Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1915-10-07

You liked the danger?' he finished.
"No-no,' she almost shrieked, Il
came out her to fish because | was
hungry. If you'd lived on bread and
tea and tea and bread for weeks-l
can't help it if I'm hungry all the
time. There's something about the
air down here" She was talking
to the empty air, for Raymond had
remembered the luncheon basket and
had returned for it to his cozy nook,
He recovered it just in time and was
reioiced to find that the sandwiches
were dry and unharmed.
"Now, see here" he said authori-
tatively, "Ive been shipwrecked and
| know what it is to be hungry and
thirsty on a desert shore. Please
don't make any protests-lets lunch
together, fellow castaway."
She looked wistfully at the daintily
prepared food. Il ought not to- she
was objecting, when Raymond spread
a paper napkin in her lap, placed the
sandwiches before her and filled the
thermos cup with hot coffee.
Drink this!" he ordered. And
eat those sandwiches-every crumb,
Then you've got to answer a few
questions. Meantime, I'm going to
swim ont and get my boat"
He slipped off his shoes and dropped
into the water Once he looked over
his shoulder and saw that the girl
was watching him. He lifted his arm
and she waved in response.
He swan easily with the tide and
had almost reached the boat when,
without the slightest warning, he was
overpowered by an attack of cramps.
He waved his arms desperately be-
fore he went down.
A long, shrill cry came back over
the water. When he rose to the sur
face he saw a round, dark, wet OBJ
ject bobbing through the water at
incredible speed.
1t was the girl. He went down for
the second time, swooning from that
gripping agony. When he came up
again, she was very near-so close
that he could see her scared brown
eyes. He tried to smile as he felt
himself sinking, but she hurled her
self through the water and gripped
his shirt collar with firm, steady
fingers.
Pantingly she dragged him toward
the motor boat, clngng to it's sides
for a long time before she could
help him into it, He sank in an un-
conscious heap on the bottom while
she found the emergency oar, lifted
the anchor and sculled the motor
boat slowly toward the sandy beach.
When he opened his eyes he was
on the warm sand before a shabby
cottage A tall old man was chating
his wrists and pumping his arms
while the girl sped tleetly down the
beach for assistance.
1t was hours afterward when he
awoke from a refreshing sleep in the
living room of the cottage. Painfully
he recalled the events of the after
noon, remembering that the fisher
girl had saved his life. Her voice
reached him now, low pitched and
melodious: Come, grandfather, your
soup is ready. You better eat 1t
while it's hot"
Just as | thought" muttered Ray
mond She's starving herself to feed
the old mani I'm glad l owe my life
to her. 1t will serve as my excuse to
rescue them from this certain death
by starvation"
Then the grandfather came In. He
proved to be a feeble old man OF
nearly eighty. Raymond's gratitude
and sympathy invited confidence and
presently the young man was listen
ing to pathetic story of how a
once-famous artist had been over
taken by relentless poverty.
Little by little his money had
dwindled. He knew that his grand
daughter was starving herself for
his sake, but she evaded all his at
tempts to compel an equal division
of the scanty store. Now winter was
coming nearer every day-what would
be the outcome? He shuddered and
his eyes filled with bitter tears.
It took hours of argument to per-
suade them to let him come to their
rescue, but Raymond succeeded in
quieting their scruples and took them
away with him in the Sea Urchin.
Under the tender and watchful man.
agement of his mother, the half
famished maiden who had saved his
life was restored to normal and alto
gether charming young womanhood.
Although the aged painter did not
long survive the hardships which had
been the burden of his later years,
he lived long enough to see his grand
daughter become the happy wife or
the man whom she had saved at the
risk of her own life.
Copyright 1915, by the Mcclure Newspa-
per Syndcate.)