Lewiston evening teller. [volume] (Lewiston, Idaho) 1903-1911, 1907-10-03


had worked with feverish energy upon
the novel.
BE had taken little Elsie and had
crossed the continent with her that she
should be far removed from all who
might allude to her mother.
As they sat In the car, the child lost
In wonder at the constantly shifting
scene, he had planned the story, and
once he had made his new home he
had set to work.
All the bitterness of his heart he had
written into the book. 1t was the
plain tale of his own experience, told
with the simple directness of one who
reels deeply, except that into the last
chapter he had written an ending such
as he wished that she might suffer.
Almost gloatingly he drew the picture
of remorse and shame that followed
the desertion, and now reading 1t over
he shuddered at the evil picture his
own fierce desire had conjured up.
For years he had sought a theme
that should lead him to his great ac-
complishment. Agnes, too, had sought
to help him, but their lines had fallen
In the pleasant places, and he wrote
things that were salable, but not great,
Then she had left him for Tredgar. a
man who had done things, and his In
SEPARATION had come. He knew that he
had done well, that this book would
bring him fame and opportunity, and
ne smiled as he gathered the sheets to-
gether and prepared them for mailing.
He had kept in, touch with his east
ern connections, and Blauvelt, the pub
Usher, had asked for the first reading.
He was bent over the desk writing
the address when there came the pat
ter of bare feet across the uncarpeted
door, and he looked up from his work.
''What is it. daughter?" he asked as
he took the little nightgowned figure
In his lap.
II was lonesome" explained Elsie.
"You didn't come to kiss me good night
like you said you would, daddy. /
waited and waited and waited. Then
just had to come. Is you most done,
daddyT'
"An done, dear" he said, with an at.
fectionate pat on the package at his
elbow II was so interested that
even forgot my little Elsie"
"And it's going to make you a great
big manr she demanded. ITS going
to make you famous and happy, dad
dyT"
Famous and happy" he repeated.
'It's my great work, dear"
"I'm so glad" she whispered con-
tentedly, patting the pale cheek, vast
ed to thinnesS by his sorrow and alb
sorption in his work. "Some day when
get big girl. great big girl, I'll
read 1t and tell all the other girls that
my daddy wrote that great book, and
they'll all be mad because their papas
can't write books like my papa can"
Poindexter shivered and drew the
little form closer to him. Not once in
all these months had he thought of
that result. He had worked steadily
with one purpose-ot holding this wo-
man who had been his wife up to
shame. lie had given no thought to
the child. Not once had he realized
that there would come a day when
she would read with understanding
the story Of her mothers disgrace.
He had let her think that Agnes was
dead. Simple statement sufiiced the
childish mind, but the day would come
when perhaps the curtain might be
drawn aside. Some old friend from
the east might seek him out and unwit-
tingiy betr2y his secret to the girl. and
she would read with horror tie story