Evening star., 1916-08-27


all at once that she was standing un-
steadily, swaying slightly, like the slender
stem of flower stirred by breath of air,
and that he had not noticed these things
because of the steadiness and clearness of
her wonderful eyes. He was at her side
in an instant. He forgot the bear. His
hand seized hers, the one with the deep
red scratch on it, and drew her to fiat
rock few steps away. She followed him,
keeping her eyes on him in wondering
sort of way. The grizzly's reddish eyes
We're on David. A few yards away Baree
was lying fiat on his belly between two
stones, his eyes on the bear.
1T was strange scene and weirdly in
congruous. David no longer sensed it.
He still held the girls hand as he seated
her on the rock, and he looked into her
eyes, smiling confidently. She was, after
all, his little chum-the girl who had been
with him ever since that first nights
vision in Thoreau's cabin, and who had
helped him to win that great fight he had
made; the girl who had cheered and in
spired him for many months, and whom
he had come fifteen hundred miles to see.
He told her this. At first she possibly
thought him little mad. Her eyes be-
trayed that suspicion, for she uttered not
word to break in on his story. But after
little her lips parted, her breath came
more quickly, flush grew in her cheeks.
1t was wonderful thing in her life, this
story, no matter if the man was a bit mad
or huge impostor. He at least was very
Al, hn trlI hn
without excitement, and with an immeas-
urable degree of confidence and quiet
tenderness, as if he were simplifying the
strange tale for the ears of child
which, in fact, he was endeavoring to do;
for, with the flush in her cheeks, her parted
lips, and her softening eyes, she looked
more like child to him now than ever.
His manner gave her great faith. But
of course she was, deep in her trembling
soul, quite incredulous that he should have
done all these things for her-~incredulous
until he ended his story with that days
travel up the valley, and then, for the
first time, showed to her, as a proof of all
he had said, the picture.
She gave little cry then. 1t was the
first sound that had broken past her
lips, anu Slle ClutcHeu Viz p'SouIo III hSi
hands and stared at it; and David, look
ing down, could see nothing but that
shining disarray of curls, a rich and Won
derfu brown in the sunlight, clustering
about her shoulders and falling thickly to
her waist. He thought it indescribably
beautiful, in spite of the manner in which
the curls and tresses We're tangled. They
hid her face as she bent over the picture.
He did not speak. He waited, knowing
that in a moment or two all that he had
guessed at would be made clear, and that
when the girl looked up she would tell him
about the picture, and why she happened
to be here and not with the woman in the
coach-who must have been her mother.
When at last she did look up from the
picture, her eyes were big and staring,
and filed with mysterious questioning.
David, feeling quite sure of himself,
said
"How did it happen that you We're away
up here, and not with your mother that
night when met her on the train?'
"She isn't my mother replied the girl,
looking at him still in that strange way.
"My mother is dead"