The Glenwood post., 1916-07-08

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Alan quickly. you are still gi...,.
must not borrow your last mite
But-your voice is like nurses hand"
When Alan went to bed he could not
sleep. For while the little mission.
ary girl held his thoughts. He was
filed with wonder, not at her. but at
himself. For once in his life he had
not been fiippant before grave things
From the girl his thoughts turned to
Alix. He could have cabled to her
about Gerry from Pernambuco. but he
had not done so. The note that he was
carrying for Gerry was light-only a
haIf-sheet, probably. The ightness of
1t told Alan that the things Gerry had
to say to his wife could not be put. on
paper. Alan had almost cabled. Now
he was glad he had not done So
"Alix." he said to himself, isn't wait
ing, she's trusting. A cable would
have heightened waiting by month. T"
Then. without volition. his mind
wandered from Alix and raced ahead
to the goal of his journey. What was
the goal of his journey? Whittier was
he bound? He reached for Cem's let
ter and held it in folded hands. He
had no need to read it again. The
words were nothing; the picture was
all, 1t stretched before his mind,
living canvas.
Once when Alan was wandering
with an Englishman in the hills above
Granada. a faint odor had brought
them to a sudden halt 1t was the
Englishman who made the surprising
discovery first. "Blackberries, by
Jovev' he had exclaimed. Good old
blackberries." And then they two had
stood together, yet half world apart.
and stared at the berry-laden bush
What vision of a tangled, high-walled
garden burst upon the Engllshman
Alan never knew, but to himself had
come a memory of East mountain in
autumn, so clear, so poignant. that 1t
had brought his throbbing heart into
his throat
1t was so now with Clem's letter.
The words were but a hurried daub
but they touched his eyes with magic
wand. The daub became scene, a
picture, world-his world.
Red Hill was spread out before him,
texture where the threads and colors
of life were blended into a carpet soft
but enduring. Men walked and little
children played on it. Alan closed his
eyes and sighed. What had he been
doing with life? Making sackingi
Sacking was commercial. 1t paid in
cash. 1t was the national industry
But what could one do with sacking on
Red Hill?
Then, almost suddenly, the full spirit
Of Clern's letter selzed him One did
not take gifts to Red Hill. To every
one Of Its children Red Hill was the
source Of all gifts-the source of life
On that thought he slept.
When he was back once more in his
rooms, before Swithson had had time
to open bag, Alan re-directed Gerry's
note to Alix to Red Hill and sent
Swithson out to post it. He did not
try to temper the shock of the note
with covering letter. He was too
weak and tired. Besides, he felt that
the note carried its own antldote to
joy. {
The next morning a message came
by hand to Alan's rooms. Alix had
come to town and wished to see him at
once. Would he please come around
He replied that he was too Ill. Halt
an hour later Swithson answered a
ring at the door and Alix slipped
quickly past him into Alan's sitting
room. There was a flush of anger in
her cheeks, but Alan was pleased to
see no trace Of tears in her eyes. A
woman's crying always touched him
on the raw and seldom awakened his
pity.
At sight OF him Alix forgot her con-
cern for herself. "Why, Alanw she
cried, "what is the matter?"
| Alan laughed. There was pleasant
note in his laugh she had never heard