Williams news., 1922-09-01

paper nad not been III water or ID Issand. The paper was written in pen ell; 1t had not even been moistened or
 it would have blurred. There was
 nothing upon 1t to tell how long ago
 1t had been written; but it had been
 written certainly before June 12.
 After June 12," 1t said.
 That day was August the eighteenth.
 It was seven months since Uncle
 Benny had gone away. After his
 strange interview with her that day
 and his going home, had Uncle Benny
 gone out directly to his death7 There
 was nothing to show that he had not i;
 the watch and coins must have lain
 for many weeks, for months, in water
 and in sand to become eroded in this
 way. But, aside from this, there was
 nothing that could be inferred regard
 ing the time or place of Uncle Benny's
 death. That the package had been
 mailed from Manftowoc meant nothing
 definite. Some one-Constance could
 not know whom-had had the muff1er
 and the scrawled leaf Of directions;
 later, after lying in water and in sand,
 the things which were to be "sent"
 had come to that some ones hand.
 Most probably this some one had been
 one who was going about on ships;
 when his ship had touched at Mani
 towoc, he had executed his charge. ; Constance left the articles upon the
 bed and threw the window more wide 1y open. She trembled and felt stirred and faint, as she leaned against the window, breathing deeply the warm air, full of life and with the scent of the evergreen trees about the house.
 The "cottage' of some twenty rooms stood among the pines and hemlocks interspersed with hardwood on "the Point" where were the great fine sum- mer homes of the wealthier Ire Sorters."
 This was Uncle Bennys country. Here, twenty-five years before, he had first met Henry, whose birthplace-a farm, deserted now-was only. few miles back among the hills. Here, before that, Uncle Benny had been a young man, active, vigorous, ambitious. He had loved this country for itself and for it's traditions, it's Indian legends and fantastic stories. Half her own love. for ft-and, since her childhood, 1t had been to her region of delight-was due to him and to the things he had told her about it. Dis tfnct and definite memories of that came to her. This lit tie bay which had become now for the most part only a summer play | ground for such as she, had been once a place where he and other men had | struggled to grow rich swiftly; he | had outlined for her the ruined lumber | docks and pointed out to her the 1oca- | tfons of the dismantled sawmills. It | was he who had told her the names | of the freighters passing far out, and | the names of the lighthouses, and | about each. He had told | ler, too, about the Indians. She re- | nembered one starry night when he | had pointed out to her in the sky the | Indian "Way of Ghosts" the Milky | way, along which, by ancient Indian belief, the souls of Indians travelled | up to heaven; and how, later, lying on the recessed seat beside the fire place where she could touch the dogs upon the hearth, he had pointed out | to her through the window the Indian Way of Dogs among the constel1a- -tons by which the dogs too could make that Journey. It was he who lad told her about Michabou and the and he had been the first o tell her of the Drum.
 The disgrace, unhappiness, the threat ,f something worse, which must have made death a relief to Uncle Benny, she had seen passed on now to Alan. What more had come to Alan since ;he had last heard of him7
 Word had reached her father through shipping circles in May and lgain in July which told of inquiries egarding Uncle Benny which made Ter and her father believe that Alan vas searching for his father upon the akes. Now these articles which had trrived made plain to her that he would never find Uncle Benny; he would learn, through others or. through l that Uncle Benny was lead. Would he believe then that here was no longer any chance of earning what his father had done? Would he remain away because of hat, not letting her see or hear from Jim again?
 She went back and picked up the wedding ring. The thought which had come to her that this was Alan's moth ITS wedding ring, had fastened itself lpon her with a sense of certainty. It defended that unknown mother; it reed her, at least, from the stigma which Constance'S own mother had ,een so ready to cast. Constance could lot yet begin to place Uncle Benny n relation to that ring; but she was beginning to be able to think of Alan md his mother She held the little ,and of gold very tenderly in her 1and; she was glad that, as the ac- against his mother had come -hrOIOh her noOn1o Sho cO11d fo1I him |