The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 23, 1904, Page 15

3 BY HARR Harriet G. Can- exploded, mistress repeated v Philip, unre- Here delight. >d his hair ckles took her,” he s aunt aske said she’d Mr. Noah at Sun- had no idee you =? My oatmeal t stand there is gig- red how old you was, r r hen I said I didn’t know she thought she could tell by lookin® & r th, like the hired man e he r z he bought & of color rolled over nd broke on the " outlining her g her In,” she 1 lips tightly over d, and a moment bia Farley” into e of her mistress, te of a thing,” and a most en- do you do, Mrs. Noah?” she 1ding out her hand in a quaint, shioned way. To John Philip's , his aunt took the little hand " like to live here?” she said, mot unkindly. “Yet, awful welll Don't you need me?” she asked naively. “I think not,” Mrs. Noah sald—very gently for her—“and besides I couldn’t take you without the consent of the matron at the home.,” “Oh, she won't care!” the little girl HER GREAT CATCH Pasked Tommy IET G.CANFIELD exclaimed eagerly. 1 Mrs. Noah interrupted, “you can stay to breakfast, and then I'll go with you to the home.” The child had crept thus quickly into a warm corner of the grim lady’s heart. She was eating her oatmeal when John Philip’s father came down to “There’s too many breakfast, and asked so kindly, “Whose little girl is this?” that Co- lumbia’s heart went out to him then and there. “I don’t know,” she said simply in" reply to his question, “they.ain’t found out yet at the home, but I know how old I am; I'm going on seven; I'm lit- tle, but maybe I'd do for him,” she nodded cheerily at John Philip, “till he got'a really, truly one.” “A really, truly what?” Mr. asked smilingly. “Why, a mother, of learned how to be one Jones—she has eight children he lives near the home. You just help ‘em be good, an’ they will, ‘cause you love 'em so. It's awful nice to have a mother,” she sald wistfully. “I Jones if he didn’t think so, an’ he said, ‘Sure thing!’” John Philip tried to scowl, but his forehead refused to pucker, and when his father said, *‘Shall we let her adopt you, my son?” he laughed out- right. ~ “We—we—might give her a try,” he stammered. An so it happened that Columbia Farley entered the Brown family “on Brown course. I from Mis' THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. probation,” and later was taken into “full membership.” It was on a Saturday morning, a month or more after Columbia had been received into full membership, that the children were playing to- gether in the garden. “I guess I'll go wadin’ this after- noon,” John Philip announced, “Aunt Rachel would just worry if I told her, and daddy won't be home for lunch, s0 I can't ask him.” “I'm ‘fraid you'll be drown-ded, dear,” the little mother said anxious- Iy (John Philip did not object to “dearing” in private), “an’ I don’t be- lieve you'd better go.” By Martha McCulloch Williams S (Copyright, 1904, by Martha McCulloch- ‘Williams.) OU can stay for the preacher if you lke—I'm going fishing,” Alicla sald, stabbing the spring air viciously with her rod. It was a long reed, cut from the cane brakeg down on the river, innocent of reel and equipped with a home-made line, & cork float and bullet sinkers above the cheap hook. Her frock, a clean but faded calico, was short enough to show stout leather shoes, with a glimpse of home-knit stockings above But none of these things dimmed sparkling eyes, or paled the wild-rose flush in - delicately molded cheeks. Alicia was 2 beauty quite in- dependent of clothes—her dearest friends admitted it. Susan Kates, to whom she had spoken, was pretty in a way, but jargely by the help of arti- fice. Susan was also plous—just the girl for a preacher's wife, all Brush Creek neighborhood declared. Hence, when it was known that the new Methodist minister was a bachelor and some- thing of a beau the amen-corner sis- ters all agreed that it was a clear case of providential interference. Susan her- self shared their opinion, albeit she was too wise to say so. She had come the day before to spend a week with Alicia, although the Blair homestead was but three miles from her father’s farm. Madame Blair, Alicia’s grandmother end guardian, was the leading spirit in Methodism thereabouts—as such she had sent word to the Reverend Paul Redford to make her house his home “until he could suit himself better.” The iftvitation made gossip, of course, Madame was a keen one, she meant to marry off that flighty Alicia! The new prgpcher would be sacrificed to her bef« he fairly knew it. Didnt somebody say he had been to college, and was moreover pretty well off? Madame Blair had an eye to the main chance, the same as the