The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-12-04
LLOYD OSBOURNE
opyright, I0II. by tae Bobbs-MerrIn Company.

to see him on matter so secret that it could not be dfyulged except in pri- vate. Though posSibly-and here was an idea-he was again the victim of
 those newspaper lies, the ''Kanaka
 king and all the rest of it. He put
 his visitor out of his mind and settled
 back to dream of Miss Marshall with
 mingled torment and joy.
 They passed through a stone gate. way of massive and towering design that reared it's head like a mauso1eum in the lonely woods. The winding road led through more, and was so narrow that the trees met overhead and the air turned chill in the def1le below. It was very big place, the driver said miles and miles of it.. and he licked his whip in the direction of unintel- HgibIe local landmarks. It hadn't been worth taxes till the, wood pulp busi- ness began, and now even the stump
 age would bring all of $10 an acres 'tA stroke of luck for the general, wasn't it, what with pulp getting dearer every day-though he just let it lie like it was, and did nothing Thousands and thousands of dollars in wood pulp and stumpage and as good as money in the bank"
 Matt suffered under these reflections; it made him feel more of an intruder than ever. poorer and of less account Who was he to be driving through such unnum bered acres of wood pulp and daring to lift his eyes, however tim idly, to its owners daughter2 It -em4 phasized his presumption, and every tree became a new barrier, abhorrent to look upon. It was,in very crushed humor, indeed, that he approached the lawns and shrubberies the tortuous brick walks and at last the house itself "a stately old colonial structure, with that dignifed frontage of classic white columns so dear to our forefat11ers and so expressive of their lives and aspira- t1ons
 Matt descended dismissed the con veyance with the thrifty intention of walking home and turned to mount the wide, high steps. He was greeted at the top by Miss Marshall, who seemed to spring up from nowhere, smiling and radiant and bewitchfng to look at in her. boyish riding costume Her father and she had just got back-and, oh, so afraid that he might have been made to waft-papa having met long lost lovely friend in a teuf- -teuf and tiger coat and wanting to remain the rest of the week to talk to her. But they must go right ins or papa would be at the muff1ns and disgracing himself. Papa was terribly elemental about muffins. Amid this laughing cordiaHty Matt found himself being guided through a lofty hallway, lined with books and engravings, to a large low ceilfnged room, where the old general also in riding dress, was standing before a log fire and refrain1ng in the most ex- emplary manner from any premature onslaught on the tea table. This in spite of the fact that it stood tempt ingIy near by, gleaming with old silver and set about with red roses.
 What were Matt's sensations as he sat beside Miss Marshall on the sofa, balancing teacup on his knee and stealing little sidewise looks at her? The dtsma1est imaginable, it must be confessed. She was prettier than he had rem membered her-maddeningly pretty, and every mark of her consideration came as a fresh stab, as a fresh reali- za1on of the gulf between them.
 He was constrained; he knew he was not appearing at his best; he seemed to feel her artffices to draw him out, to overcome his awkwardness, to dis play him to some advantage before her father. But those old, profound eyes were not to be deceived and had the look of wondering at her trouble. An ex-ambassador could read a young man like a book-even while eating muffins and joking about tiger skin ladies in teuf-teufs. It appeared that a teuf-teuf was an automobile Matt's ignorance of the word seemed to stamp him as a boor. What misfortune he had never heard of it before. He made an anxious note of it for future occasions, and then 1t came over him with despair that there would be no future occasions. He would never see I Christine Marshall again. Thus eJto- gether daunted and depressed how hard 1t was to affect liveliness, to talk about the islands, to try to hide that grinding sense of failure.
 He hoped afterward that he had not talked too much about the islands. It was all he knew to talk about. Canni- bals, fighting, pearl diving and the bloody business of the bark Moroa-thfngs that people usually liked to hear, especially from a sur vivor of the last The general with a big laugh called him Captain Othello "a sally that induced Chris to repeat with a whimsical acceptance that made l Matt's heart beat: That it was strange, most passing strange; twas | nitifDL twas wondrous pitiful' '-cause 1