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IN THE.
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Ls Ee I Bs Se I Bo EI Bs Bs oo Bs Bs Bs Bo 2s Bs Bs Bs
SEES SSEESEEEesssssssss
. The girl lightly swungherself down
from her pony and ran forward. The
man was _lying close tothe trail, his
white face turned upward, his arms
stretched out. As the girl knelt be-
side him a strand of her black hair
fell from beneath her soft, gray hat
and touched his face. He twitched
his eyes open.
For a moment he was bewildered.
Then he slowly smiled.
“Howdy, lady?” he hoarsely said.
The girl drew back.
“Ain't you got any sense?” she
brusquely asked.
“Very little,” he lazily answered.
“What's the new proof?”
“Lyin’ out here in th’ sun,” she
said. “Come, lift yourself. Here,
hook onto this.” And she gave him
her hand.
He was weak and limp, and for a
+ moment he tottered, but she held to
him firmly. ;
“Wobbly,” he said, with a quick
smile.
“Get your bearings,”
ed. “Straighten up.
arag!”
“A mere frazzle,” he smilingly add-
ed. “The next puff of wigd may be
expected to flutter me along and hang
me on the nearest bush.”
“Cut out th’ poetry,” said the girl,
she command-
My, but you’re
~ “and brace up. Can you walk now?”
He tested his feet carefully.
“They seem to be dependable,” he
replied. “Whither away, fair lady?”
“Drop it,” said the girl sharply.
*No foolishness. I'm neither fair nor
2 lady.” She pulled up the straying
strand of her hair.as she spoke and
tucked it under her hat.
His smiling eyes
movements.
“I'm a sick man,” he said; ‘“‘an ab-
Ject example of masculine helpless-
ness. Sick men must be permitted to
babble. Even at the risk of incurring
your displeasure I shall allude to
You as a Diana of the plains.”
“Plain enough, heaven knows,”
said the girl. “But there, th’ sun has
got into your think box. You’ll be
seein’ things an’ screechin’ next.
Come.”
He leaned on her heavily as they
moved toward the pony. And the ef-
fort caused him to cough feebly.
“I don’t know what's come over
e,”” he faintly said.
ty fit this morning.”
“It’s th’ sleepin’ in th’ sun at noon-
day. I tell you,” said the girl sharp-
ly. “Nobody but a tenderfoot would
do a fool thing like that. Kin you
bold on to th’ pony?”
“I think so,” he replied. “I’ve held
on to bigger ones. But where are you
taking me, Diana?”
“My name is plain Anna,” said the
girl brusquely. “I'm takin’ you down
to our ranch. . Th’ cabin is beyond th’
elump o’ trees yonder on th’ creek, I
live there with Uncle Jim. Let me
help you.”
She got Lim balanced on the saddle
and led the pony down the trail and
across the lowlands to thecreek. Pres-
ently they came in sight of the cabin,
a half bungalow affair, with wide
porches, and flowers and climbing
vines all about it, and with the creek
~—quite a wide and noisy stream—
splashing along 100 feet away.
The girl helped the stranger down
and led him to the porch and put him
in a big, clumsy rocker with many
eushions, and ran and fetched him a
drink. He sipped the contents of the
glass slowly.
“I thought I was going to faint,” he
said presently. “That was the reason
I didn’t have more to say to you. I'm
usually pretty gabby. It’s fine here.”
He looked around with an approv-
ing smile.
The girl whistled to the pony Any
the latter trotted around the bushes
and disappeared behind the house.
Then she took a seat on. ,the single
step of the porch.
“You from th’ East?” she asked.
“Boston.”
“Doctor sent you out here, of
eourse?”’ .
“Yes. He gave me up, all right.
Baid Southern California was my only
hope. I came out more to cblige him
than anything else.””
. “Come alone?”
“Yes. »
No folks?”
“Mother. She's abrozt.”
| *Where are you stoppin’?”
“ “Los Angeles. I'm in a sanitarium
there. Pon’t like it. It’s lonesome,
Been there a week. Don’t sleep well.
Made up my mind to run away this
morning. Boarded a train. Got off
at second station. Wandered up and
~ down and fell asleep.” Then you
came.”
