaded ave-
nue.. "It would be Dissertation" said
Kathleen, 'to bring it nearer" She
and Robert Underwood approached the
wide porch of the low, yellow house
the poet had loved.
Kathleen wandered happily through
the quaint, old fashioned rooms, exam
ined the funny little wooden cradle,
climbed delightedly to look from the
corner window where the boy poet sat
when he wrote his first verse. She
touched his favorite chair with rever-
ent fingers, stood with hushed awe in
the room where the great man had
died and fingered in the narrow path
leading to his daughters house, where,
between walls of birches which, like
slim, white sentinels, clasped leafy
protecting arms overhead, the poet had
made his daily pilgrimage Of love.
The hush of late afternoon lay over
hill and valley and long shadows flick
cred through the arching elms when
finally they turned from the old home
stead and drove slowly down the wind
ing road. Up and down hill, over
bridges spanning tumultuous brooks,
past grassy hollows yellow with dande-
lions. the car sped smoothly on, fol-
lowing the road in and out beside a
noisy little stream.
A sharp curve-a warning shrek
from the automobie-the wild plunge
of terrified horse-a woman's fright
ened scream!
"Quick! Jump! Oh, do help themw
cried Kathleen, springlng distractedly
to her feet. But Robert Underwood
sat motionless.
at is no use," he muttered, pale with
fright.
The horse plunged wildly toward the
itream. and. sick with horror, Kathleen
rlosed her eyes to shut out what must
follow.
Another frenzied call for help, an
answering cry, quick parting Of the
alder bushes fringing the opposite
bank, and familiar, mud streaked
figure, like young giants, plunged
knee deep into the stream.
A mOmQnt and ha had tho franRIod