The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 16, 1900, Page 5

. THE SUNDAY CALL 5 INE BR ADFORV DAL \ " AE ~wHO HAD BEEN SINGING DOFFED HIS HAT " kneeé g becomes me lenly would we we pre There lived their ng t and of town, excuse not ha spot Soon it folk that which ame to ap- be th idlers immer now ne whit to help s not They went after no game but jested, 1 and separated only night, when each fel- home of the worthy him a shelter. er came, Plymouth, severe winter, doubting if uld last, turned out guests and bade them themsely Out the sixty unabated, and s a couple of miles be- The first two or three irly well; hunting in e cornflelds of ed them, had given s Wi make shift for humor noon they were a dreary d be unmindful of fell on th 1g no festivities y the gloomy A winter hey were almost on logs in the ppery of once gay manhood; most cf the buckles on their gone; their of was well nigh cxhausted “*Tis little to-morrow,” mor- est. of round the or 1 ed thel ; them were unwigged shoes were store of powder th rising and fall in with me sticks! WBixty once you have sigh man pretty “I'm thinking of the godless company to find bow lit- that sent another. “Much I They would give to hear the laugh of a child, were sixty the volce of a woman would be a Yet let the nt sound in mine ears. knocks Christmas pudding we eat one fellow, heaving a o us,” salé ané pleas perched in a nd ribs not know,” said Drusil- ’ pretty parts would but e flutter; but sixty! Sixtv tree. your. heart “Ay,” joined in a third, “'tis a doleful Christmas that lacks the goodly company of women and children. “I mind more the lack Botled acorns and of a dinner. naught else i not ta v my choosing for a Yuletide feast,” criad the leanest fellow of them all. “On the morrow, too, while we sit here a-blowinz on our fingers for warmth and our stom- achs empty save for sour acorns! God ve us; they merrymaking in Plym- 11 be thev are to have the Gov r's home. Pi 7, turkeys d good stout! . to think on it!’ norrow e care of itself. God merry s, say I, and le ended the yc g man who 1 me moments sin Her le song.” He waved a g0l 1 n and they sing Jvy end her maidens we 2nd they wrir Nay : It shall not be, 1 wis; ly have the ery °r, struck dumbd ce of two voung grez number were, as he, silent for ihe azement, there were sev. 4 that two of play a jest by disguising them es as women, and ! iled over on the ground, laughlng at their open-mouthed companions. ke Judith through the veil she rawn about her face, “I trust vou net merry at our expense, for we seck your hospitality.” Her voice, unmistakably a woman's, brought every m He who had be low that t und Judith courtesied n to his feet. n singing doffed his hat sed feather swept tha . “permit me to maka self n to vou—John Raiston, a poor gentleman of London, at your ser- vice. I perceive you have lost your way, but your misfortune is our gain. We are most honored to offer you our poor hos- pitality. Our roof is lofty as the blue and arching sky; our walls of living wood, unpolished but of ancient grandeur; onr chambers of hewn rock along the shore ture took us In when the good folk ¢ Plymouth turned us out.” And T perc blended tint is of a fine } 1ly to my wom for to tarry lorg. 1 whe gen search.” Thercat downcast Mr. R had ne'er secr I(r_;:(h nor lid ive you tread on carpet o' * rejoined Judith. acd.appea’eth might- But T came not < news of a man alls from Warwicks! lewoman t The color Ay aste ire. This youny company in my ars me Drusilla courtesied, her eyes ton vowed to himsclf that he of such silken his nam. lashes so w v Thorndy 1 quired, turaing agamn to Judith. “He orly of us comes from there.” That is not the name,’ Still he? she answered. I would speak with him. Which is She glanced over the many faces. Reluctantly .one man stepped forward. “I am he, madame,” he said, and walted her words. His manner was indifferent, ae if his heart had ost all freshness of tmpulse. “Know you aught of 8ir Henry Whar- ton?" she asked. The blood leapt to his face dead,” he answered, “What manner of !llness was his?’ sh faltared. and anailad heneath his glance. “He is Mr, Thorndyke shrugzed his shoulders Te was a weak fellow,” he said, “and he dled o' grief In Jlited uim." There was silence for many moments. Her head drooped low. She reached blin: )r her companion’s band. “Let us go. * cried Drusilla. ave you not ¢ what manner of death was his? find out in what churchyard he because his cous us in no churchyard,” she an- Nor did scorn rather. than grief cpeak in her voice. Drusilla caught her hand and bathed it in tears and kisses, fer it cd to her that sudden sorrow had turned ker poor friend's wits, “Yes, yes he cried, “we will find the place he lles peace. Weo will strew flowers on his grave and the