Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-09-07

and set, the chill OF 1all increased perCept1DlN,
and the nights caught that still crispness of
air that seemed to render the trees of the
hills still and filled with vague, brooding
| resignation.
TT was on such an evening that the girl, un-
summoned and late, came down to the
porch of the hotel and looked yearningly at
the lake, the high divide beyond, and the
waiting night. She heard sound in the
recesses of the deserted reach of the veranda
and peered into the darkness, startled. She
took step toward the shadowy place. In
one of the chairs, with hands hanging open
by his sides, and with hat pulled down over
his brows, sat Jim. He looked up as she ap-
preached; but did not speak.
"Jim!" she called starting back, and then
again, "Jim!' as she moved toward him.
what is it," she asked. bending over him,
and he lifted himself in his chair
Nothing he said in a weary voice.
sNothing save that had hoped to see you
again before you left; yet dared not come
nor send for you. have been waiting, hop
ing that you would come, yet wishing that
YOU might not Please sit down"
She obeyed him, trembling with that pre-
science which is a woman's gift.
1T is over he said in dull voice ave
know it now-Hardpan and l. And was
fool! Day after day he tried to encourage
me. Day after day | hoped, and went on
thinking that the record Of fortune would
change. 1t didn't, Eve. The ground is al
most barren. 1t will barely pay to work.
They got it all, those old fellows who lived
and worked, who died or wandered
She saw his hands come up and clutch the
| arms of his chair.
Il had thought to be brave enough to take
my chance; but | couldn't see you 60 with
fl,a
| trail and lake I've crossed SO often since you
came
| She wondered at his words; yet sat silently.
Il can't say all | once hoped to say he
went on, and his fingers released themselves
| and beat nervous tattoo on the chair, hard
| and drumming as if they were unaccustomed
to any display of failure. Il shall not be
| weak enough to say it now. All | wanted
was to come to thank you for your kindness
| to me, for your encouragement. TOR the
broader view of life you have given me, for
the dreams. For the dreams, Eve! And
when you go tomorrow
His voice broke pitifully, and he hesitated
for word. Her hand slipped across i'm
pulsively, until it rested on his arm.
| Tomorrow? Who told you was leaving
| tomorrow" she asked: but in her voice,
despite its infection of inquiry, was another
| tone, a note distantlv sweet and tender,
which made him writhe for an instant with
suppressed longing, then face her.
"Hardpan. He told me he had heard that
you were leaving tomorrow, and that he
was disappointed because you had not come
to bid us goodby.'
| Her hand was recalled, and sought the
other where her fingers interlocked.
"He said he was sorry that he was too
tired to come over and give you our farewell.
| | was not too tired could not let YOU 60
without saying something. | had to come.
| She sat for a moment without answering,
and the shadows concealed a wistful, amused
smile which crept over her face, concealed
| the parting of her lips, the soft glow of her
eyes the sudden shade of determination and
happiness.
Possibly she said, che also told YOU that
Your fortunes were on the mend.
TIM sat up with quick, involuntary move
ment. and leaned toward her. "On the
mend? He did not tell me that. What do
YOU meano How"
She appeared disturbed embarrassed, and
at a loss for words. for the first time since
they had met. He leaned closer, intentlv
looking through the semidarkness at her face.
81 mean this, she said hesitantly: THAT
feared the ground might not pay SO well
as you had hoped and that, advised by