Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, September 6, 1903, Page 31

Beptember 6, 1003, necessity of explaining my presence. With- out deliberation I asked: “Why did you not answer me!" She did not reply, and 1 repeated the question. I could not think of anything else to say. Then she frightened.” “Why, because T called you?” “You called so softly.” “Well, yes.” I became frightfully em- brassed and stuttered. “Should I have called loudly?” Thereupon she remained silent again. I also stood wordless, reflecting that it was strange how even now w= both had spoken 80 softly, almost In whispers. Silently she began to pick berries again. Silently I stood and watched her slender, pale fingers glide among the leaves. Sud- denly she said: “Why do you not pick berries also? Burely you came only to help me!" “Oh, yes, surely."” 1 brought the clumsy He out laboriously and began to pick obediently. Then I had to stoop so far forward that my face almost met hers. Once our hands touched in the foliage. We both started backed as if a enake had bitten us. At the same time a hot thrill went over me, and T could scarcely catch my breath. Yet 1 tried again and again to touch her hand. But when I thought, “Now it will happen!” the little busy hand would always be somewhere else. i I picked so chumsily that I crushed the berries. She criticlred: “l beg of you'! ‘The fruit must not be bruiced. This is the way to pick. See! * ¢ * You are not looking at al\!” T had to look at her eyes. How, then, could T look at her fingers? So she said, discouraged: ‘““You would better not try. You ecannot learn. TIs it possible that you never picked raspberries in all your life? Then you have never eaten them fresh from the bush? Quick, quick! Tat now. You may eat as many as you wish. Joodness! I am always saying ‘you’ instead of ‘Your Royal Highness! * “Tt is terrible.” ‘“What?** ‘“That 1 am a Prince and a Royal High- ness.” b4/ v ) U 444 “Will you do me a favor?"” “With joy " “Never call me ‘Royal Highness.'" “Yes, but—" “It is bad enough that T must hear it forever from others. From you I do not wish to hear that terrible ‘Royal High- ness.’ * ““Well, then. But now eat raspberries.” “Will you eat, too?" “Certainly.” They were indeed excellent, so fresh from the bush. I aile and ate the sweet, dark-red fruit. At onece—heaven alone knows how it happened—I had kissed the girl on her sweet, dark-red mouth. And I whispered: ‘“Dear, dear Judica!" - . L - - - . . I had kissed the angelic, innocent child that I meant not to touch with a breath! And with the kiss came to me the knowl- edge that once drove the first human be- ings out of Paradise, the knowledge of my first guiit! - * . . . . - . After I had done it I stared at her as if the pale c¢hild with the holy eoyes had changed into & punishing angel of the Lord, to send me away with flamming sword from the place where the man had been innocent and happy, and thea had sinned. If I had been any ordinary young lover, then, yes, then I could have stolen a kiss from the lips of my dearest oenc as I wonld pick a ripe friit from the bush. But with me—the kiss on the lips of the girl was an evil deed, Judica had given a little scream, Her baskei fell from her arms and the berries scattered over the ground. With loosely hanging arms she stood with eyes closed, and trembl d. I could have crushed her to my breast and smothered her with kitses— 80 helpless was she., Her helplessness gave me my balance again, I did not implore foregivences, for that would have been empty talk. It had happened, and I must accept what further would come of it. As if she were awakening from a heavy dieam, she sighed and opened her eyes. Then she saw the empty basket and styoped to pick up the scattered fruit. Since the raspberries had failen to the ground through my fault 1 stooped to help her. But she said: “"Your Royal Highness must not trouble.” That she addressed me thus at this moment gave me the pumishment that I deserved. She gauthered the berries carefully, I stood there dumb. She had barely finished when her name was called by Miss Frits, Judica took up her basket, turned without a word and started. 1 ealled after her. But I sald nothing more than: Judica! Judiea!"" The tone tn which I said it must have told her mnot only my deep love, but my imploring wish for pardon. She stood still, turned her little head and looked at me. Around the mouth on which my lips stammered: “I was B8O Little Judica! Dear little THE ILLUSTRATED BEE. had pressed there played a gentle, in- finitely sweet, infinitely sad smile, and the eyes of the child were full of tears. But she had forgiven me. . . . . . . . . 