Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1913-11-27
CHAPTER Iv.-(Continued.)

CHAPTER IV.-(Continued.)
He went OF gently. but troubled by
the tenseness of her face: only a
year. And the east isn't far, dear.
Only two days travel or sol"
Inc east was an unknown splendor
TO her. 1t looked too critically, with
the cool measuring of his mother, the
same reserve she had seen at times
IN his WI eyes. And she-she was
at his feet. She took his arm and put
IT about her and looked down at the
front OF her simple little gown. Il don't
know what I'll do. I was only going to
school because Of you, Harlan. l hate
1ea o nigd foT you Won't have t amd %na
he's hurt, and his wife's no good-just
worn out. and the boys are too little to
help. Sometimes I think 1 ought to
work-perhaps clerk at Dickinson's
grocery"
He smiled at the Idea Of Aurelia, the
wild hawk. %clerking! She would not
stand it a day. Then he WINGED. He
thought of Elsie, the grocer's daughter.
and her amiable patronizing Of the
town girls who worked there; of his
mother giving her orders of a morning
from the surrey to some young woman
who brought out q scoopful Of sugar
for inspection and apologized for a de-
lay. Aurelia-she would throw 1t into
the customers face II h fancted a
slight!
She read his thoughts. you think I
couldn't, don't you? oh. boy, l could
for you! You hold me from being
rebellious and ridiculous. l could just
do anything for you-run away with
you, or go to work-just ~anything!"
He felt her trembling in his arms.
Sometimes, Aurelie. I think we ought
to go down to the house and make a
clean breast of 1t. Tell them every
thing-that / love you, dear!"
Her voice choked with gratefulness-
dimly she could feel what a sacrifice he
was making. But now the prospect
frightened her. ooh, no-not yet. Your
father-he'd hate me. now!'"
Hate you? Why, Aurelie, he'd help
at the bank-keeping books or some
thing. But o can't keep books.
You're all lfghtness and temper and
lovableness-you'd have to have the
outdoors. or you'd not live. But If you
did have a place that would pave the
way for you'-he hesitated, wondering
how to say it and not hurt her absurd
price-"raise you, so hat some day
people would sort of forget!"
'Forget?"
Where you came from, dear. Down
the river with Old Michigan-and that
o haven't ever a name except a Dor
rowed n from Lindstrom." He
laughed to smooth it over-"oh, but
it's funny! You're a wild hawk. Au-
relic. I remember when you used to
come into town with Knute to sell rab-
bits, and the coolest winter day you
always had a bit Of bright leaf stuck
somewhere about you-like an Indian
girl! 1 thought you were at first. Then
I forgot all about you and went away
to college, and when I next heard you
were in high school; and then this year
I met you in the hills, here"
And made me love you, Harlan. Oh,
It wasn't right-it wasn't right"
Then, in the way of all men n all
lovers, he laughingly kissed and COM
forted her. They went down a moon
filled glen and up a slope, and there
tower white as silver above the robing
trees. S%insinawa was tinkling down
from the highland at their feet, and
across it a trail lay to the first street
at the foot of the bluff. In a window
OF a cottage tucked at the foot Of the
he knew it was Wiley Curran idling
over his editorials, for the graceless
renegade Of Rome had q way Of turn
ing night into day and writing or vast
ing hours when decent folk were all
abed.
about to leave her at this accustomed
parting place, she chung to him, sud
denly whispering: Take me with you
oh, take me with you'll I can't let you
go-oh, I can't!"
She held so tightly to him that he
could not go II he had tried, and after
long vain comforting, murmuring to
her all he had said a hundred times,
he slowly unfolded her arms and looked
down at her i%ntently. A sense Of her
great loneliness without him., without
her school, without the bit Of aspira-
l H.. 49, ~ ha0a oho had NNfno
to find, touched him as 1t had never
done before.
"Aurelie," he muttered, II can't do
that-you know I can't. l must finish
school and buck into work. Before L
I-marry you" he blurted tenderly.
but you ought to have a place-some-
ing dear! And I'm going to take you
to mother and tell her ALL"
She looked up frightened at his stub
born face. "No-no-wait!"
.First I'll tell Wiley Curran. You
know that editor? He's my best friend
here-the only one ! care about parti-
things of this sort-he could look at
1t right and honestly. without any
foolishness about my family and that
kind Of thing. Dear, We'll go tell Will
ey, and If he says to tell mother and
father, we'll do it-and have the whole
I1dLCoT OuL. -I1o CllS0 Oot oJVoSiy
brave with the hazard Of it. He felt
suddenly a man going out to a mans
world and work. knowing that he left
her with the honor of his faith; and
this brave knowledge was worth all
the miserable travesties of good FORM
the SNUG and easy conventions of his
set. These were we'll enough for old
women to fiddle over. but they were
not for youth, nor love. nor the glory
of this first protecting manhood and