Newark leader. ([Newark, Ohio]) 1917-1946, 1926-04-02


ruin of her happiness, the factor
opened the cover of the box. Remov-
ing the heavy wrappings Of paper pro
tecting the contents, he gasped in sur
prise.
Mon Dieu, mon Dieu"
The girl turned from her bitter re-
trospection. What Is it2"
Come here"
She joined him and bent over the
box. In its wrappings lay the ebony
case of violin. On the lid of the
case letters of gold spelled: "Nicolo
Amati, Cremona."
IAN Amati!" she cried in her Joy.
"A priceless Amativ' Then, brokenly,
Father, father! am paying am
paying"
With feverish haste the key was
found and the case opened. She ten
derly lifted the rare handiwork Of the
world-famous maker from its bed Of
velvet and impulsively caressed it
with her cheek.
"And he sends no wOrd-no letter."
cried the perplexed st. Onge.
She smiled at his naivete. There
Ia no word to send, father. He is
sorry tharo In bis gov New York. for
the lonely woman he once knew In the
Wilderness This" and she held aloft
the violin, "is his anOdyne for the
desolate-the symbol of his pity"
1t was May, and Brent Steele had
been hard at work at the museum for
three months. In March he had re.
ceived two letters brought from Wall
ing River by the messenger sent with
the violin. The letter from the fac
tor was strained and self-conscious.
Together with brief mention of the ar
Onge had profusely thanked his
friend for the costly gift which had
made the long evenings again bright
with music. But of Denise he said
little, except that she was well and
played necessarily. SO much had hap
pened that the winter seemed unusual
ly long-was, in fact, bit on their
nerves, and the spring would be most
welcome. Some day, st. Onge suggest
ed, 1t might be possible for Steele to
revisit the valley of the Wailing He
knew the way and his friends there
would live for that day.
The other letter was shorter 1t ran:
Dear Monsieur Steele:
ioI; Nicola A RI 7
Your generosity and your thought of
me make these words but feel lie
things. You, to whom gratitude is dis
tasteful, must yet endure my heartfelt
thanks, not only for the rare gift, but
for the journey you made for my peace
of mind through that terrible wind
and cold. The violin will ever be a
living memory of one who came, a
stranger, to two lonely and hopeless
creatures, and left them, facing the
future with courage.
Denise st. Onge."
II only the letter had given him a
sign that she wanted him-needed
him, instead Of dwelling on her graft
tude. She was so proud and so brave.
II only he had taken her in his arms
that last night, and learned from her
eyes, the blood in her face, the beat .of
her heart, whether she was paying a
debt of honor Or-loved him.
Then, late in May, came letter.
addressed by a hand unused to the
pen, and postmarked at NepigOn sta
ton on the Canadian Pacific. David
doubtless had news and some one had
written for him. Steele opened the
envelope and read with increasing
wonder and delight:
"Miseu Steele
"Iv you weesh mamsel you burn up
de trail to Wailing Reever Queek. All
de long snow she have play an play
de sad museec an cry on her bed.
Wen we 90 on hill first tam she lift
her arm to de sOut an say, Cum bak
to me. Dat mean you. You cum lax
de win Michel tax dis to de railroad,
he an me get marry Wen meesnary
cum in june. Charlotte"
It was from the faithful Ojibway
woman who had for so long faithfully
served Denise.
That night the Montreal sleeper out
of New York carried man whose
gray eyes were strangely happy. A
week later two friends were polling
the nose of a canoe into the spring
freshet Of the Jackfsh as If pursued
by Windigo. Farther on they reck-
lessly ran in succession each white
water of the swollen Rouge. Down
Ogoke, the measured churn-swish,
churn-swish of lungng blades marked
off the miles to the outlet. Then rid
ing the flood water of the racing Wall
ing, one afternoon the canoe slid into
the beach Of the post.
In the trade-house Steele and David
found st. Onge and his head-man.
There were surprised greetings, then :
II have come for her." announced the
American. "Where is she?'
"She has gone to the ridge" an
swered st. Onge with shining eyes.