The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 10, 1904, Page 4

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. (Copyright, 1902, by W. W. Hines.) IS8 LETTICE was erying. It was in the mind of Donald Ordway, a brave- hearted gentleman aged fourteen, that this it of tears had to do with the vis- ftor who had just left her. There- fore, it was befitting that this visitor should return and make prompt apology to Miss Lettice for anything in his words or actions which might have caused tears. It seemed to Donald that it was both his peculiar duty and much-to-be-valued privilege to bring back this visitor and see that the apology was made, even if it should be necessary to resort to force to accomplish the desired end. There would be odds against him, he reflected, as he' thought of the strang- er's broad shoulders and athletic ap- pearance, but odds in battle were not to be considered by an Ordway, nor was It well that one of the family should contemplate the bare possibil- ity of defeat In any warifke undertak- ing. Of course, defeat was possible, but one eould and did put it out of his mind in going into battle, Therefore Donald set out hastily wlong the oak arched driveway which led to the big gate. It was his calcu- lation thet he would be able to over- take the late visitor just outside the boundary of the Ordway demesne, and this cheered him, for it would not do (Copyright, 1803, by T. C. McClure.) HE first time that Campbell saw her she was standing in the doorway of the schoolhouse. ringing a huge, hollow sounding bell, while the children scurried in all directions like a flock of fright- ened sage hens. Campbell pulled up, Cyclone and watched. There had been no school at Devils Tower for over a year. The last teacher had been a young fellow from Kansas City. The two Chibouque ooys did him up one aay when he called Louis “a half-breed ignoramus.” Louis saild he wouldn’t be called any name he didn't know the meaning of. The risk was too great. So he did up the teacher, and the key was turned in the schoolhouse coor. Campbell stared at the new school- ma'am admiringly. More than that, when her flock was safe inside he rode leisurely up to the open windows and stared in them, not rudely but inter- estedly. She looked absurdly young, perched up behind the rough plank desk. She was fair. A bunch of purple wild flow- ers was fastened in ner hair. Jules Chiboque fired a tattered hat at the row of nails back of the teacher. - It fell short of the mark and struck the bunch of purple flowers. Campbell's leg was ha!f cut of the saddle when the glrl called: “Jules, you come here.” It was a good commanding voice. Campbell waited. Jules stalked down to the desk, and was ordered to crawl beneath it in disgrace. A knothole of- fered golden opportunities, and Jule's tongue wagged merrily through it to an appreciative audience. The little schoolma’am bent forward and gave the offending member a royal slap with an oak ruler. Jules howled in pain, and Campbell rode en rejoicing. Devils Tower was to know discipnne at last. He found out at the Arrow Head Ranch that she was old Colby's niece, and was boarding there. Also that she was nineteen, from Chicago and her name was Ethel Maude Colby. The Colby did not affect him, but all the way home from the ranch, and during the weeks that followed, the name of Ethel rang in his ears like a refrain of haif forgotten music. Every day Campbed rode up the river road and looked in the school- house window just for a glimpse of the pretty blonde head. One Satur- day night he started wildly for the Ar- row Head Ranch, and all the way home Cyclcne Lept pace with his joyous whistling, for he had been introduced to her, and she had blushed, and all the world was full of promise. After that night Cyclone was rid- den at a breakneck speed every after- noon from Campbell’s ranch down at Five Forks, to the bend in the river road, there to wait patiently and peace- fully until a certain figure in a trim gray skirt and white shirt-waist rode down the path from the schoolhouse on a black pony, and greeted him with sky-eyed pleasure. “Reckon Tom Campbell's shining up to ye, Ethel,” old Colby said gravely, when the wooing was well advanced. The girl Jaughed and bent lower over her books at the kitchen table. “It isn’t anything, Uncle Ben.” The old ranchman glanced at her keenly through the rifts of smoke from his .pipe. “Aint it? Tom seems to think it is. Got any objections to him?” E Ethel laughed and shook her head. ‘“He’s just a cowboy,” she said. and Jooked up to find Tom Campbell's six- foot-two blocking the kitchen door. There was a look in his frank gray eyes she had never seen there, not of anger or defeat, but simply determination. The following day, long after the last of the children had gone, the school- ma’'am still sat at her desk. It had been