tears you will shed shall comfort you.” ewered. cem “That T could weep,” eried Judith. “Ah, e tears! | she laughed bitterly. I must urge the wisdom of your udvice,” spoke Mr. Ralston. “Stay, madame, and learn what you can of this gentleman who knew your friend. Sorry comfort, tho' it be, put it not from you." “Lest you hunger vainly for the knowl- edge in years to come,” chimed in Dru- silla. Ere Judith fourd time § reply an ar- row whirred by her head and fastened the floating end of Drusilla’s blue scarf to the trunk of the tree behind them. In an instant Mr. Ralston’s sword had slashed threugh the silken stuff and freed her and the Colonists had formed a bodyguard about the t women Over Mr. Thorndyke's shculder as he stood with his back to her Judith could see mingle with the Colonist§, as by a acle, searlet-coated sol Their cap- tain, a man of ¢ ive size, ran for- ward, shouting on hiz men to follow, and dashed by. The battle was quickly ed 2 xpec victorious for the party attac Irdians, sur- prised by ur appearance of a man at once so mighty and so little as Captain Standish, accompanied by his band of soldiers, gave way after a brief defense and scattered in all directions, losing reveral of their number. Drusilla clung to her friend. cee Who thelr captain was? ed and shuddered “Nay, trembler,” cried Judith with her ringing laugh, “let us not despair that we had but to meet the lesser of two evils. Ho, we might have been killed by the sav- ages. But cover your face. I see a way out of our hapless plight.” “Bend down,” whispered Drusilla. She glanced toward Mr. Thorndyke, who, now that the danger was past, had stepped away from them. ‘“Who is that man? He turned a strange and fearful look on us when vou laughed but now.” ed “Did you he whisper- “ CAPTAIN SHRIMP | CAPTAIN. SHRIM “Hush,” sald Judith, “the others are coming back." Now, these worthless fellows neither greatly feared God nor loved man, and the fact that they had just escaped massacre they perversely regarded as a jest rather than a dispensation of a divine and merci- ful Providence. They came shouting back, encircling two of their number who car- ried the diminutive captain holsted in the air between them. He was red and angry. The wag of the company, lmping be- cause of an arrow which had struck his leg, mimicked the soldier's expression. “Captain Shrimp! Captain Shrimp!” he cried, “thou art a little chimney easily fired!" ’ > The mighty little captain struck him an ineffectual blow on the head with the flat of his sword. “Ingrates! Idlots!" he sputtered, amidst shouts of admiring laughter; “write home to the company that'sent ye boasting that unlike the Plymouth Colony, ye were to form a settlement not weakened by the presence of women and children, that ‘twas that poor, weak, despised little col- ony that saved ye sixty stalwart bache- rors from massacre this Christmas Eve. Bah, pilferers, ldlers, tatterdemalions!" spoke one of the Colonists with droll assumption of great dignity, “we must take exception to your gentle and mannerly epithets. We are gentlemen, tho' In rags. University men, tho' we make ro boast of our learning.” “Bah!" retorted Captain Standish. livened by these quips it was a mer. ry company on the whole that marched back to Plymouth. Captain Standish felt in duty bound to escort the bachelors back to the little town, for it was no longer e to let them remain where they were, as the Indians would be on the outlook for an opportunity to make a second attack. He walked at the head of the procession with handful of sturdy, Cod-fearing soldiers. One of them c d a nole, on the top of which was carried the head of an Indian chief killed in the brief battle. The little ca art was sore and heavy with misgiving, for it was through these worthless fellows, who had terment- ed and robbed the Indians. that this first fight between the settlers and savages had come about. “Heaven only knows where it will end,™ he muttered, “and the good folk of Plym- outh will be beholden to me for bringing in my train sixty foolish mouths to feed this Christmas eve.” He thought of the roast pigs and the pies nrepared for the feast on the morrow and groaned to think they must be shared. He burned with an- ger that they should laugh and jest. He glanced back flercely over his shoulder. “Ye'd best render thanks to the Lord that delivered ye. 