1 left the gurden by a distant gate and strolled carelessly toward the arbor. There Miss Fritz and the Count were waiting. She told me that Judica had complained of headache and had retired. I said: *“Convey my compliments to her and—" I stammered. “And what?" “And I shall come again. I shall come again soon. It is too beautiful here; I feel myself too happy with you.' Then 1 had to wash my bands, reddened with raspberry juice. 1 hated to do it. It was as if I were washing something of the joy of the day from my soul. I asked Count Gebhardt: “Do not leave any money for the servants, I would not pay the pleasure of this day with money. I shall be able to think of something else. You will fulfill my wish, will you not?”* “Gladly.” He said it so s=adly that I-my guilty heart beat fast—asked him if something troubled him. He said: *“I was with LoisI's mother.” “And that has made you sad?"’ *“That and something else.” “Please tell me later of your visit.t T do not wish to hear anything sad now. Surely you understand me.” And 1 added: ‘“You are so young yourself.” Certainly he understood me. My words were confession. I did not wish to hear anything sad, but I had to see his mournful look, for what would come of it, my first love? Yilli On the Sea-Alp. What will come of it? I know not and wish not to know it. I can think of only one thing, how can I see her again? It is the only thing of which I can think. Since I am young and in love, T feel a great desire to help others. So I thought of helping Loisl. I spoke of it to Count Gebhardt. “You have not told me of your visit to Loisl's mother. Can I help the woman?" “In which way could Your Royal High- ness help her?” “I request your advice.” ‘““rhe woman has a fate that is stronger than her mind, which is shattered. 8he is “On account of an unfaithful lover?” b 1 A *“A peasant woman loses her mind on ac- count of such things?" *““This one did.” The count bore an expression and spoke in a tone as if he were pursuing a definite aim in regard to me. It seemed to me as if he wished the conversation to be a warn- ing for me. A warning of what? That no young, loving woman should be driven out of her mind through my fault? In order to say something I remarked: “Loisl does mnot know his father. I should like to help him to a position as forester, that he may be able to marry his sweetheart.” “It would be easy, for he can count absolutely on influence.” “Why so absolutely? You have some- thing to tell, May you tell me?” “l am asking myself whether or not I may."” “L.et me help ycu., 1Is it your hope, if you dared to speak, to save me from some- thing?" oy “Then, if you are my friend, you will speak. But I cannot understand what my Loisl and his poor, mad mother can have in common with my concerns.” ‘““His mother is said to have been the most beautiful girl in all these moun~ tains.” * So I have heard.” “A great man saw her.” “A great man!" “Yes. “Then the known?" “It is an open secret.” “Only the son does not know? “The folk dare not tell him.” “They dare not?” And suddenly a terrible thought came to me, * * ¢ My father had often dwelled here as Crown Prince. 'The Ses-Alp was his favorite place. He was young then, and Crown Prince. I dared not think farther. Nothing may touch the holy form of ihe Monarch. But that it had to cost the poor thing's sanity! Count Gebhardt spoke now: “The girl was a proud creature. She thought her lover was a hunter of the Crown Prince. 8he dwelled high up on the White Emperor and never came down from her lonely home, so that it was easy to deceive her into the bellef that she was the bride of a young man who would marry her in the next year. Immediately after the chamois hunting ended, the Crown Prince departed, and the girl's lover sent her no further word. She wrote to him and the letter came back with the note; ‘Address unknown." Then she went on foot to the residence, and at the Rayal Palace she asked for the hunter, Matthias Klinger, But no one knew such a one. betrayer of the girl is “Then she went out silently and stood on the street. She saw a carriage drive into the courtyard. In it sat two gentle- men. And oue of them was this same Matthias Klinger. Everybody saluted and the troops formed in parade. After a while the girl went back into the courtyard and said to those who would not let her pass: * ‘He is in the palace now, and 1 will go to him.' “They had to take her away by force. And she got a pension that protects her against misery-—at least such misery as hunger and cold.” With no word had the Count touched on the person that must not be touched. 