He told this in a series of little
gasps and the girl studied his face
while she listened.
“How old are you?” she abruptly
asked.
How George Verner Found Found Health and a Wife
in Southern California.
W. BR. ROSE, in Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Lon
followed her.
“I seemed pret-
OPEN.
Ean ae Sie fa en en ao fm am eS
“Thirty-four.”
“You're young yet.”
He knew what she meant.
“Oh, well,” he smilingly answered,
“I’ve seen almost everything worth
seeing and I'm pretty tired .° it all.”
- She shook her head. Sh. was con-
sidering.
“What you want is to live out in
the open,” she said. “Some do get
well, you know. There was a girl
come down here from Sacramento.
Pretty far gone, too. She was th’
daughter of an old friend of Uncle
Jim’s. We put up a tent for her out
there yonder by th’ old redwood—an’
there she stayed. That was five year
g0 — I was just fo'teen — an’ she’s
livin’ yet-—married an’ a mother. She
sends me a present every Christmas,
an’ some day she’s comin’ here for a
“visit an’ she’s goin’ to bring th’ kids.”
The man in the big chair leaned
back with an air of profound satisfac-
tion.
“This is fine,” he said, with a little
sigh. ““There’s a healing tonic in this
breeze and there's soothing music in
your voice. Life seems a rather pleas-
ant condition just at this momeat.”
- And then a little paroxysm of
coughing seized him and he struggled
for breath.
The girl's face was full of pity.
“You say you’re all alone.”
“Yes,” he gasped.
“Mother far away?’
“Yes
“That’s pretty bad. You may be
thirty-four, but you seem like a boy.
How would that idea of the tent out
there suit you?”
“It’s a great idea,” he eagerly said.
“It fascinates me. I can pay for
everything, you understand. By Jove,
this is awfully good of you! But can
you arrange it?’
She nodded.
“There is only Uncle Jim,” she an-
swered, ‘an’ he does whatever I ask
Lim. He is getting a little old an’
th’ rheumatism is botherin’ him, an’
he can’t get around much, an’ so I
inow he’ll be glad to have you near
by.”
“I'll pay well for all the bother I
make,” said the stranger in the same
eager tone.
“We’ll see about that later,” said
&
Town: What shall I do?
I do this?
all your acts and ail the powers of concentrated Wealth, Fate,
Bad Luck, Enemies, Chiggers, Hook-worms and Unkind Gods
cannot prevent you from winning for yourself Permanent and
Increasing Success.
Happiness.—Thomas Dreier.
“You won't make much
bother—you don’t look that kind. An’
there’ll be plenty of help. There's
Uncle Jim an’ me, an’ Marie, that’s
our cook, an’ Jose an’ Felipe an’ Mar- |
lo — they're th’ Mexican boys that
work on th’ ranch.
be altcgether lonesome.”
“And when can I come?”
“Just as scon as you like.”
“To-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“By Jove, I feel better and stronger
already! I'm absorbing something
helpful by just looking at you.
your pardon—what am I to call you!
“My name is Anna.”
“And mine is George.”
The girl arose.
“I am going to get you somethin’
to eat,” she said. ‘‘An’ when you go
back to th’ city this afternoon Jose
shall go with you. He has business
there an’ is a bright boy. He’ll see
about your baggage for you an’ come
back with you when you're ready.
You must excuse me now, George.”
‘Yes, Anna.”
He laughed suddenlyand the breeze
lightly rufled his hair and the song
of the creek was like a lullaby in his
ears.
the girl.
tray he was fast asleep, the smile still
on his white face.
little table.
“Poor tenderfoot,” she murmured.
in foreign parts.
sorry.”
and waited for him to awake.
Twenty-four hours later George
itation. It had a board floor, and
sides that ‘would roll up and a place
comfortable cot.
““She’s a very capable girl,” he said.
“There ain’t any more 50,’
the ¢ld man.
I beg;
For a time the invalid seemed sto | me. Nobody ever was quite so kind
improve a little. He was happy in
his new way of living, for the benefit
and pleasure of life in the open
strongly appealed to him.
