The Cooperstown courier. (Cooperstown, Griggs Co., N.D.) 1902-1913, 1905-08-31


love it more than Ralph? She hardly
knew-she was only conscious OF
sudden feeling of icy GOODNESS toward
him, and involuntarily she withdrew
her hand from its place on his char.
then turned and looked him In the
face. Surprising had written book
like that, Ralph?"
Il can't suppose anything SO abnor-
NAL, Margaret-women with minds
like you don't dig in mud.
But supposing had?" she persist
ed. feeling as though the decision Of
her very fate itself hung ON his an
swer.
81 should first ask you not to pub
lish it, said Ralph Merton very SLOW
ly. and
"And If refused?" interrupted Mar
garet. eagerly. "Supposing / were to
refuse your request"
Il should leave you, Margaret, ne
said quietly. Il should never marry 9
woman who wrote an unclean book.
should never trust her.
why not?" she asked, in genuine
amazement.
81 should feel she had either done
something bad or was capable of doing
something bad. 1t is woman's mission
to uplift men by her example In hel
life, and in her writings If she writes.
Aren't you q little hard and narrow,
Ralph?"
perhaps So" he answered, gravely.
Il dare say l am narrow, Margaret
according to an ordinary modern won.
ans creed-but my wife will have to
come up to my standard"
For a long time after Ralph Merton
had left the room Margaret sat quietly
looking into the fire. In one short hour
her whole point of view of life had
changed. She had thought her lover
would be proud of her success, and she
hoped he would even understand her
motive in writing her book. 1t was
even more outspoken, and dealt even
more deeply perhaps with the subject
of sin and passion than that Other
book of which he had spoken with
such contempt and open loathtng. II
was horrible to her to think that Ralph
would imagine she had used her sub
ject-the sad story of frield's mis-
fortunes an ignoble means OF a.
taining success and money.
Margaret realized as she sat there
with closely clasped hands, her heart
beating with heavy thud of nervous
excitement, that she had reached
crisis in her life. How much was thls
mans love worth to her, and what was
love when weighed in the balance
against her art? Two alternatives lay
before her. She must either give W
Ralph, or give up publishing he'
book.
She knew her aim had been single
and her desire quite pure; but Ralph
would never understand that, and
therefore she need not put his faith
and trust to such test. If she pub.
lished the story she knew he would
never marry her. To lose him would
be torture-and yet to lose her bool
would be torture, too. She sat there
torn flrst one way and then another
communing with herself-facing life
and pain and pride, she felt a bittel
sense of disappointment that amount
ed almost to despair. Gradually the
glowing freight died slowly down and
only the gray ashes gathered and gath.
cred until the last red glow began tc
fade, and still Margaret sat battling
nd hn
Shall l make the fire up for you
miss?"
mo. thanks, Mallam."
The maid waited. Its a chilly
night, miss, and it's raining. too
Shan't l bring few sticks in?"
Margaret stirred impatiently, wait
ed q moment, and then said in hel
usual gentle voice: Very we'll. thank
you-make it up if you like"
The maid left the room to fetch thu
| wood, and Margaret rose with slight
SILVER and crossed to the writing
table on which she had laid hel
precious proofs. Beside them stood
her lovers photograph. She took II
up and looked at it long and intently
1t was a frank and open face, and she
recalled with a throb of womanly
pride the blue eyes that grew SO ten
der when they looked at her and re
membered with . thrill of tenderness
the touch of the strong, warm hand
and the voice that had said to hel
only that very day:
my dear Margaret. may be . lit
tie narrow; but my wife will have t.
come up to my standard"
1t was a good standard-she recog
nized that-for it touched the higt
level that avoided "even the appear
ance of evil" and it was a standard
she might do well to reach not only
in his opinion of her, but in her life
and work. We each live in our OWL
isolated world of thought, and the
most bitter sacrifices we ever make
are those only known to our secret
selves. Margaret bent her head and
looked once more at her lovers photo.
graph. and then, with hand that
trembled almost uncontrollably. she
gently replaced It on her table. and
taking her proofs, crossed quickly tc
the fire. and, kneeling. tore them Leaf
by leaf and pressed them steadily into
the fame. Westminster Gazette.
WHEN THE BABY CONES ALONG
I thought twas fard-the toilin', the tide
a-pullin strong