The Blackfoot optimist., 1915-07-15

his uncle's house and that OF the
Widow Miller.
At point where a hand bridge
crossed the skirting creek. The boy
dismounted. Ahead of him lay the
stlle where he had said sood-by to
| Sally. The place was dark, and the
| chimney smokeless, but, as he came
| nearer, holding the shadows of the
| trees, he saw one silver of light at the
| bottom of solid shutter; the shutter
of Sally's room. Yet, for while, Sam
son stopped there. looking and MAX
ing no sound. He stood at his Rubi
| con-and behind him lay all the gilt
ter and culture of that other world,
world that had been good to him.
That was to Samson South one OF
those pregnant and portentous mo
ments with which life sometime
punctuates it's turning points. At such
times all the set and soliditied strata
| that go into the building of a mans
| nature may be uptossed and rear
ranged. So the layers of mountain
chain and continent that have for
centuries remained steadfast may
earthquake or volcano, droppins
heights under water and throwing
new ranges above the sea.
There was passing before his eyes
as he stood there, pausing, pano-
rama much vaster than any he had
| ok % vr,In nct ha
stood there. He was seeing in review
the old life and the new, lurid with
contrasts, and. as the pictures OF
things thousands of miles away rose
before his eyes as clearly as the ser
ried backbone of the ridges, he was
comparing and settling for all time
the actual values and proportions Of
the things in his life.
He saw the streets of Paris and
New York, brilliant under their
strings of opalescent lights; the
Champs Elysees ran it's smooth, tree
trimmed parquetry from the Place de
Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe, and
the chatter and music of it's cafes rang
in his ears. The ivory spaces of Rome,
from the Pincian hill, where his fancy
saw almond trees in bloom, to the
Piazza Venezia, spread their eternal
story before his imagination. He saw
buses and hansoms string through
the mud and fog of London and the
endless pot-pourri of Manhattan. All
the things that the outside world had
to offer; all that had ever stirred his
pulses to worship of the beautiful,
the harmonious, the excellent, rose in
exact value. Then he saw again the
sunrise as it would be tomorrow morn.
ing over these ragged hills. He saw
the mists rise and grow wisp-like. and
the disk of the sun gain color, and all
the miracles of cannoning tempest
and caressing palm-and, though he
had come back to fight, wonderful
peace settled over him, for he knew
that, If he must choose these, his ma
tive hills, or all the rest, he would
forego all the rest And Sally
Would she be changed? His heart
was hammering wildly now. Sally
had remained loyal. 1t was a mir
acle, but it was the one thing that
counted. He was going to her, and
nothing else mattered.
He lifted his head and sent out a
long, clear whippoorwill call, which
quavered on the night much like the
other calls in the black hills around
! him. After moment he went nearer,
| in the shadow of poplar. and re-
peated the call.
Then the cabin door opened. Its
jamb framed patch of yellow candle
light, and, at the center, slender
| silhouetted figure, in fluttering, eager
attitude of uncertainty. The figure
turned slightly to one side, and, as 1t
did SO, the man saw clasped in her
right hand the rife, which had been
his mission, bequeathed to her in trust.
She hesitated, and the man. invisible
in the shadow, once more initiated the
bird note, but this time it was so low
and soft that it seemed the voice of a
whispering whippoorwill.
Then, with sudden glad little cry,
she came running with her old feet
grace down to the road.
Samson had vaulted the stile and
stood in the full moonlight. AS he
saw her coming he stretched out his
arms and his voice broke from his
throat in a halfhoarse, passionate cry:
SALLY"
1t was the only word he could have
spoken just then, but it was all that
was necessary. 1t told her everything.
1t was an outburst from a heart too
full of emotion to grope after speech,
the cry of man for the One Woman
who alone can call forth an infection
more eloquent than phrases and po-
etry. And, as she came into his out
stretched arms as straight and direct
as homing pigeon, they closed about
her in convulsive grip that held her
straining to him, almost crushing her
in the tempest of his emotion.
For time there was no speech, but
to each of them it seemed that their
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