But nothing pleased him better
than to get out some favorite book
and read it aloud to the girl. He had
to read carefully to avoid hoarseness,
but his voice grew stronger in time.
Anna was a rapt listener, and what
seemed very strange to him, she loved
the authors he loved—and Robert
Louis Stevenson more especially.
‘‘He was a ‘lunger,” too,” George
explained, “and always frail and deli-
cate — yet full of hopefulness and
helpfulness. But the darkness fell on
him at last; fell on him at a time
when he could have still done much
for: the world he loved so dearly.
Why, what’s the matter?”
For the girl had suddenly risen pod
gone away sobbing.
George Verner stared after her.
“I must be more careful,” he said.
“But it was strange for her to take it
that way.” :
So the girl and the invalid became
very good friends.
ing, so gentle, so thoughtful.
“I don’t see how I can ever pay you
for all this care,” he told her one day.
‘“As long as you can read those sto-
ries to me,” the girl responded, “I
won’t worry you for any balance on
account. Trouble is they a‘n 't going
to last much longer.”
George Verner laughed. He could
laugh now without coughing.
“There are lots of other bouks,” he
answered. “I have but to wave my
magic pen and lo! thew will appear!
Next week we will roll up our sleeves
and tackle Dickens. You will like
Dickens, gentle Anna.”
She suddenly frowned.
“I don’t like the name you just
called me,” she said. ‘I'm not gen-
tle. I'm just Anna.”
And she went away in the abrupt
fashion with which he was beginning
to be familiar. :
George Verner had been living in
the open for four months and he was
none the worse for his experience. In
fact he seemed a little improved.
Then one day he was much worse.
The change couldn’t be explained.
Jose was hurried to Los Angeles with
directions to rush back with a doctor.
The doctor came and looked dt George
and slowly shook his head.
“Speak up,” whispered George,
“but not too loud. I have faced this
thing so long that it has lost the pow-
er to scare me.’
“Then,” said the doctor, “this ols
like the last call. Of course we can't
tell. You may rally. I'll do what-
ever science can suggest. But it
The Waster Otostions.
~ EFORE performing any act, great or small, ask yourself
= these questions and you will find in your hands the
Master Keys that will give you entrance into Success
Why should I do this?
‘When shall I do this?.
How shall
Have a good reason for
And success is only another name for
would be wise for you to set your
house in order.”
That afternoon George Verner
looked up and asked Anna, who was
sitting by the cot, to call her uncle.
So Anna brought him in and they
"Tain’t as if you'd sat by George's side, and for a mo-
i ment there was a little silence.
When the girl came out bearing a
“Now, friends,” said George, “I've
got a little deal to propose to you,
and, of course, you are going to let
me have my way about it — you
wouldn't think of opposing me now.
That’s out of the question.” He
paused and caught his breath. “Give
me my own time about this. I'll get
somewhere presently. In the first
place, I am George Verner, of Bos-
ton—and nothing else to boast of. I
am quite alone in the world, save for
my mother, who is now somewhere in
Italy, I fancy, with my new stepfath-
er. I have some roperty—property
that my mother will never need. ' She
is a wealthy woman and has married
a very wealthy man. There is quite a
lot of this property, all in good shape.
The inventory is with the letters and
other documents in the package yon-
der. You are to take charge of all
those papers, Anna, wnen—when it
is necessary. There is a letter there
for my lawyer and another for my
mother.”
|
“All alone an’ with his mother away |
It makes me plumb through, and I'll do the rest of my
for his books and his clothes, and a ' have all that’s mine.
’ declared | comfortable.
“Don’ t,”” said Anna very softly, and
She put the tray down softly on a turned away her head.
George reached out suddenly and
caught her hand. :
“Stay here,” he said. “I'm almost
talking to Uncle Jim. Now, see here,
And she seated herself on the step Uncle Jim, I want to do a square deed
| before I say quit.
I've led a pretty
careless end selfish life, and it does
Verner was settled in his canvas hab- | me good to think that I've got this
chance, Uncle Jim,
Anna here. Listen.
I want to marry
I ‘want her to
I want to make
her comfortable for life, and give her
the power to make others about her
To marry her will sim-
plify everything. She's been good to
%
She was so will-
and thoughtful. And you see it’s just
a mere form—but a necessary one.”