'The betrayer could be sought, if 1 wisheli, in the train of the Crown Prince. . . . . . . . . Have I written yet that the pale chill has eyes the color of gentiansg? And loag, dark, silken lashes over those gentian blue eyes? On those gentian-blue eyes ' should have kissed her instead of her red mouth, Tha sin would have been great even so, But as I committed it, it was swee' er, . - . . . . . . No wrong shall come from it. That I have sworn. But something else may come from it, something over which 1 have no power, which 1 cannot hinder with my oath. It may become a calamity. I will see Judica again, but 1 will never touch her lips or spread out my arms for her. 1 will love her and become unhappy. But if only I do not make her unhappy. . . - . . . . . Gebhardt has made his report. What he wrote I do not know. I do not wish to know. Tomorrow we shall visit Miss Fritz. Per- haps it will be for the last time, for p rhapz they will order my departure, At any rate 1 shall give a little feast on the Sea Alp before I go. It probably will be a farewell feast. [ will have to ray good-bye to more than the splendid Miss Fritz and the pale girl with the holy eyes, 8o be it - . . . . . . . Judica loves me, . . . . . . . . I thought always of myself, only of myself, only that I love her, that I must renounce her, that I would wretched. Strangely, T never thought that she might love me; not even then when I thought of the Royal Prince who loved her. Judica loves me! She has not confessed ft, but I know It I am loved so deeply by the sweet being that she would give her life for me with a thousand joys, Mad phantasy! Why do I use, in the midst of my happiness, the simile of sacri- fice for kher love for me? - . - . . . . . When Count Gebhardt and I arrived on the alpine farm a second time the whole place was as if dead. Not even the dog was to be seen. But at last we found an old woman and she told us that everybody had gone to tho wheat tield to reap, and that even the noonday meal was to be cooked there. When we arrrived there a great welcom- ing chorus met us. Happtily no Lord Ma~ shal was in the vicinity to perceive a danger for the State of Denmark in this familiarity. The joy of the people—maids and serving men—was a suspicious evidenca of that popularity, which is something that may exist only for the King and the Heir Apparent. I heard the shouts and was glad. But I had eyes only for the little girlish figure in the black mourning dress. I observed very well that she started at sight of me. Then she stood motionless and seemed to be uncertain about something. At once she ran straight to me, slipping like a fairy through the sheaves. My first thought was: “She is glad to see you. That Is very nice. But it would be better if she wers not so openly glad. If you were dear to her, she would not let everybody see her Joy." And her joy, that showed her to be at once 80 good and so innocent, disappointed me. I felt suddenly sad, quite unhappy. Then she stood before me; and then—then I saw in her eyes that she had thought of me ever and ever, as I of her; that she had longed for me as I for her; that she loved me as I did her. . . . . . ] . . In the golden sun we stood and looked fnto cach other's cyes. As in a dream 1 heard the cheers of the reapers. Heaven knows what would have happened, had ¥ not heard Gebbardt’'s voice close behind me: ‘“Here comes Miss Fritz.™ From his tone I perceived that he knew what had happened, and that he would not destroy our short happiness. For it was only a summer night's dream. Miss Fritx made us heartily weleome; but she expressed horror, laughingly, at her predicament in not being 2bla to give us anything to eat. Yet sho soon bethought herself of a certaln noble floating car full of trout, and Judiea, little Judica, found the key to it. She ran to the wagon, got a great earthen pot, and ran across the fields te the brook without looking to seec if 1 followed. Of course, I ran after her, without caring for anybedy's opinion. becone 1 Breathless, we reached the stream. Ia a little cove floated the big wooden fish receptacle Judica unlocked {t, threw back the heavy