Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1913-11-29
" OF


records of rentals. Probably the land
was starved and run down. At any
rate in twenty years it would be over
grown with stubble."
Yet, whatever their condition, acres
| Of land were, after all, a tangible
hing, This lawyers firm might, in
stead, have sent him bundle Of beau.
tifully engraved certificates of stock in
some zinc-mine whose imaginary bot
tom had dropped out ten years ago.
Here was real property, in size, at least
a gentleman's domain, on which real
taxes had been paid during long
term-a sort Of hilarious consolation
prize, hurting to him out of the void
like the magic gift of the traditional
fairy god-mother.
Its an offset to the hall-bedroom
| idea, at any rate" he said to himself
humurously. 1T holds out an escape
from the noble army of rent-payers.
When my twenty-eight hundred Is
gone, I could live down there a landed
proprietor, and by the same mark an
honorary colonel, and raise the cab
bages was talking about-eh, Chum ?
while you stalk rabbits. How does
that strike your
He laughed whimsically. He. John
Valiant, OF New York, first-nighter at
| It's theaters, NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. in it's
club corridors and welcome diner at
any one Of a hundred brilliant glass
misunderstanding supper-tables. en-
tombed on the wreck Of Virginia
plantation, a would-be country gentle
man, on an automobile and next to
nothing year!
He bethought himself of the fallen
letter and possessed himself Of it
quickly. 1t lay with the superscription
side down. On it was written, in the
same hand which had addressed the
other envelop:
For my son, John Valiant,
When he reaches the age of
twenty-five.
That. then. had been written by his
father-and he had died nearly twenty
years ago! He broke the seal with a
strange feeling as If, walking in some
familiar thoroughfare, he had stumbled
on lichened and sunken tombstone.
when you read this, my son, you
will have come to mans estate. 1t la
curious to think that this black. black
ink may be faded to gray and this
white, white paper yellowed, just from
lying waiting so long. But strangest
of all is to think that you yourself
whose brown head hardly tops this
desk will be as tall q hCpe) as |!
How I wonder what you will lock
like then! And shall 1.-THE real. real
I, mean-be peernig over your strong
broad shoulder as you read? Who
knows Wise men have dreamed such
thing possible-and I am not a bit
wise.
John, you will not have forgotten
that you are Valiant. But you are
also Virginian. VIII you have dis
covered this for yourself Here is the
deed to the land where and my
father and his father, and many, many
more Valiants before them We're born.
Sometime, perhaps, you will know
why you are John Valiant of New
York instead of John Valiant Of
Damory court. can not tell you my
SELF because 1t Is too true a story, and
have forgotten how to tell any but
fairy tales, where everything happens
right, where the prince marries the
beautiful princess and they live hap
PLY together ever after
you may never care to live at
Damory court. Maybe the life you will
know so well by the time you read this
will have welded you to itself. If so.
we'll and good. Then leave the old
place to your son. But there Is such
thing as racial habit. and the call Of
blood And I know there is such a
thing, too, as fate. Every man car
ries his fate on a riband about his
neck; so the Moslem put it. It was
my fate to go away, and | know now
since distance is not made by miles
lalone-that I myself shall never see
Damory court again. But life is a
strange wheel that goes round and
round and comes back to the same
point again and again. And it may
be your fate to go back. Then perhaps
you will cry but (oh, not on the old
white bear's-skin rug-never again
with me holding your small, small
handy
wishing House! Wishing House!
Where are you
"And this old parchment deed will
answer
"'Here am, Master; here ann
"Ah, we are only children, after all.
playing out our plays. have had
many toys, but o John, John! The
ones I treasure most are all in the
lever-Never Land"