“No, no,” murmured the girl.
“I'm going to leave the arrange-
ments to you, Uncle Jim—only they
must be hurried. And now, Anna,
girl, you won’t oppose me, I'm sure.
You’ve humored me all through—you
must humor me in this. Make it as
soon as possible—just as soon as pos-
sible. And now let me rest.”
Uncle Jim arose slowly, but the girl
suddenly slipped to her knees beside
the cot and put the wasted fingers to
her lips, then drew away with a sud-
den sob.
This time it was a clergyman that
Jose brought, and in the little tent he
married the weeping girl to the sorely
stricken stranger.
“Just a sick man’s whim, reverend
sir,” George murmured with a brave
smile, “and yet one of the worthiest
acts he has ever done. Your hand
and my thanks, good.sir. And your
hand, Uncle Jim. And now yours,
Anna.” .
He looked up in her face with a
bright smile and then the heavy eye-
lids dreoped and he fell Bglespnis
hand held fast in the girl’s.
He was sleeping quietly the tot
morning and did not awaken until af-
ternoon.
“What!”
here?” |
And he lay there a long time with
his eyes half closed.
“I believe I'm much better,” he
suddenly said.
And from that moment he began to
mend.
The doctor, being duly sent for,
was amazed, but did what he could
to conceal the fact.
“Science doesn’t recognize mira-
cles,” he said, after he had examined
George very carefully, “but I'll admit
this is a pretty close imitation of the
old fashioned brand. I'm ready to
predict now that you are good for a
bunch of years. You’ll never be
strong, but with reasonable care you
should outlive many stronger men.”
So George Verner continued to
mend, but not a word sald he of that
strange marriage. But one day he
showed Uncle Jim a carefully pre-
pared paper.
“That’s a settlement for Anna,” he
said. “It’s half I've got.”
The old man shook his head.
‘She won’t touch it,” he said.
So the weeks passed away, and
George slowly improved, and Anna
was still the helpful Anna of cld, but
no word was uttered by either con-
cerning that strange rite within the
tent.
And then one bright afternoon a
surprising thing happened. A lady
came down the trail from the high-
way on the ridge, the sound of a mo-
tor preceding her coming.
She was quite a grand lady, and
carried herself with a stately air.
George Verner looked up and reec-
ognized her and hurried forward.
“My son!” she cried and held him
fast. “Why, you look almost yourself
again, dear. Just think—I’'ve come
all the way across the continent to
find you. I left your stepfather in
New York—he’s not at all well, Can
you go back with me at once,
George?”
George drew Yack:
“Wait, mother.” He turned and
looked toward the cabin. “Anna,” he
cried. Her vcice answered him.
“Yes, George.”
She "came to him quickly, but
stopped short at sight of the lady.
he murmured. “Still
“My mother, Anna. Mother, my
wife.”
“Your wife!”
“Listen, mother. Wait, Anna.
Mother, there was a time, not very
long ago, when I believed my mo-
ments were numbered. And then the
desire to do a good act influenced me
to ask Anna here to marry me—to
marry your son, mother, who was no
better than a dead man. Anna had
been good to me in a way that noth-
ing could repay—and she could not
resist my last request. So we were
married and I fell asleep with her
hand in mine, and when my feet
splashed in the dark waters she drew
me back—and held me to the shore
and defied the black shadow—and
that is why I am here to- -day, moth-
er.” He paused a moment. “Anna
married me through a misapprehen-
sion, mother. I took what now seems
an unwarranted advantage of her
goodness. I am willing to make the
best amends I can. But just now,
mother, I cannot go with you without
Anna’s consent. If she wants me, if
she will bid me stay, I will know
that all is well for me.”
He paused again. The mother
looked from the girl to her son.
“This can be easily arranged, dear
son,” she said. “Come. I am your
mother.”
And then Anna looked up — her
eyes blazing.
“And I am your wife,” she eried
and flung her loving arms about
George and held him fast and would
not let him go.
George looked at his mother with a
sudden smile.
“Anna wins,” he said.
Matrimony is about the only thing
that will take all the conceit out of a
silly woman.
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