Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1913-08-29
By CHARLES TENNEY JACKSON
Auhor Of Che Ds, Of Souls, nv B,olha. Keeper Etc
CHAPTER XVII
Tbe Backward Trail.

of loneliness took him the next evening
to the hills. 1t was the first day oil
September, and already veil Of haze
lay in the wooded little valleys, and
the far slopes had the first bronze OF
the ripening corn. Yet 1t was summer,
with a harvest moon drawing UP across
the river. round and full and golden. =
He wandered down old trails from
Eagle Point. Northward along the
bluff were glimpses Of the distant
Mississippi over the sycamores and
willow sloughs. He crossed the last
glade to the ridge over which was
Tanners quarry. Already through the
laurel and naples and young elms a
patch of the white sheer rock arose.
And on this point he stopped to look
down in the valley. From the quarry
bed the road ran on winding past the
fringy corn patches Of the Pocket
squatters. But all the unloveliness OF
their meager homes was hidden in the
shadow. and all the beauty OF the hill
beyond lay revealed by the moon, Har-
Ian had not been on the back trail for
-aore than a year. When he came to
the old familiar rock jutting over the
cliff he started to climb the last step
and then paused. Some one was be-
fore him, sitting where he had intend
ed to sit, looking as he had wished to
look out over the valley and the town.
And before he came out Of the
shadow he knew 1t was Aurelie Aure-
lie, who could not leave without one
visit to the home trail. She had not
been to Lindstrom's house. but tonight
she had ridden over from Earlville,
tied the livery mount at the Sinsinawa
creek bridge, and clambered up to
where she could look either way, to the
village or to her foster-father's place
below the quarry. Harlan watched her
long. She was mute, dry-eyed, very
still; but when, at length, he came out
and stood before her, curiously she did
not start
She moved slowly and looked up at
him. Her face had all that grave pur-
Ity of outline that belled alike her
temper and her humor.
TT Just seems" she murmured, las
II ] was to find you here"
He remembered now that she said she
was coming to the hills "But-I' never
thought of It, Aurelie. And yet"
He stopped and she sat forward TO-
see his face. yet you came. Oh, the
moonlight made me come, Harlan! Il
was restless acknowledgements ! re-
membersd such beautiful nights here.
Oh, very wonderful! september-like
this" She moved over with little
friendly gesture. "Sit down."
But he stood with his hand out to
the lichened rock above her.
She did not seem to notice his con-
straint when was a little ragged
kiddie, used to climb up here. AL
ways / loved 1t. Harlan"
But tell you." he answered quiet
ly, you came tonight because you re-
membered something else, Aurelie"
YES" she answered simply. "Our
nights. couldn't quite forget the last
one. The night you took me to your
mothers. Harlan" She laughed briefly.
And she tricked me-and ran away.
/ saw so clearly. just woke up that
night, Harlan"
"She didn't trick you, Aurelie. Moth
er couldn't"
"Oh, WE'LL" she smiled wisely. IF
you could realize how I've changed!
That night / was breathless before
her. She appealed to me-she wanted
me to let you go-to help you. Har-
Ian. thought 1t was fine that night
but tell you I paid! I did love you,
Harlan"
He watched her face in the moon
light Mother did something, knew.
] wasn't sure; but that wasn't what
hurt, Aurelie. 1t was afterward-your
going on the stage-in that way. Ev-
erything-hurt."
She made blithe pretense at e
grimace of mockery. "Oh, well-boy!
It's all different with you and me. II
was weak and silly girl to hang on
you and love you, and confuse you into
thinking that yoH loved me! And that
night i saw al the giFls of yoHr set
and the dancing and the music-it all
rushed over me-the difference She
smiled with tender mystery she
could not deny-he was amazed to-
find how immeasurably older she could
be in her womaphood-"I knew you'd
forget II made yon. And it seemed
fine If ] could make you" She smiled
on bFavely. "And I'm glad. We both
onght to be glad. My!"-she was
laughing now. We were both kids,
weren't we? Now know the world a
bit-Em a heap different. Done grow
ed up, Uncle Mich says. and he's scar
ed about It'll I'm going to be q real
lady sometime, and come back and
play in the tin opera -hopse-play in a
piece that hasn't so much shooting in
it-and youli be fat and prosperous
and married and bring your kiddies to
see me. And you'll be mighty glad.
Harlan, you never married that caiun
girl from down-river."
But he would not smile. In the
moonlight on the hillside, she had the
same defying gypsy charm as of OLD;
wilfnl, mocklng, humble, buoyant,
when she wished it. All the inevitable
vplgarian stamp of her upbringing was
vanished; and he felt the old pathos
for her-that what was dear and sim
pie in her he could find and save and
make his own. The rest would not
matter. He could not fathom how the
iRvineiple heritage Of his family, was
pow shamed before her gay proud
honesty, the sense of woodland free
dom from al the conventions of bis
sort. He wanted to be as honest as
she, as fearless as she, but he did not
know the way.
"Aprelie," he muttered be still You
know love you"
She was very still Fhe shadow Of
the rock was not more mute. Only her |