raining all day, a wild, autumn rain that came in fitful dashes against the window panes, with now and then the heavy crask of thunder. The door opened ’ suddenly with a bang, and Campbell entered, dripping with rain and smiling. “T was just passing by,” he began, as if he had not raced his bronco for the last five miles. “It's a bad storm, and getting worse.” “I must go, then.” She rose hastily and reached for her hat on the row of nails back of her desk. He came over and desk. “No, you mustn't. Wait till it lets up a bit.” He lifted hér pearl handled pen tenderly and curiously, as if it had been a stray feather dropped from an angel's wing. “That's a mighty pretty thing, ain't it?” He met her eyes sud- denly. “Say, I want to know if you meant what you sald yonder, about my being a no account, rough and tumble cowboy?" “I didh't say that.” “But you meafit it.”” Her lashes drooped, guilty under his steady gaze. “1 @on't blame you. I knolv I'm differ- ent from your city breed. But love comes the same to a man whether he’s a professor or a cowboy, you know. I'd make you mighty happy, Ethel, If you'd let me.” His voice was low and tender. ‘“‘Seems as if I don’t want any- thing in life but you.” He bent nearer .over the narrow, roughly painted desk, his eyes on a level with her own, but she looked away from him out of the little side window. It was splashed and blurred with rain, but she could see the falnt outlines of the hills that lay like a barrier between leaned, on the the range country and the outer world. She hndsalways hoped to go back some day, but the spell of the open and ”’f' glory of the freedom stole over her with the low music of his voice. Some- where in her heart she caught the echo to his own words, and knew the power of their meaning 4 “Seems as if 1 don't want anything in life but you.” A crash .¥f thunder shook the little frame building, and she rose unstead- He hesitated. “If you do I shall go, too. The dam up at Caribou Run broke at 4 o'clock, and the river's racing like a mountan cascade. es to the old rf the try to talk looked almos but his fac shadow of sombrero as he rode be- side the bla pony As they neared the log bridge a vivid flash of lightning made both horses rear, and he caught Gypsy's bridle We can’'t cress the river,” he said. “You'll have to turn back.” “I can't,” she wered over her shoulder, as the y shook herseif free. “The brids Before he could stop her she had rid- den forward on to the frail logs that shuddered and strained at the shock. There was a sudden rending, crushing sound, and the next instant the logs had parted and swept away on the foaming waters with Gypsy's terrified head and pawing hoofs showing Dbe- tween them. ¥ One cry for help reached Campbell's ears, but that one changed all the world. “Tom! Tom!” she called, and he headed Cyclone down stream in & race with the swollen, rushing river. As he came abreast of her he raised himself in his stirrups and swung his lariat straight for the pony’s head. It fell and drew taut. Cyclone braced for the shock, as he had in many a ‘Yound-up capture, and In a few seconds the black pony was stumbling up the bank, drenched and half-strangled, but with her burden still safe in the saddle. Campbell lifted the slim, fainting fig- ure down and held her close in his arms, her white face on his shoulder. For one brief instant she seemed all his own, and he bent and kissed the pale, sweet lips that had so nearly drained f death. Her eyes opened and she smiled up at him. “For always, Tom,” she sald softly. “I'm glad you're a cowboy.” — | Wooingj “A Native®---By M. Louise Cummins - + 5—g H, Gertrude, won't you help me peel these peaches? It's ‘most train time and supper isn’t any- where near ready. The voice came with a pleasantly suggestive clink of dishes through the screen door to where Gertrude Wood- s -rd stcog under a large elm. ‘I think the train is in,” she swered, entering the cool, pleasant house in answer to her mother’s call. “For the land's sake!" Mrs. Wood- ford turned to her handmaid and gave an order with some asperity., Keeping summer boarders vas really the one ex- citement of her dull life, eagerly looked forward to during the long winter months when her daughter pursued her musical career in the city and she lived alone on the rugged Cape. “S8mall this year, aren’'t they?” she sald, watching her daughter's pretty bent head and referring to the fruit. “Not more so than usual,” the girl laughed. “Well, T don't care,” Mrs. Woodward declared. *“Mr. Garst says he never tasted sweeter peaches, and as to Mr. Cliffora" “Who's trifling with my august ap-, pellation,” called a gay voice as a yvoung fellow swung himself on to the plazza. ‘‘Miss Woodford, I don’t know which I shall devour first, you or the peaches, I'm so ravenous.” “I was just going to say that your appetite is all