ungodly—she had broken up the affair between Alicia and that scatter-brained young Clark- son with a mighty high hand. Clark- son was poor, and likely to stay so, but then Alicla would have plenty for two. She had not been very much in love with Billy Clarkson until Grand- mother Blair had come between them. She was not in love with the real Billy even now, but cherished passionately an 1ideal she called by Billy's name. Naturally she resented Redmond and all his works. Quite-as naturally she had inveigled the coy yet willing Susan into this ong visit, with a set purpose of flinging the pair at each other's heads, and if possible compassing an engagement before a fortnight passed. The creek was less than half a mile away—with Blair fields on either side of it. Alicia knew every bend and rip- ple of it, and loved them as well as she knew them. She meant to fish first the Blue Hole, which lay just {nside the upper water gate, going thence down stream and ending at the lower gate, 50 as to go home by the big road. Only a blind track ran past the up- per gate. Stragglers never found it out, not even the most Inveterate fish- ermen who might be lured by this ex- ceptional morning, with water in just the right stage. Something in the day made Alicia want to sing. She did not do it, being firmly of opinion that fish have ears and are mighty wary of hu- man sounds. And to-day she was bent on catching the patriarch of the pool, a big trout, known to inhabit it this three years or more, which quite dis- dained to notice the most artistic files of the gentiemen sportsmen, or their liveliest minnows. His special haunt was beneath the roots of the big bend- ing sycamore, which leaned far out over the stream. Without a tremor she climbed into the tree’s low crotch by a “You “Pooh!” John Philip rejoined. ain’t my mother. I ain’'t had a mother since I was born.” “No,"” she sighed, “if you had a real- ly, truly one, I guess you'd have to mind. Your father might get you one.” John Philip grinned. “He's too busy,” he said, “but I know one I'd like to get. Last summer we was down at Cove Inlet three weeks—daddy an’ me—an’ there was a jolly nice girl there, an’ we liked her awful well—daddy an’ me —an’ we took her picture one day— snap shot—1I mean daddy’did. He's got it yet; come up to his/room, an’ I'll hunt for it.” “And how came you here—when you are looked for at the house?” Alicla de- manded severely. Paul Redmond laughed. “Because I had rather be here,” he retorted. “My traps have gone on houseward to an- nounce me—but I heard so much of that ‘tom-boy granddaughter’ on the * way from town, when my guide, Deacon pathway of loosely lald rails, estab- lished herself as comfortably as pos- sible, and dropped her hook right in front of the big fellow’s nose. She was too intent on sport to hear a little stified laugh. Indeed she had no consciousness of anything just then but the matter in hand. She had cast a little way from where the trout broke—for perhaps two minutes the float lay aggravatingly expressionless, eimply drifting a bit in the eddy of the pool. Then it went under with a rush—to come up two yards away, and g0 dowf§ again almost instantly. The trout, bold from long impupity, had swallowed the hook. Alicia did not try to haul him in at once. Instead she let him play up- stream and down—taking in the slack with bare hands, and letting it go back with a rush that must have bewildered her captive. After a ten minutes’ fight she hauled In her quarry, two pounds of gleaming silver, and, holding him fast, made t6 scramble down to the bank. Dismay smote her as she turned about. The rails had slipped down. She was fairly entrapped. The tree- crotch overhung the water, which was, she knew, well over her head. Al- though she could swim a little, she did not like to risk a plunge, yet there seemed no alternative. The landward side of the big trunk was not to be reached from where she sat. She made an impatlent little swing of her catch, saying, “There! You'll get back in the water after all—and take me with you. I think I'll tle you to me and make you swim out—" “Better not!” a man’s voice sald a lttle way off. “I don't believe he would swim out, he’d rather keep you down at the bottom.” “Then come and take me down,” Alicia said disdainfully, angry beyond words that anything masculine could thus calmly contemplate her plight in- stead of flying to the rescue. She heard long, firm steps approaching. By craning her neck severely she saw a man, young, handsome, well set up, evidently an athlete, and fashionably dressed, “So you are Alicia Blair—my in part—" - 3 hostess Estis, who fetched me by the short cut to show me—well, several things—said, ‘that