The Little River news., 1919-11-12
THE POACHER By MILDRED WHITE

Della brought her car to a stop, and sat up with a gasp of surprise. There before her at the bend of the road was the original of her favorite picture. She had not fancied, as she often admirlngiy gazed at the beauti- ful water color of quaint old house, that the hense could possibly be real. More was it like an idealization of an artist.
 The picture had drawn her from its store. Since then, it occupied the Best wall space ill Delia's own room.
 She had ridden far, lost in her dis appointed thought. far beyond the well-kept state road into the rough one of the outskirts Its unevenness had passed by unnoticed, as she won- leied for the hundredth time, why her latest story hau failed to please.
 Della had counted much upon that story. Heretofore she had been for tunate in selling, what did this story lack? If she might go over it again, wholly concentrating her thoughts. Della smiled cynically; where in the hubub of her society home might she find concentration? Now she knew what had caused her failure, the con stant call to other things. And as if in answer to her conclusion before her suggestively loomed the isolated house. si:4 4. js >,siiisas 5ss44s@
 She was out of the ear in a bound, a shrewd old Scotswoman coming to open the deep set door, waited to learn Dclia's errund.
 Tt is so restful here" she explain ed breathlessly. "I wonder if you might be persuaded to take me for few weeks as a boarder?"
 The neat ScotSWoman Considered.
 "Well now" she said, I'll ask
 Sandy, her kindly old husband, was quickly agreeable.
 What harm," he asked, "when we are alone?'
 So arrangements were made for Della to come upon the following day Installed in her hammock back along the hollyhoclls, the ScotsWoman left the girl with one injunction:
 "If you see any trespaSSers," she cautioned. "WhiStle for Sandy. There's been many lately, coming to filch our fruit or to fish in our stream. Tlie stream mustn't be disturbed'
 "TlI whistle" Della promised, and she left her hammock to examine the stream.
 The water color had given no prom ise of this stream. It went ripping merrily on beyond the furthest trees. It looked invitingly cool on this hot summer day. Della was possessed of an unruly desire herself to dangle line and to tilch the fine fruit, She sat still instead, watching ''priZe catch" which came nearer and nearer. And just as it came "ez7 near, q mans rs;ts EaApeYs~A ~Tughly;
 Don't startle him, I'm going to throw q line
 The man himself immediately came into view; his khaki trousers were covered with mud, an old felt hat shaded his bold, dark eyes,
 "Don't you dare.' cried Della; she clapped her hands to frighten the fish, The man turned on her impatiently, then seeing her flushed cheeks and ln- dignantly glowing eyes, he smiled.
 "Well-" he began, what do you mean by that" 'I mean Della answered steadily, ''that you are trespassing and that you must have read the forbidding signs outside the wall" "I did," the man admitted.
 And yet you deliberately came to fish" She decided to whistle for Sandy.
 Did you. intend" she added sar castically, "to also help yourself to the fruit?"
 "To few of those choice plums perhaps" the man replied. He calmly suited the action to the word.
 "What right have you to object?" the poacher questioned, he >s smil- ing.
 q live here" Della an-~ered brief ly.-
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