right, anyhow,” Mrs. Woodward laughed. “Did your cousin come down with you?"” she added. “Yes, Garst got as far as the ham- mock and collapsed.” “Go and call him, Gertrude. is ready,” her mother said, The girl rese and went through the hall. Inside the door she paused, looking with darkening eyes at the man who lay at full length in the hammock. The slight clash of the screen as she stepped outside caused him to turn. He sprang up at once and came toward her, showing a strong, clean-shaven face and a figure singularly muscular an- Supper in spite of the fact that he walked with a slight limp. “It 1s heavenly here after even a day in town,” he said. “I have just been thinking that the most marvelous changes in our lives come when we least expect them. I wonder if you know what this summer has been to me?" He was lookirig gravely into her eyes and the color mounted to her temples. “‘Stephen, the fish is getting c61d,” his- cousin called impatiently, and Gertrude went quickly into the house. In compliance with a previous prom- ise to Jack Clifford, she went with him after supper to see the sunset from a hill near by. When they were seated on a bowlder, watching the vast sweep of ocean and crimsoning sky, she turned suddenly to her companion. ““Why is Mr. Garst lame?” she asked gently. “Well, I suppose it won't do any harm to tell you,” Jack hesitated, “though we never speak of it when he is pres- ent. His leg was crushed in a rallway accident, trying to save the girl to whom he was engaged.” “Did he save her?” “Xen."” “Then why were they not married?” “Oh, she threw him over for a man twice his age and the trifling adjunct of $3,000,000.” Gertrude Woodford drew her breath sharply. “She tried to stuff it down Stephen’s throat that she was sacrificing herself to save her father from financial ruin, and 1 think he believed her,” Jack went on. “Then she attempted a platonic correspondence with him after her marriage, but he would have none of it. All the same, I don’t believe he has ever quite forgotten her. Anyway, he could not do so now, even if he would.” “What do you mean?” **‘Tor she is come, she is here,’ as Jean Ingelow says in ‘The Le‘ter L.’” Here?” “Yes: at the Ocean View. I saw her on the pinzza to-night as I came up from the traln. Handsonfer than ever, by Jove! Tall woman, with bronze hair.” “Bronzed, you mean. rive this morning,” coidly. I saw her ar- Gertrude said “The old nfan very considerately ‘shuffled oft this mortal coll’ two years ago, leaving hef complete mistress of his millions,” Jack rambled on. “My own opinion is that this alighting next door to where she knew Stephen was staying, in the subdued attractiveness of secord mourning, Is the beginning of the end. You should have seen him start when he saw her on the hotel piazza to-night.” Gertrude rose quickly. “How cold it is up here,” she said, with a rhiver. “Let us get back to the house.” A group from the summer hotels and cottages was standing near Mrs. Wood- ford’s house, watching the sunset, when they descended. Gertrude would have passed on, but Jack Clifford detained her. Unwilling as she was, she had to submit to an introduction to Mrs. Armitage, Stephen Garst's former fiancee. The latter turned to her at once with a scrutinizing look. The girl was too pretty not to be dangerous. “It is beautiful here in these late summer weeks,” she drawled. “I think it beautiful at all times. The Cape is my home,” Gertrude answered quietly. “Indeed! Then you are a~native. I should hardly have thought it.” A faint color rose under the girl's skin at the supercilious tone. “Miss Woodford's forefathers settled here over 200 years ago,” Garst broke in quietly. “I believe her ancestors for six generations back are buried in the little cemetery at Plum Cove. Not many of us can go as far back as that.” Mrs. Armitage looked quickly from Garst to the girl beyond him. But Gertrude had left the group with her head held high. She wanted none of CGarst's vindication of her family. She had almost reached the house when he overtook her. “One moment,” he pleaded. “I want 80 much to speak to you to-night.” “I am afraid I must ask you to ex- cuse me,"” she said lcily. Had Garst known that the cold, di- rect look which she sent into his eyes ‘was really the outcome of burning jeal- ousy, he would not have turned away with so heavy a heart. Jack Clifford had hard work to per- suade her to accompany them on the DONALD’S INTERFERENCE By W. W. Hines e 4 to attack a guest within your gates. Once outside the gates, the duties of hospitality do not shield the offender. This was in the code of Donald's blue- grass country, and was not to be ques- tioned by one who was raised upon the lessons furnished by that code. And just beyond the big gates he did overtake the visitor, who was walking along the roadside towards the sta- tion, slashing angrily at weeds with his