The Oklahoma miner. [volume] (Krebs, Okla.) 1912-192?, 1919-03-13


they were pictures"
what Is the first thing you remem-
ber7"
II see a woman lying in n bed in a
strange room. Her face Is whittier than
any face 1 have known; man sits be-
side her, with his head in his hand,
and, though death has no meaning for
me, l am afraid, for l know that she
was my mother"
"Was this In Cuba, Eleanor?"
II don't know, but think so, Uncle
Mark, because / remember running to
the window and seeing n great palm
tree outside, with spreading branches.
And there are other cities, and we
seem to go from place to place, always
watching for somebody, and yet, as 1t
were, hiding from people. l know we
avoid people, but 1t Is an instinct only
that tells me so.
And again ! am with my father in
the jungle. l don't know how we got
there, but l see the trees all around
me, and l am afraid. We walk on and
on, and sometimes he carries me, and
we sleep under the trees and are
drenched with rain. am so tired and
thirsty. But we go on and on, and
when we stop we find a little hut. and
l am afraid no longer"
"And then2 asked Mark in ngita-
ton.
II remember nothing. suppose the
bullet that killed my father must have
struck him while he was in the hut,
but / have no picture in my mind at
ALL"
Mark mumbled something to con-
ceal his agitation. "And do you re-
member me coming and picking you
up?" he asked.
She shook her head regretfully. 81
don't remember anything else" she
answered. Nothing until that dinner
In the majors house."
She linked her arm through his and
looked at him earnestly. Uncle
Mark, 1t makes me unhappy some
times to think that have no memory.
no clear memory of my parents. 1 am
sure that some day all this mystery
will be cleared up. Don't you hope
sO?"
YES" answered Mark miserably.
He had always wondered what the
child would be like. Howard's half
yearly letters had always assumed too
much for granted. Mark had practI-
cally rellnquished Eleanor to the Ma
Jor, and he had never learned anything
about her that he had really wanted to
know. He had not imagined the pre-
cocious, bigh-strung, idealistic girl
whom he now saw. He knew that the
disclosure of her fathers dlshonor, If
ever 1t came about, would shock her
Into revulslon of feeling that would
be fatal to the true development of
her character.
He had often wished that he had not |
pressed that idea Of the regimental |
mascot upon the major. 1t had been |
BORN in mind attuned to the victory |
IF that bloody day; in normal mo- |
ments he would never have enter |
tained It,. Yet Major Howard had |
been more impressed than he had ad-
mitted to Mark. The idea had |
spread through the minds of the other
officers. There was never a Guard din
ner but Eleanor was solemnly toasted, |
though she was not permitted to be |
present, and somehow the child had |
become n symbol in the minds of these |
plain men In business and professional |
life who spent two weeks in camp |
each year.
After the war Mark had gone to the |
regulars; but he was still in touch |
with the officers of the Seventieth, and |
ne knew that, If ever war came, he
could obtain an appointment to it.
II am sure that my father will prove !
to have been a brave soldier" said |
Eleanor, clasping her hands eagerly.
And sometimes" she continued, 81 |
think that there must have been a
great mystery about him."
Why" demanded Mark, startled.
Because of the man who watches |
for me-"
Watches for your 1t is imaglna-
ion, Eleanor"
She shook her head. 1--WE seen him
hree or four times" answered the
girl lie waits at places that we pass |
when we go out together. And he
me then, though he never at
-empts to speak to me-"
"And you've told Miss Harper?"
mo, Uncle Mark. She would think |
was hysterical," answered the girl,
Mark could see that, but he was
certain that it was hysteria, that the
dea had come to the child as the re-
suit Of brooding over the mystery Of