Nd, and a swarm of big and little, gaudily spotted trout shot mer- rily about Rusily Judica filled the pot with water, put it down, and then tried to cateh the swift things We had no net and had to fish with our hands, To do that we had to lie down Catcehing trout, even if they are in a eage, is not =0 easy ¢ one might think Bvery other moment, just as it had been during the raspberry picking, T held the child's cool, white hand instead of a fish 1 really did try to catceh trout, but 1 always caught the hand Judica warned e “You must not try to selze them so aquickly l.ot us hold our hands quictly in the water for a time, move them slowly toward a coraner where the most fish are, and then we will seize them quickly, very quickly, so that they cannot escape.’” True And 1 followed her command ex- actly. What did 1T catch? Not a fish, but her hand, which, obedient to her order, 1 held fast, so that it could not escape. The fishing lasted half an hour Ry that time we had six fine trout in the dish, That was three for each, and 1 was proud, indeed. But raspherry picking was much easier and more productive, too, considering that one stole a sweet, red fruit from soft, red, girlish lips, Qf course, neither of us could bear to end the flapping little lives 8o we had to carry them alive, and thus could go only very slowly, because the big dish had to be carried efully. At the forest's edge the Count met us, and my glance thanked him again: withe out doubt he had stood there during the whole time, in order not to spoil my fishe ingr He was not even surpriged that ft required so long to cateh tigsh that had already been caught Miss Fritz had everyvthtng ready, even to the Woiling water in o pet hung over an open fire. cerned, very much concerned. could not help her (To Be Continued.) he seemed thoughtful and cona But 8 Riley's Famous Scoop J. Osecar Henderson, former auditor of state, and at one time one of the owners of the Kokomo Dispateh, recently had = chat about old times with his former con< tributor, James \Whitcomb Riley, Incky dentally the subject of the big *‘scoop™ which Mr. Riley engineered for him bew fore Mr. Riley had published any of hisf poetry in volume form was discussed . Mr. Riley was at that time plain J. Wg Riley. “It was before 1 unjointed m name,” said the Hoosier poet in his chare acteristic phrase, “That was a picece of literary scalawagw gery which I began to fecl a Iittle ashamed of after it had progressed awhile, “I thought I would hook a sucker, bu instead of this I snagred 4 whale, “At that time I was contributing poem: weekly to the Anderson Democrat. Thin were dull with the news ers, and th question had been discussed whether the name of an author had much to do wfll; the success of his poems. In order to tes my theory I wrote a poem to which I at. temypied to give a tang of the style ufi Poe, and sent it to the Anderson Demo< erat. Accompanying the poem was a state4 ment by the editor that the poem had I:ear‘ found in the fly leaf of an old book and that anyvone who wished to see the nr|1:,in:ll could do so by calling at the office, “People began to call and it became necessary to produce the manuscript. [ had a friend who was an artist, and we collected such of Poe's writings as could be foupd and made an imitation of his manuseript in faded ink. “I came out in the Anderson Democrat with a compliment to the poem, and of course everybody knew then that J. W, Riley could not have wristen it. “Well, that poem soon became a white elephant on our hands, and after we had used it for a basis of numerous ‘scoops’ the secret of its origin was finally dis« closed. “It served the purpose for which it was intended and I proved my point. “I was amused recently to receive & marked copy of an eastern paper in which one of the admirers and close students of Poe had found the fake manuscript I had written, and not knowing that it was not genuine had given the poem minute study, and from internal evidence in the poein had discovered when in Poe's Nfe it had been writlen.—Columnbus (0.) Press, To Cheapen a Portrait Old Uncle Ben wanted to have his pore trait painted, but he did not care to pay very much for it ‘“‘Surely that is a very large sum,” Re said when the artist named the price. The artist protested and assured him that, as portraits went, that was very little to ask. Uncle Ben hesitated. “Well,” he sald at length, “how much will it be if I furnish the paint?’'—Lippincott's Magazine,