cane. Donald had not figured on the cane, and wished that he had thought to provide himself with g wespon of some sort. But there was no time to hesitate, and he made haste to put him- self alongside his adversary-to-be. “Pardon me, sir,” said Donald, “for interrupting you.” The whole proced- ure must be carried through with per- fect politeness. Rudeness, even to an enemy, was never justifiable—Donald recollected having heard his father often say that. The man with the stop. “Well, what is it, young man?” he sald, somewhat brusquely. This brusqueness was very ungentlemanly, thought Donald, but the man was a Northerner, and this, in Donald’s eyes, pleaded that he knew no better. “You are Mr, Douglass?” He had seen the card on the tray in the hall “Yes, what of 17" this brusquely as before. Then, “Did Miss Mason send you after me?” with a trace of eager- ness in his voice, “Certainly not, sir,"” said Donald, with digrity, “I bave come on my own ac- count, gir,” Jt was not in the code that one shouid drag the name of & woman in the quarrels of men, “Well, what do you want?” The brusqueness wes again quite evident, cane came to & “It will be necessary for you, sir, to apologize to my cousin, Miss Lettice Mason.” “Apologize to Miss Mason!"” “You have heard me correctly, sir.” Donald was greatly rejoiced at the firm dignity of his own tones. He felt that he was carrying through his part in the affair in a way which would have won the sincere commendation of his father and even of his grandfather, who had been the most famous duelist of his day and State. “But, young man, I don't owe Miss Mason any apology.” “That, sir, is a question which you must permit me to decide. Miss Mason 1s, as I have said, my cousin. We Ord- ways”'—there was a quiver of oride in the way which Donald pronounced the name—"are not accustomed to recelve instructions from outsiders upon mat- ters of etiquette.” ‘““What makes you think I owe Miss Mason an apology?” “Is it not enough, sir, for you to know that I deem an apology neces- sary?” y Now his prospective antagonist back his head and laughed, loud and long. Donald waited patiently untfl the fit of laughter had passed—it was merely another item to de added to Mr. Douglass’ count of rudeness. There had been nothing in the Ordway blood or the Ordway upbringing to teach this fourteen-year-old descendant of the Cavaliers that there was anything ridiculous in his demanding, without apology necessary. 1 must catch my train and will bid you good afternoon.” With this he turned and would have walked forward, but that Donald laid a detaining hand on his arm. “Then you must fight me, sir.” “Now look here, you young savage, why don’t you pick out a man of your size instead of trying to pick a quarrel with a little fellow like myself?" Evi- dently Mr. Douglass was inclined to The New Literary Craze. Two Full Pages of Fascinating Half-Hour consider the whole affair a joke, for he threw up his arms in a position of de- fense which Donald could readily see was burlesqued. All that could be demanded of even the Ordway courtesy was passed and, the limit reached, Donald struck with all his might at the head of his antago- nist. But the antagonist would not fight fairly. He simply grasped both of Donald’s small hands in his own big palms, held them fdst and when the upholder of the Ordway name at- tempted to kick he found himself ly- ing flat on his back. “Now, youngster, come down off your high horse a bit and tell me what is the matter with you.” Searching his memory for some pre- cedent of his own .condition Donald found none. His ancestors had, some of them, been imprisoned for uphold- ing what they belleved to be their right or their honor, but none, so far as Donald knew, had ever been so ig- nominiously treated as himself. The big tears welled up to his eyes and were prevented from overflowing only by pride. His opponent caught sight of the tears and at once reléased him. This was putting Donald on honor not to renew hostilities without due warn- ing. He drew himself up with all the remains of dignity which he could command. “You have the better of me. sir, in the matter of strength. But rest as- sured that I shall not permit the mat- ter to drop. You will hear from me again, sir.” 7 be well to explain. “Miss Mason, my cousin, upen whom you called a few.minutes ago, went to her rooms in tears as you left. I nat- urally take it for granted that you sald something to offend her.” “In tears! Something to offend her! Are you quite sure about the tears, my boy?” There was eagerness in the questioner’s tones. “Certainly, I am sure.” “Then come with me and watch me apologize.” And Donald’s rather short legs found much difficulty in keeping pace with the longer ones of Mr. Douglass. In fact, Mr. Douglass reached the house a good five minutes before Donald came up, pufiing and