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J By LOLLIE BELLE WYLIE. Written for The SUNNY SOUTH. XE afternoon' In May, Desiree l>e Pre hurried , along- 'the esplanade, on an errand (for Le Grande, otherwise known as Ma dame Le Pre. Suddenly she passed in ifront of a small botbth In which sat an old ne gro woman selling antins- anMr.'gs and love put ters. “HI! Missy!” called the crone, seeing that Desiree eyed her with great wl s-t- fulness, "Yo' better stop an' twarl de coffee cap! My! hut dar's a heap er good t'lngs fo’ yo'!” 'Thus cncx/uraiged, Desslree, a small fragile child with sombre eyes and pale brown skin, glanced down at her faded dimity, and bare logs, resentfully, then relunctantly untied the corner of lier handkerchief, and withdrew a small, silver coin. "Do you see a muslin dress with pink roses, and a pair of pink slippers with high heels?” she asked, holding the money securely, as one who would drive a fair bargain. ^ “Kiyi!" laughed the seer good hu mored! y, “an - a be-yoot-a-ful yaller bonnet.” "Huh!” sneered the child. "X would not wear a yellow bonnet!” Replacing the coin she added regret fully, “and you need not read my fortune.” “Hit! I am isuch a foolish-some ol’ 'ooman!" returned the fortune .teller, following with her covetous eyes the vanishing money. "Ladies uv quality doesn't wear yaller! no, course not! Only po’ white trash does.” Desiree glanced again at her naked feet, this lime uneasily. "Do you see the pink slippers still? and a—a white parasol with lace frills?” timidly. "Aye,” persuaded the mulatto, "an' (tar yo' is Jest a rldin’ In a fine ker- riaige fur all de world lak de one de fai's driv de princess to the ball in." Hesitating no longer, the child un covered the silver and handed it to the woman. Then for the quarter of an hour she stood on the pavement in the hot sun, listening to a parson of words and Jugglery of Ideas that bewildered her young mind. The life of Derisee Le Pre. had been one of pitiful loneliness, passed as It was behind the great bronze gate in tx.e shadow and gloom of the quaint brick house, with no living companion ship save ive Grande, and the old ne gro slave who had always lived In the family. This servant had seemed as old as Xlada-me Le Pre, and to the child's fresh young mind, she hud seem ed as old as the world. There came a day when the old ser vant died, and after a time Le Grande became so poor, that Where was no money to hire help, nnd Desiree had to wash the dishes, run errands to the market, and stand on corners along the esplanade nnd sell little bouquets of opoponax blooms to the (people who j>assed. It was during this period of her life that the lonely cthild. was attracted to Maujn Da.phne, the fortune teller, and though she had never dared speak to the wonderful seer, she Often stopped near by and listened eagerly, ns she read the signs in the cup for her customers. At last there came a day when I>esiree found a bright nerw silver dime on the pavement in front of St. Louis cathedral, and this she hid from Madame Le Pre, for the purpose of hearing Mmmi Daphne read the fortune for her, (Provided that prophet woLdd -promise her the flowered dress and the pink slippers for which her feminine heart yearned. And how delightful it was for her to listen to the old (woman s promise! TV> have her Interject the rose-colored propheay with pictures of handsome young lovers riding on coal-black steeds; of p3laco.s across the water and all sorts of imagined and unimautined gar ments that glittered like the moon! Oh, it was delicious! and the targe, dark eyes of the child grew rounder and deep er as she listened. "An’ now," concluded the crone, “de las’ ting is, dut yo’ g-win' on a long* journey wid yo' pa." •That isn’t true,” said the child de cidedly, “for I haven’t any’ father nor nrorther. I have only Le Grande, and the -wee fairy folk that come to me in the moonlight. If you see my father I won’t believe anything else you have said. Not even the dress or the slip pers!” and angry- tears sprang to the big round eyes. ”Yo’ pa's (tar, but yo’ m a got a black veil oher her, an' she ain't show her self. So dar,” retorted the woman spitefully-. “Oh, well," temporized Desiree with passionate expectancy-, "If you still see the dress and slippers I will believe. Good-by," and she rail forward to fulfil her forgotten commission for Madame lx* Pre. When Desiree returned to the silent old home In tho French quarter the swiftly- falling twilight had shut It In more se curely behind the great bronze goto. She had never dared remain out so late before, and it was with vague fears and uncertainties that she crept quietly tip t he circular steps and into the long, dark