The Virginia enterprise. [volume] (Virginia, St. Louis County, Minn.) 1893-19??, 1911-04-14

artists had painted Natalie, in ball
gown, in street gown, with her spaniel,
in masquerade costume. Without
question, Natalie de Witt was a beau
tiful girl, but-and the man con-
demned himself even though he knew
his analysis was justihed-she was
great. beautiful, over-petted. over-fed
piece of animal femininity. She had
no spark Of her mothers cleverness,
no glimmer of her wit Her life had
been thought out for her from the be-
ginning, and she was too sapless a
thing to dream now of rebellion, too
lazy to do other than drift onward
with the current. If he asked her,
she would consent, and she was at
! least too inanimate a creature to in
terfere In later Nfa with any of his
dreams Why ask for more? II she
brought no inspiration, at least she
would bring no disturbing element.
There would be leisure and some
peace. Why ask for more?
O'Neill stood now upon his feet, de.
termined and quite done with argu-
ment. 1t was all so simple, so easy
and quite Inevitable. If he brought
the wit, the cleverness to the house
hold, she In turn would bring the
money, the tangible means Of ex-
1stence. II he brought the great
thoughts, the inspiration of genius,
she, on her side, would furnish the
leisure wherein to make good his
dreams. II he attracted the circle of
artists and poets, she would furnish,
as her mother before her, hospitality
and unstinted wealth, the allurements
of comfort and ease.
And yet, John O'Neill stood, mo-
t1onless as stone image, bound fast
amid the towering ferns and fra
grant orange trees. Why did he not
seek at once the famous beauty?
There could be no doubt as to her at
titude, loving laughter of a doting
mother. Why, then. fearing no re-
buff, did he not go at once and offer
her his hand and heart?
A little thing, quite insignificant
and beside the point, yet still bearing
on his early youth, held him. A tiny
letter, now resting next his heart,
redolent of old days and past, sweet
memories.
John, it is you that our mother
is speaking Of now. She is SO old,
John, and l, too 1t is the sight of
your face we both be wanting.
John, is it not strange that Rosie
will not marry the rich MacVey, for
all he courts her still and will not
go" that was part of it.
There was music now in the room
beyond-a violin and piano. following
one another, laughing, leaping and
romping, glittering on through mex
pressible mazes of technical splendor
The man listened, and gradually his
eyes hardened again, his brain the
master of his heart. Yes; he was
born to all this sort Of thing! 1t
was foolish, unutterably mad to dwell
on the long dead past. He would bury
| 1t all now, his life would swing on in
perfect harmony, effortless, brilliant
and we'll controlled He would write
his Aunt Katrine this very night, and
how proud they would be to hear of
this great match. He stepped for
ward to seek the girl beyond.
Then he paused again. A fresh,
young voice was raised, clear, pierre
ing in it's untrammeled sweetness. 1t
was a song now, dealing not at all
with trills, simple and unhampered in
it's sway-a song, real song. and
without aw!
when meadow larks would singing be
| in old Glentalr
Was one sweet lass with eyes Of blue
! and tangled golden hair.
For Irish eyes are fairy flax. no other
! eyes so blue.
Come nestle in my arm1 and swing upon
| the shoogy-shoo."
On through the verses, vibrant,
quivering and alive, and O'Neill bow
ed his head swaylng In the new found
realization of his old best self. OF
what use the splendor, of what use
the technic, of what use the beautiful
binding, If the book were empty with
in? Rosie, Rosie. His soul bowed
with the knowledge that for him there
was but one woman who through all
the years had found him worthy of
the waiting:
"Ah we'll. the world goes up and down.
| and some sweet day
| It's shoogy-shoo will swing US two where
signs will pass away.
| So nestle close your bOnny head and
| close your eyes Of blue,
| And swing with me and memory upon
| the shoogy-shoo."
"ONeilrs crazy" said the gossips of
the studio circle. "All he wanted to
work out his big drama was leisure
and little time. ONeill's crazy and
he was an idiot to run back to the old
country in that cratic madcap man
ner.'
"O'Neill's crazy" said little blue
eyed woman back in old Ireland.
"O'Neills crazy" But the manner Of
his madness, being a not uncommon
one, she laughed as she found her
bonny heart locked fast within the
shelter Of his arms