'Twas by mere chance I heard from a friendlv Indian of the in- tended massacre and reached ye in time."” “And T wot not thy brave spirit was ever in advance of thy short legs, Cap- tain Shrimp,” called out the wag of the colony. Captatn Standish shut his mouth grimly and spoke not again the rest of the march. He had been deeply shocked to percelve there were two women in rogues’ company, but he was thankful to ncte that they had shown sufficient de- cency and shame to draw their cloaks so closely ‘as to evade recognition. A Judith walked last with Mr. Thorndyke. In front of them Drusilla trudged wearily by Mr. Raiston’s side. Mr. Thorndyke was first to bre silence between himself and his-cq ton. . “Madame,” he sald humbly, “pray that you will put your cloak aside a permit me to see your face before part.” 5 " she crled sharply; then .added more quietly: - “Tell me, ald Sir Heary forgive his cousin before he died?” “What booted his furgiveness to her?" he asked. “She consoled herself with an- other lover.” “I krew her well,” said Judith. *“A mad- cap girl and wild, yet she loved but once. The lover she accepted was from pride, but she broke with him.” “The jiit!” cried Mr. “Whom aid she marry, then?" “Marry? She married not, but has ev. loved her cousl we Thorndyke. He turned and seized her wrist. “Judith!” he cried flercely, “I know you! I knew your voice: I knew your laugh. Do you seek to play with me again? The heart I ofice had to be broken by a woman's falthlessness is dead with- in me. Uncover your face or, by heaven, 1 swear I will tear the cloak from you myself!"” The' wrist he held trembled. “Madame,” he sald, releasing her, “I am rebuked. Cover your face and you will. T were a brute to have spoken as T did. Ah, I have sunk low that.I show violence toward a woman. I am-becoms so worthless that I have: lost e the right to reproach her whose folly wrought my Injury, Judith paused and pushed back her hool and vell. “Henry,” she said, “have yon no word of love for me? My pride Is broken.” He was looking into the iace of the woman he had loved and lost Dusk was falling in the new fore: But, faintly luminou# as a lily in the t light, he could see the beloved and wept- for features. The golden hair fell in the well-remembered ringlets, but the moutk he had Kissed was drooping now as he had never seen it droop before; the merri- ment was gone from the blue and match- less ey Something seemed to grip his heart. Tha past o’erwhelmed him with memories bit- ter-sweet; the future loomed large with possibilities of which he dared not think. They were at a turning of the forest path. He drew Judith back. The company was passing from the woods Into the open. He saw the dancing head of the Indlau. grotesque and terrible, against an open space of sky. The sun had set, but tas afterglow made bright the air. “They told me you had gone under an of assumed name with a young men to America, “While you remained in England pride withheld me from you. but when I heard vour fortune was gone and that you had left the country, then I followed tuking that little gen companion. A distant relative wother's lived at Plvmouth sought him out, establishing myself s guest. There I learned your set she o1 dise bro! abouts. The life you were leading lay on my conscience—and I loved you, Henry. Too late I knew my heart. I beseech you to leave this life. Ah, you have indeed changed to sink to this! Will you not abandon it? My heart knows only this wish and tears for the past.” A dead leaf fluttered them. Th sing wi about them “Ah, Henr: u mind you of the ves t once we knew? “Waste t tears on he answered. “Life is s wasted much of it. What a tern and reproach? What pr pride or regret? To-morrow where shall weetheart othe Oh, my alls is not too late, not too Judith crept 1z, Into his arma. P e S A T Now, Cantain St h knew that B con s for the bach- two w S advised them t estly and with woman. fingery would that evening when he fiaving seen to it with T softness that ome outwara gruffness but | a good supper slipped down the hungry thre ats rogues. To his annoyance he discovered that the two women had not presented themselves at his home. His weneh affirmed she had caught glimpse of them. The only other persons In the house were two gen- tlewomen, late of London, one of whouy was his distant kinswoman and the other They not seen the strangers. In an ill humor he sat down to his sup- per, which had been kept warm in fromt of the hearth for him. low wdle-light. At the windows i gue 4 hung holly wreaths, the red berries bright amidst the glossy greem leaves. He thought eof the two lone women wandering in the cold and wet with the snow that had begun to fall again. In the goodness of termine and search for them; he feared his harsh manner had frightened m away. His tender con nee prick his oholorio temper so that he grumbled at his meal and fidgeted, restraining himself some= what because of T of his guests. Bt ished well was set before cooked he flung it on the floor and at his wench As he sat breathing hard, his trate eyes wie! the scarad eared, a white har 1! people Men who doctor a Ack- smiths—that's all.”"—Chicage Timese Herald