The Watertown news. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1917-1919, 1917-11-14
A HEART STORY.
BY WILLARD CHALLONER

Zone hundred dollars !" exuberated
Warren Deane in a positive burst of
ecstasy.
"Two hundred. my dear fellow" cor.
rected Rupert Thrall, picture broker
"Why do you minimize really preten-
tiOus streak of fortune2"
Because / agreed to give you m
even half Of whatever The MasQuera.
ders' sold ior."
"We will waive that In this in
stance" Thrall asserted. "Tve got faith
in you, in your ability and in your final
fame and fortune, therefore l insist
on financing you, to an extent, and
making up for it when I am selling
your pictures at thousands instead of
hundreds. So I decline to take my
commission, provided you follow my
directions explicitly as to the invest
ment Of the money"
sand that isl" submitted Warren.
| "Take a vacation"
Warren Deane had been home boy,
living a quiet life with his widowed
| AAotlCA uAllA SAC ulGu. hlOuC LII lllC
world. he followed the bent of his
mind In the direction Of art and liter
| allure.
The sale of "The Masqueraders" was
his first streak of luck. He followed
the advice of the only friend he had
found in the great wilderness Of the
city, the picture broker, and two days
later was established in q quiet village
boarding house at Virden, and roam
ing the hills with easel and color box,
seeking subjects and studies.
One morning he was sketching out
vas, when a little miss of about five
passed along a woodland path fringng
the deep gully beyond. A great bushy
| dog frisked about her. Her charming
| face, her graceful bow attracted him
and irresistibly his eyes followed her.
Suddenly, appalled,, he sprang to his
| feet from the camp stool. In switching
about her, the dog brushed too close
to the child-she toppled, and went out
Of sight over the edge of the cliff.
Shocked, half-stunned, shuddering,
Warren ran to the ledge. A great sigh
of hope rent his lips as, five feet down,
| he saw the child wedged against
| and clinging to a frail bush. Beneath
yawned an abyss.
"Don't move! Don't let go" cried
Warren. He was trembling all over
as he let himself over the ledge. BE
uttered gasp Of JOY as his feet were
anchored. Slowly lifting the child, he
pushed her beyond the ledge, climbed
up himself. and fell upon log, breath
less and exhausted.
Warren soothed her and carried her
| to where his easel stood, and placed
her on the camp stool.
"Now you must rest, and then 60
right home, and don't ever get SO near
the ravine again." he said.
"And I'll tell Maudie how good you
are, and she'll just love you," prattled
the innocent. "And-oh, my! I'll get
some more doughnuts and bring them
here, and it will be my picnic, and you
are invited. Won't that be grand?"
Warren resumed his work. Sure
enough, at the end of two hours the
little one reappeared. She carried a
paper bag, which she placed carefully
| on the stool.
II told sister Maudie, and she said
I must thank you, and bring you home
with me, for her to thank you.''
And then little Winnie questioned
| no hot
| there, and what was AN artist man.
He caught her pose with true artists
| eye as, on tip-toe, she held one of the
| doughnuts above her head, the dog
standing on his hind feet and reaching
for it.
"Don't move-keep that way" or
| dered Warren in a fever of enthusiasm,
while he .sketched the presentation
rapidly. "I'll make a canvas of 1t.
That will do"
| Warren tried to evade going home
with little Winnie, though invited, but
| she was persistent. When he came to
meet Maude Springer, whom he never
afterwards forgot, she was all that
| was lovely, dainty and gentle.
One day at the village he learned
| that Maude Springer, although she
| lived humbly, was heiress to one of the
| largest estates in the district. The
same day he packed up his kit dis
| consolately. He would never tell his
| Lowell
81 will not even tell her good-by-
it is better to go now, before suffer
more deeply" he unused. wonder,
| though, what she would think If I
told her that loved her, and asked
| her to become the wife of poor but
devoted sutton, and"
| All of this was what Warren Deane
| wrote as story in the woodland dell
| that sunny, last afternoon in para
| disc. It was his true heart story. He
left the sheets across the camp stool,
as he proceeded some distance away to
take down and pack up hammock he
| had strung between two trees In q
shady nook.
He came back to get his other traps
together, little knowing that during
his absence Maude Springer had visited
the spot. She read the pathetic heart
story. Then she took up it's last page
and added-"finisr I"
And this was the ''f1nis" that War
rem Deane found added . to his true
i heart story: