Evening star., 1923-12-16

| mo"
'You'll-help me---to do this?"
| Yes"
! Suddenly she broke. shrank. She
! turned to the suit case again, and he
knew she was weeping. Il thought
you'd try and stop me-" she mur-
! INJURED vaguely. You were a
stranger. But thought you'd care"
4 X x
THE words were a breath He
stood motionless; fighting the
longing to cry to her. hold her. plead
with her. And lose her l.. When
he could command his voice ne said:
Wed best start as soon as you're
ready" She slipped on a coat and a
soft little hat and blew out the lamp.
He lifted the suit case. AS she
emerged from the dusk he saw that
she was carrying the Eastwood
bough. She passed him. he closed the
was like u cool hand laid along his
eager lips.
He dropped behind her while they
walked through the town. She did
not seem TO know il he was there or
not. 1t was nearly dark. but he could
have followed her among world CT
shadows. Here and there in the cir
cles of light cast by the street lamps
he saw a little blossom fallen from
the bough she carried. He smiled.
feeling in his heart a stirring as of
, leaves and unfolding bloom.
They left the town. And here Peat
walked beside her.
| But beauty lay on them like a light.
| they distilled an essence sweet as
song. In the hollows Of the road a
| light mist lay. SO white ii seemed
their feet should have been silvered
i from walking through it. When
they came to the great basswood be-
meath which Peat had left Jules and
the buggy 1t was like cloud against
the lesser stars: bees and birds
slept in II.
Jules slept. too. with grass hang
| ing out Of his mouth. He was re-
proachful when Peat walked him and
harnessed him. Peat drove out on
the silent road where the girl wait
ed. She climbed into the buggy be-
side him. He lifted the suit case and
slowed it under the seat with the
jingling sample. He said. go on
now. Jules" Jules, reused from a
doze; his heavy hoofs began to thud
softly in the dust. The girl sat dumb
and motionless beside Peat. the bass
wood bough across her knees.
BY and by Peat said chattily. in
the tone of one who makes small
I talk at an afternoon tea: "This--fel-
low-you're goin' to. is he young?"
'I--don't know
Young as me?' insisted Peat.
"No. Oh, no."
In Peat's mind the last excuse for
the unknown fellow vanished. Hold
| ing the reins in one hand, he pound
ed his fist softly on his knee. Be
tween the fist and the knee he vision
ed a face--the kind Of face bred in
cities, beside which open ruffianism
| becomes clean and comely. He
pounded harder.
"I suppose he lets on he cares for
you a heap?" he suggested.
She turned to him with her strange,
grim innocence. 'Ts 1t likely any
one'd care a whole heap for me?'
"Oh, well, some might" answered
| Peat cautiously. He gripped his
hands as he said IL. Just to touch
her, to gather her to- his heart. to
4! kiss those bitter words from her
| lips, to wake her from her dark
! dream. "You never can tell how
those things'll CO."
well, he cares enough to give me
Those things I've come to realize are
the only things I care for" She
+; laughed q little hard. wretched laugh.
| Her eyes held the oldest mixture of
( distrust and hope as she looked at
| Peat. "You see, 1 know what I'm
| doing" she said,~ 'and we're both
honest"
| "Honest.' breathed Peat. 'Oh,
goshr
What's the matter"
| Hurt myself" explained Peat
briefly. "Sciatica In this knee"
| And no one will make me change
my mind.'
who's trying tor asked Peat.
"Oh. gittup. Julesr' r,
J mo one," came the ghost OF .