Montour American. (Danville, Pa.) 1866-1920, 1908-01-02

REMAINED.
had worked with feverish energy upon
the novel.
He 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
feels deeply except that into the last
chapter he had written an ending such
as he wished that she might suffer
Almost gloatinely he drew the picture
Of remcrse ana shame that followed
the descrtiOD. and now reading il over
he shuddered at the evil picture his
own fierce desire had coniured up.
For years he had sought n 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, Il
man who had done things, and his in
SpiratiOn had come. He knew that he
had done well, that this book would
bring him fame and opportunity, and
he 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
floor and he looked up from his work
"What is it, daughterf" he asked as
he took the little nightgowned figure
in his lap.
81 was lonesome" explained Elsie.
You didn't come to kiss me good night
like you said you would, daddy. l
waited and waited ana waited Then
l just had to come Is you most done.
daddy
"All done, dear" he said, with an af-
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 great
big man." she demanded IT'S going
to make You famous and happy. dad
dy?"
Famous and happy" he repeated.
ITS 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
sorpl.on in his work Some day when
get big girl, great big girl. I'll
"n92 II and .-all all the other girls that
my uauuy wrote tnat great DooK, ana
they'll all be mad because their papas
can't write books like my papa can
PoindcNter shiyerod ana 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-of holding this wO-
man who had been his wife mp to
shame. He 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 sufliced 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-
ungly betray his secret to the girl and
she would read with horror the story
OF her mothers fall painted in words
of bitterness sul IA as only wounded
pride and dead love can coniure She
would see her mothers soul in all it's
nakedness, and his would be the hand
that had thrown aside the garments
Of time and charity.
"Are you sleepy, daddyy Poindexter
reused himself.
Not a bit," he declared, what
makes you think that, daughterT
"You are so STILL" she explained,
"and you don't talk"
"Daddy's n little tired" he explain
ed.
'"Sr tvou a good night story p,
odded her head contentafL