The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1906-12-27

ever had before. He went to Paris,
where he pitched deep into work to
try to forget the maiden, but thoughts
OF her would creep in in spite of
himself, and sometimes her image, a
!; laughing, haunting image, would steal
in between him and his canvas, and
then he would have to give up
work for that day. It was no use.
He would 80 out on the streets and
walk and walk and walk, trying to
wonder if the maiden's answer was
days together, conjuring up her looks
to see if he could not again read in her
eyes and find something there that he
wanted. He wrote her long letters tell
ing her great many things that were
not always kind. Some of the letters
he sent across the ocean to her; others
he tore up and tried to forget. But
there were only three letters from her
in all the four years he was gone, and
they all came on Christmas eve. Long
friendly letters they were, just like the
chats they used to have, but with no
sign Of the thing he wanted her to
write above all else. The stupid artist
worked SO hard that he could hardly
help winning some shadowy success in
all that time. There was a picture or
two in the salon; his instructors grew
encouraging; there was line now and
then in the papers, all Of which puffed
him up nightly because he vainly
hoped they might make some difference
with the maiden.
"When four years had passed the
artist thought he might return to his
home in New York and start his work
there. He told himself over and over
again that he was going home to the
maiden, and his heart beat absurdly
with hope of seeing her and then sank
heavily again at thought of the change
the years might have made, of the es-
arrangement they might have brought.
During the time he had been away she
had written many stories and had final
~ convinced the editors Of their worth.
He saw her name in the contents of
number Of magazines. The old days
were changed. He would no longer find
her in the cheap boarding house. If
she sent him away three years before,
she probably had almost forgotten him
In all this time, but the thought of the
Christmas letters spurred him to write
to her and tell her Of his return. He
would reach New York the day before
Christmas, the anniversary of his leav-
ing. Would she meet him that evening
at half past 6 in the little restaurant?
He would wait for her at their same
table in the corner, and they would talk
over old times. The artist arrived in
New York on the day he expected, and
all afternoon he wandered about, wait
ing for the hour Of their engagement,
yet half dreading it for fear she should
not come. But the good fairy waved
her wand for him this time, for the
maiden really came, and she Is just the
same, dear, sweet maiden as in the old
days, only the shabby clothes are re-
placed by new, well cut things, and
there is a quiet air of prosperity about
her. She looks just little older, per-
haps, and the eyes are a trifle more
serious, but they are the same tender,
splendid eyes, rejecting a big, sweet
soul. The two talked over many
things, but all the time the artist has
searched the maiden's eyes to see if he
could find there, any sign of what he
has longed for all these years, diff
ferent answer to the question he put
to her four years ago. He Is eager to
offer again to make home for her and
20 spend his life trying to make her the
happiest woman in all the world"
He looked over at the girl. cit is for
you to end the story" he said quietly.
Her cheeks were flushed, and she