The Lamar register. [volume] (Lamar, Colo.) 1889-1952, 1914-01-28
Illustrated BY Laure. stsst

had died.
John Valiant, minor, the son Of
the former owner.
There are few indeed who do not
recall the tragedy with which in the
public mind the estate is connected.
The fact, moreover, that this old home
stead has been left in its present state
(for, as is well known, the house has
remained with all its contents and fur
nishings untouched) to rest during 30
long a term of years unoccupied. could
not, of course, fail to be commented
on, and this circumstance alone has
perhaps tended to keep alive q melan-
choly story which may we'll be for
gotten"
He read the elaborate, rather stilted
phraseology in the twenty-year-old pa
per with a wondering interest. An
old house." he unused, with a bad
name. Probably he couldn't sell 1t.
and maybe nobody would ever live In
1t. That would explain why 1t re-
NAMED 80 long unoccupied-whyth there
are no records of rentals. Probably
the land was starved and run down.
Its an Offset to the hall-bedroom
idea. at any rate" he said to himself
humorously. 1T holds out an escape
from the noble army of rent-payers.
When my twenty-eight hundred is
gone, 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
its theaters, hailfellow-well-met In its
club corridors and welcome diner at
any one of q hundred brilliant glass
MISUNDERSTANDING supper tables. en-
tombed on the wreck of a Virginia
plantation, q would-be country gentle
man, on an automobile and next to
nothing a year!
He bethought himself Of tho fallen
letter and possessed himself Of 1t
quickly. It lay with the superscrip-
ton side down. On 1t was written, In
the same hand which had addressed
the other envelope:
For my son, John Valiant,
When he reaches the age Of twenty
I'VE.
That, then, had been written by his
father-and he had died nearly twenty
years ago! He broke the seal with
strange feeling as if. walking in some
familiar thoroughfare. he had STUN
bled on . ichened and sunken tomb
stone.
When you read this, my son, you
will have come to mans estate. 1t ID
curious to think that this black, black
ink may be faded to gray and this
white, white paper yellowed, just from
lying waiting 80 long. But strangest
of all is to think that you yourself
whose brown head hardly tops this
desk, will be as tall IL hope) as 1!
How l wonder what you will look like
then! And shall THE real, real l, !
mean-be peering over your strong
broad shoulder as you read? Who
knows? Wise men have dreamed such
a thing possible-and / am not q bit
wise.
John, you will not have forgotten
that you are a Valiant. But you are
also a 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 were born.
Sometime. perhaps, you will know why
you are John Valiant Of New York In
stead of John Valiant Of Damory
Court. / can not tell you myself, be-
cause it is too true 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 happily to-
gether ever after.
You may never care to live at
Damory Court. Maybe the life you
will know SO we'll by the time you
read this will have welded you to IT.
self. If SO. well and good. Then leave
the old place to your son. But there Ia
such a thing as racial habit, and the
call Of blood. And l know there Is
such Q thing. too. as fate. Every
man carries his fate on n
band about his neck so the
Moslem put 1t. 1t was my fate to
70 away, and I know now-since dis
tance 10 not made by miles alone
that myself shall never see Damory
Court again. But life Is strange
wheel that goes round and round and
comes back to the same point again
and aEatu- And It. may be your fate 70