The Ocala evening star. [volume] (Ocala, Fla.) 1895-1943, 1921-10-26

the group, a girl with braIds and clean
hands, who eIucidated:
'Alix and I don't like our teacher! J
shes a sneak and a skunk ]" Alix
had frankly contributed Cherry, now
quietly established in her fathers lap,
had smiled with mischievous enjoy
ment; nobody else, to Peters surprise,
had paid this extraordinary remark the
slightest attention. He remembered
that he had fancied only the smallest
of these children, and had been glad
when they all went out of the room.
Looking down at the cabin. the
years slipped past him like a flying
film, and IT. was the present again, and
Alix-Alix was gone
He reused himself, spoke to the dog,
and they went on their way again.
Mud squelehed beneath Peters boots
in the roadway; the dog sprang light
ly from clump to clump Of dried grass.
But when they left the road, and cut
straight across the rise of the hillside,
the ground was firmer, and the two fig-
ures moved swiftly through the dark
night. The early stars came out, and
showed them, silhouetted against the
sky above Alix's beloved Tamalpais,
the mans erect form with its slight
limp, the dog following faithfully, his
plump tail and feathered ruff showing
a dull luster in the starlight
/. Cherry, with her violet eyes and
corn-colored hair, Cherry, with her lit
tie hands gathered in his, and her
heart beating against his heart, and
Alix, his chum, his companion, his
comrade on so many night walks I'M
der the starS-he had lost them both.
But it was Alix who was closest to his
thoughts tonight, Alix, the thought of
whom was gradually gripping his
heart and soul with a new pain.
Alix was his own; Cherry had never
been his own. 1t was for him to COM
fort Cherry. 1t had always been his
mission to comfort Cherry, since the
days of her broken dolls and cut fin
gers. But Alix was his own comfort
er, and Alix might have been laughing
and stumbling and chattering beside
him here, i'm the dark, wet woods, full
of a child's happy satisfaction in the
moment and confidence in the NOR
row.
"Alix, my wifer' he said softly,
aloud. II loved Cherry-always. But
you were mine-you were mine We
belonged to each other-fOr better and
for worse-and I have let.you go!"
He went on and on and On. They
were plunging down hill now, under
the trees. He would see a light after
a while, and sleep for a few hours, and
have a hunters breakfast, and be gone
again. And he knew that for weeks
for months-perhaps for years, he
would wander so, through the great
mountains, with their snow and their
forests, over the seas, in strange cities
and stranger solitudes. Always alone,
always moving, always remembering.
That would be his life. And some day
some day perhaps he would come
back to the valley she had loved
But even now he recoiled in dis
taste from that hour. To see the IA
miliar faces, to come up to the cabin
again, to touch the music ana the
books
Worse, to find Cherry a little older,
happy and busy in her life of sacri-
flee, not needing him, not very much
wanting the reminder of the old tragic
times
An owl cried in the woods; the
mournful sound f1Oated and drifted
away into utter silence. Some small
animal, meeting the death its brief
life had evaded a hundred times,
screamed shrilly, and was silent.
Great branches, stirred by the night
wind, moved high above his head, and
when there was utter silence, Peter
could hear the steady, soft rush of the
ocean, dulled here to the sound of a
gigantic, quiet breathing.
Suddenly she seemed again to be
beside him. He seemed to see the dark,
animated face, the slender, tall girl
wrapped in her big, rough coat. He
seemed TO hear her vibrating voice,