The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1920-12-30

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shoulder at her, and waited for her
to go on.
us that log house I see up there
under the cliffs?"
The floor of the housebOat creaked
under the weight of him as he came
to the window. He had to stoop low
to bring his eyes level with the open
ing.
"a log house. old and empty"
The Iron ray-Woman sat musing a
moment, her eyes astray among the
trees nodding languidly in the serene
June afternoon.
II wish / might live again upon the
shore. The sun beats down so hot
upon the houseboat, and l grow weary
of the eternal throb of the river. If
1 could only live little while up there
/ should grow strong"
"And why not? It's empty, and no
body would care. In these deep woods
there's nobody to care.'
! A flicker of light crossed her face.
] I'D get we'll up there, under the
strong cliffs, with the cool spring so
near. And I've lived so long-since
you were child in arms--on the river
the Ohio; the White; the Wabash =
always, mother! Always the house
boat-drifting drifting-and you so
frail, so beautiful!
The man left the window and knelt
by the rocking chair. The Iron-Gray-
| Woman saw the question in his eyes
a hunger for some word out of the
1 past word that had never come. All
his life she had kept it from him
whatever it had been that happened
back there behind the veil of her 81
lence that left him nameleSs; a river
waif; nomad In an orderly world;
/ fisher of pearls; a pearlhunter. Her
eyes came back and faltered over him.
! No longer child; boy-the refiec-
ton startled her. A man knelt at her
side-the question written big upon
his face. And 1t was his right to
know. Her head dropped back against
the quilt that cushioned the chair. It's
solemn thing to be the mother of a
man-glorious but solemn.
| The lustrous eyeS-brighter for the
fever wasting them-came back to him
| after time He saw far-f1ung
thoughtfulness in them; knew they
had strayed into that past from which
he was barred. The thin lips parted.
| The mans fingers curled tense upon
the chair arm.
| s"To a city on the Wabash, in early
days, came three families Of Virginia's
purest blood-my family, your fathers
family. and the family of-of-another
man."
The -Gray-Woman shuddered
and was silent for moment. The
man picked up wasted hand; stroked
| it softly between his own, and she
went on, strained and slow, like one
desperately nerved to long-dreaded
| task.
ssMy parents both died when | was
so small that I can barely remember
them, leaving me, their only child, to
the care of distant relative, great
uncle of my fathers. This great-great-
uncle-well, as 1 look back upon my
| life / cannot remember that he ever
gave me a pleasant word.
'sMy aunt was as different as dawn
| to dark She was everything that he
was not. A thousand times she loved
my hurt away.
''They had daughter, an only child,
almost my age, and of the same name
surname and all. When uncle was
away on business trips, as he often
was for weeks, it was like sunshine
after rain. Such happy times! They
are high among the few pleasant
memories Of my life"
The -Gray-Woman paused, her
dark, deep eyes seeming to search
back into the dead past, like traveller
/ straining his gaze across stretch of
| desert to where the oasis lies. The
man shifted to his other knee and she
| went on.
my aunt died when we were in our
! girlhood. After that-the gray days
/ were ever more than the bright. A
/ petulance settled deep upon my uncle.
His best word was growl. The serv-
ants moved about the house like silent
shadows.
'In this same city upon the Wabash
lived two other families, as I have told
you-your fathers family and the
family of-of-another man. Your
father and this other man were both
my suitors. But my uncle tried every
means in his power to turn your IA
Their away from me to my cousin,
while he secretly encouraged the at
tentions Of the other man to me-
"Your fathers blood was of the
best in Virginia. A soldier, as the nen
of his family had always been, he had
already won, by conspicuous gallantry,
the rank of colonel in the Indian
wars
'What was he like?'
The Iron-Gray-Woman turned her
eyes and studied him so long, so in
tently that he trembled lest his ques-
tion-a question that came in spite of
him-had startled her into silence.
Like you," she resumed, "and not
like you. His eyes were blue, his hair
light Your hair is dark, like mine.
Your eyes are like mine. But he had
the same height and breadth of Shout
der; like you, slow of speech, slow to
strike, till the right instant came
then, as the hawk strikes.
"I never liked the-other man
though my uncle made it impossible