she is, right now, a-feeshing,’ I simply had to come and see for my- self.” “How long since?” Alicia asked, her face scarlet. Redmond laughed again. “The point is—immaterial,” he sald. “Just now the burning question is ‘How shall I get'down?'” “That’s easy—put up the rails—and go away,” Aljcla said. Redmond shook his head. “I can't trust you—the rails might slip,” he said. “I know a better way—but first fiing me your fish.” Obediently Alicia swung him her gasping prize. He at once slipped a limber pronged twig through its gills, and anchored ‘1t comfortably in the stream, saying, “Let the example bear fruit, Miss Alicia. Don’t give any of your later captives needless agony.” “You don’t seem to care about me— I'm very uncomfortable,” Alicla said with spirit. “If you won't put up the rails, at least go away, the water®s deep—still—" “You are not going into it,” Red- mond said quickly, stepping upon the leaning trunk and clinging fast to it with one arm. He held the other out toward her, saying with a twinkle, “One, two, three! Here we go! Jump! I'll catch you right as a trivet.” “I won't jump!” Alfcla sald with “You will jump!” right straight off. like fun in about twenty minuf he repeated, It's going to tes—and unless you take me to the houutl shall very wet—" " “I think you are—despicable.” Al pouted. But as he looked at her, smil- gave a spring, was caught, and swung .. to the bank. d said to her, her ‘eyes fairly dancirg, “I don’t know Sukey—but really should have come along—she would certainly have got points on—landing a minister.” 2 Which proved to be prophetic. Six months later Alicia Blair was Allela Redmond, and not oaly resigned to the change. but hanoy over it. ITEWAS COLUMBIAWHO OFFERED THE /03T PERSULUASIVE. ARGUMENT® ‘The children flew into the house, and up to Mr. Brown's sitting-room. Be- hind a tall vase John Philip found the object of his search. For a moment Columbia gazed at it with wondering eyes. ‘“Why, it's her!” she shouted, with more force than grammar. *Ii my Miss Curtis! She lives near home. ’'Course she’s awful nice!” She gazed long and lovingly at the plcture. “Say,” she said at last, “s’pose we get her for your mother?” Thereupon followed a discussion of ways and means, and it was not until after luncheon that the committes of two set forth in quest of a mother for John Philip. It was a very startled and ‘WO paths wound thelr tortuous ‘way about the hill and came out finally on a small rocky shelf. The place commanded an excel- lent view of the level valley and the river twisting and turning a shimmer- ing course many feet below. Far across the valley on the other side of the river the pine-covered slopes made a cool, green vista in the July sunshine. The rocky shelf itself was shaded by two scraggy firs, which tosse thelr branches to the breeze with an Import- ance out of all proportion to their size. The man toiled slowly up one of thess paths, pausing occasionally to mop his perspiring brow and to curse dejected- 1y the blackberry vines which now and again clutched his trousers. The girl came up the other path, holding a fluffy parasol in 80 spiritless a fashion that the sun streamed full upon her brown head. The man reached the rocky shelf first and seated himself on the very edge, with his legs dangling over the brink. A few moments r the girl arrived on the scene, surveyed the man's back a moment, and then said, half in annoyance, in embarrassment, “Oht" X The man turned about, beheld the , tintruder, and with a cough—the mas- culine haven of refuge at such a time— resumed his study of the green tints in the valley below. The girl looked irresolutely at the man and with equal irresolution at the path she had just _traveled. Then she sat down, with no irresolution whatever, beneath one of the scraggy firs. The tension of the silence became oppressive. It was the girl who broke it. “I desire to be alone,” she sald with imperious coolness. The man turned slowly. “You geem to voice my own ideas,” _he said. .'.*w'. don’t you leave, then?” she _ou amazed young lady who listened to their plea. It was Columbia who of- fered the most persuasive argument. “He hasn’t anybody but his Aunt Rachel and his father,” she said plead- ingly, “an’ he keeps your picture back of a vase, an'—"" ‘“Who keeps my picture?” Miss Cur- tis interrupted, her sweet face flush- ing a rose red. ‘“Why, John Philip’s father,” Colum- bla explained. “I s’pose you didn’t know ‘bout it, then?” “No, I didn’t know,” she sald. “I didn't know!"” she repeated to herself again and again. “Now vou know, an' won't you come, please?”’ It was John Philip who pleaded now. Miss Curtis stoop- ed and took his freckled little face be- tween her slender white hands. n think of it, dear,” she promised, “but it will be better not to mention your —your proposal to your father.” John Philip did not agree with her, and that very evening he broke the news to his unsuspecting father. Co- lumbja, with rare delicacy, had de- clined to be present. “Daddy,” John Philip said bluntly, “I asked her—Coélumbia an’ me.” Philip Brown looked up from his paper. He was a filne specimen of _Ghe MANY LIVED GO By Barry Preston He smiled with calm insolence. “Because,” sald he, “I wish to be here. Besides, this is my puddle. I found it first.” The girl's eyes narrowed and she pursued her lips. “Thig particular nook is of my dis- covering, kindly remember,” sald she. “Possession 'is nine points- of the law,” he returned. The girl's eyes looked across the valley to the ragged M of hills, over which fleecy bits of white clouds drift- ed lazily. Her parasol was tapping nervously an exposed root of the fir. “Do you mind telling me why you came up here this afternoon?” she asked. “For the same reason a murderer is drawn to the *scene of his crime, by some horrible fascination, I suppose,” he explained. The girl smiled grimly. “You admit it was a crime, then?” “Mea culga, mea culpa,” he sald; “mea most heinous culpa!” She frowned. “It's scartely humor- ** she chided. “It is tragic,” he @eclared. He turned o her suddenly and his face was grave, “Why did you come?” he asked. “I wanted to be—to be alone with my dead,” she said almost wistfully. He straightened up. His tone was eager. “You're sure it's dead?” he asked. “Quite. 80,” sald she. “As a mur- derer, you're decidedly effective.” “Are you sure,” sald he, “it {isn't stunned or shamming? Are you cer- tain it won't come to life again?" The girl sighed. “It {s dead — stone dead,” she said with a touch of sadness in hep voice. “I thought,” he remarked, “that love had as many lives as a cat—that one might cruelly maltreat it and yet it ‘would survive.” “There is a limit to all things, even the forbearance of lcve,” she said. manhood—strong of body and mind, clean of heart, and still on “the-sunny side” of forty. “Asked whom?" he sald. “Asked what?” ““Miss Curtls, you know. I—I saked her to be my mother.” Philip Brown sat up very and stared at his small son and heir. “Don’t you want her?” the little fel- low said, struggling manfully to keep back the tears. “I sald I was sure you wanted her, same as I1*did.” “What did she say?” The question came from between white lips. “She didn’t know you had her plo- ture till Columbia to!d her. She sald she’d think about It, but I'd better not tell you I'd asked her to—" But John Phillp was talking te the empty air; his father was out of the room befors the last sentence was finished. He had seized his hat and vanished. “Gee!" John Phillp sald to himself, “we've done it now, I guess—Colume bla an’ me!™ They had. The bride and groom sald so on their wedding day. John Philip’s father had suggested that the orchestra play “Hall Columbia™ while the knot was being tied, but, strange to say, the bride-elect objected. 000000000 “I'm terribly afrald there’s a spark of life yet,” sald he. “It would be frightful to bury the poor chap alive. It seems to me we should try resusci~ tation first.” ’ “I'm afrald it's too late,” she sald coldly. “It is far easler to destroy than to resurrect.” “Quite so, quite sol” sald he un- easily, “Oh, I say,” he burst out, con~ tritely, “you don’t really mean it's all off. ‘You don’t mean you'll let that miserable tiff of yesterday morning end everything, do you?* The girl arose. “l came up here to be alone,” she sald. “It is evident I must seek soll- tude elsewhere.” He jumped to his feet. “I'll go,” he sald. “You may have the cliff to yourself. But before I leave I want to ask you a favor. When you biry the dead, you'll not forget it entirely, will you? You'll remember that for a day—for a day—" He stopped and looked at her, “Oh, well,” he sald contritely, “it was all my fault anyway. I have no right to ask favors. Good-by.” He moved down the winding path. The blackberry vines caught at his clothes, but he forgot to curse them. ‘Half-way down the path he heard rapid footsteps behind him. He turned and beheld the girl hurrying after him. Her face was crimson and her eyes refused to meet his. “What's up?” he asked her cheerfully. “Oh,” she sald, “T—I tried to bury bim and he wasn't—oh, can’'t you une derstand 2" . . . . They wended their way back to the little rocky cliff and sat down together beneath one of the scraggy firs. They were chattering happily. “T did really think I had done it that time,” he confessed. “You are a dear, old stupld” she averred, as she smoothed his hair.