blowing. He could not understand why his cousin should be standing there in the doorway with her head on Mr. Douglass’ shoulders and crying at the same time. He pushed forward flercely. “Oh, Donald, Donald, dear,” said Miss Lettice, smiling almost happily through a mist of tears. Donald went forward more slowly, confronting something now which he did not pre- tend to understand. “I've apologized, Donald,” said Mr. Douglass. It was not to be expected that Don- ald, at the age of fourteen, should have arrived at an understanding of woman nature sufficlent to comprehend that Miss Lettice had rejected Mr. Doug- 1ldss, and that the tears which she shed were tears of regret at her own action. Nor did he understand exactly the part he had himself played in bringing back “Now, youn; ', tell me what is the man who had been rejected—bring- ao"‘e‘t"- matter. If I :’::ru apology you 2 ing him back to be accepted. . bet I will make it at once.” But, despite the fact that he was Truly this Northerner was not so en- only fourteen, Donald was the best dr—————————————ed tiralv deficlent in cqurtesy. It might man at the wedding. yachting party arranged for the next morning. “You forget that I am a ‘native.” The summer people might object,” she said with a bitter- little smile, and Garst set his heel into the ground as he listened. When they reached the whart trude turned to Jack Clifford. “Old Captain Lufkin Is Ger- sick and can't go, the boy tells me,” she said quickly. “I think we had better give up the trip.” “Miss Woodford” — Jack looked at her with mock reproach—"T am pained that you should thus undervalue my yachtsmanship. Nothing but patriotic feeling prevented my offering my ex- pert services to Sir Thomas for Sham- rock III. Step on board the Widgeon, ladfes, and fear nothing.” But fear entered Gertrude's heart more than once when they had left the little harbor and she noted the darken- ing horizon. Mrs. Armitage was sitting near Garst, beautiful in her soft white flan- nel yachting suit. After half an hour’s sailing Gertrude crossed to where Jack Clifford sat at the helm, thus bringing herself on Garst's other side. “Do put back,” she whispered to Clifford. “We are going to have a squall, and a bad one.” After a critical glance at the sky Jack put the boat’s head around. But even as he did so a cold blast, which was as the foreboding of coming i, shivered over them. Gertrude drew her breath hard. She alone knew what the wind would be when {t struck them. Suddenly, as If she had received a mortal blow, the Widgeog went over— over until her mainsail lay almost level on the water. With a horrible hungry, suggestive hiss the sea rose over the combings of the hatchway, Too terrified to scream. the women held their breath, clinging for dear life to whatever they could hold on by. Mrs. Armitage flung herself on Garst's shoulder. “Stephen! Save me!” But in that moment when death seemed upon them he was not even aware of her presence. His arm went around the girl at his side and drew her close, his lips brushing her cheek, while her damp hair blew against his face. Gertrude scarcely cared whether it was life or death. Then she suddenly wrenched herself free and flung her weight upon the tiI- ler, putting it hard to port, for Jack's amateur skill seemed to have deserted him. The Widgeon came round, shud- dering, into the wind, and lay Uke a frightened thing with flapping salls while the squall raced by. “T think we owe our lives to you, Miss Woodford.” One of the women from the Ocean View approached Ger- trude when they were safely landed on the whart, but Garst drew her aside. “Sweetheart!” His voice vibrated as he bent over her. Mrs. Armitage turned to look after them, lifting an end of her bedraggled flannel skirt. - “Well,” she sald slowly, “for nerve, give me a native!” How MUGH MONEY smovLD CHILDREN BE GIVEN? Many parents who are disposed to give a regular allowance to their chil- dren have not done so for the reason that they cannot decide what would be & proper amount to give them. This is a question which parents must decide for themselves. However, it should not be forgotten that, other things being equal, the smaller the amount the bet- ter for the child. Too many children have been trained by their parents to become spendthrifts long before they have left the parental roof. The chil- dren of some parents will need more than the children of others. Five cents each week will seem more to some chil- dren than would flve dollars to others, In most cases the first mentioned amount would be far better tham the larger amount; however, the age and the proper demands upon the child and other considerations must determine the nnlwunt to be allowed. ‘While many would chan; to suit their own ideas, It‘; t::u:x that some such plan as the one men- tioned might well be adopted by the majority of the parents.