The Grenada sentinel. [volume] (Grenada, Miss.) 1868-1955, 1916-07-21

along the edge Of the ravino -,
ne turned his back upon it all.
Forget It'll" that was the adr..,
ton OF practical Jerry Gowan vnl
ne would do that. The thing was don'
with, but there was an aching va
at heart, not SO much OF d~isanno,n.
ment as because the memory NJ W.
Incidents he had grouped to form the
screed were still cherished AZ love,,,
bits of naturalness and suggestion
that he would have loved to exploit.
His rest was broken that night. and
ne oversight the next morning. just
as he arrived at his accustomed res.
taurant he found Rourke Vivian. The
latter sat drumming his fingers on
the table before him, as though he
had been there for some time.
Wanted to see you. Moore with
a casual n obviously affected.
You stirred me-some." He laughed
mirthlessly. THAT screed of yours
couldn't get 1t out Of my mind all
night"
1T didn't seem to impress you much
when I read it," observed Moore, quite
spicily.
I'm not given to wearing my heart
on my sleeve, as you ought to know"
retorted Vivian gravely. 1T hit me
hard. You know. l came from the
cider country and you've caught its
spirit famously. Bring me those
pages. will you? I can do something
with them a. q starter. In fact, you
want to go on with them"
You are in earnest?" challenged
Moore. forgetting breakfast.
VERY much So"
I'm try to see you some time this
afternoon" spoke Moore fi%utterinsly.
and bolted.
There was but n thought in his
mind-to recover the abandoned man.
uscript. With eagerness and rapid.
ity he reached tie spot where he had
scattered the leaves in desperation
He climbed down into the ravine. He
searched In vain. Moore could not
find a trace Of the sheets. He climbed
up an incline, the top of which was
lined by a hedge, to rest and think.
He had kept no copy Of the screed
had he preserved the original
notes. Could he reproduce it? Not
in its original freshness, he discon-
decided. He fell into Q
dreamy maze.
What was that? Quite doing,
Moore started up. From the other
side Of the hedge a sweet, mellow
voice was reading. He could scarce
credit the evidence of his senses-the
sentences CT his screed!
Moore peered through the hedge.
An old gentleman and a lovely young
girl occupied rustic chairs, and the
girl held in her hands the lost sheets
If his manuscript.
The old man was wiping his eyes.
His voice was full Of emotion as he
spoke.
Read 1t all over again, Angela. It
8 exquisite!" and the girl did 30.
Moore thrilled to listen to that voice
his poor composition.
1T is like a sweet breath from the
Eurmured the old man. who
,ould have written It? How came 1t
1T is like a letter from home, isn't
t, dear?" smiled the girl. Il found
wo of the leaves littering the ravine
Walk; read them, was interested and
gathered up the rest. Why, grandpa,
Whoever wrote it must have lived in
md loved the dear old cider country"
1T has taken me back to the old
sighed the old man.. Il wish
knew the writer"
Adrian Moore disclosed himself. He
ould not resist the Impulse. Oh, what
the vague. casual opinion of his
usual newspaper friends to the heart
cit appreciation Of these new &C
uaintances!
Before he left these latter, the
old nan had his promise that
Q would at once go on with the story
{ the cherished cider country"
Vivian listened to the exploits Of
Ioore with an indulgent smile.
Found a patron and an heiress. y
hT he observed. well, accept the
fits of the gods gratefully"
Which Adrian Moore did-with fame
nd the pure. sweet love of Angela
rarafou roucurrouf