hall where her naked ft-et pattered noisily on the tiled floor. ’ Suddenly her steps were arrested by the sound of voices that came through the library- door. One, that of Le Grande, she recognized, but the other, a man's voice, musical and strong, she had never heard before. “And, all these years," the man was saying, "I never knew that I had a child! My- poor little Desiree!” "Much trouble you took to find out, with your scampering away to foreign countries,” Madame Le Pe replied in a thin, high pitch of indignation. “As you see,” she resumed, after a brief silence, "she is alive. Very much alive. DerjiTiine came home shortly after you left and the child was born. After that ” “1 know.” The man’s vtoice was im patient. "You do not know,” said the woman, "but why go over that horrible story-. It Is enough that you are here for the child. If I had not been so poor, and old and feeble, ylou should not have known. It was wronging the child not to send for you.” At this point, Desiree Le ‘Pe felt her self about to sneeze, and not wishing to be cau/ght ewesdropping, pushed open the door and entered the. room with a degree of composure she did not feel. By the light that streamed from tho wax candles in a splendid old silver can delabrum on the mantle she saw a strange gentleman seated opposite her grandmother in the center of the great old room with its faded tapestries and polished wood Madam Le Pre, a distinctive figure of bone and muscles, was shifting her w hite-stoekened feet uneasily about the hem of her faded gray calico skirt, whilst her head was held stiffly befeath Its light weight of gray side combs and high, old-fashioned comb. Her eyes were bright witli the polish of tears, and her face sensitive to the inroads of bitterness and sorrow that had left their mark upon each curve. There was little of tenderness—nothing of Joy left fo tell of a youth dried up, and only an un lovely temple crumbling under the touch of time to lell where once the light cf a soul had burned. The newcomer, as he sat with tense expression, and eager boring, seemed to Deslre e to embody all the beauty and fragrance of the world of which she had had often dreamed. The texture and col or of his person was like that of the Blessed Jesus the child had seen pictured In the windows at the church, and when, startled by her abrupt entrance, he turned his eyes upon her onw, Desiree Instantly clasped lier hands in an atti tude of adoration and murmured some thing about the saints and the dear Christ. “For shame,” shrilled Madam? De Pre angrily. “God will surely punish y-ou for your irreverence, and Pere Roquat will give you a hundred Hail Marys at your next confession! Go and apeak to your father. His name is John Alston. He has come to carry you away and make a fine lady of y-ou.” A covert sneer in Lp Grand’s voice fell upon Desiree's sensitive heart like a blow and she shrank away. "It is true, Desiree. I am your father. Will you come?” John Alston held out his arms ap pealingly and with a timid response the lonely, unloved child crept into the shelter that opened to her. Nestling there, the hours passed, as the trio talked of the future and made plans for the child. Desiree and her father were to go away—across the wonderful ocean, where after that, she—well after that the trio we.re to dream away their bliss in beau tiful places, with the sunlight forever about them, for John Alston was a scientist who had not only made fame, but a fortune that would give he and his child a life of luxury and joy. When the hour for retiring came, Des- siree suddenly remembered Maum Daphne, and puttin glier lips to lier fath er's ear she whispered; “Will you give me a muslin dress with pink roses, and a pair of high heel slippers to match?” Being assured that she should have them on the morrow. Desiree went to bed, but only to lie blinking at the stars until late in the morning, thinking of how lonely Le Grande would be if she left her in the gloomy old home, with no one to wipe the dishes and run to the shop for her. III. The following week was the time set apart for the de*p art ure of John Alston and his newly found daughter, for the man was eager to be alone in the com panionship of his child, and well on his way from a scene that held for him many- sad and tragic memories. “It is the work of the devil.” said' Madame Le Pre. the day of the depart ure, seeing the child running about dis tractedly trying on first one garment then another that the indulg' nt parent had lavished upon lier. “It will bring you no (good, all this folly and vanity.” indicating the heaps of finery that we e scattered about. “G_ro-nde, were you ntver a little girl, and had for no pink slippers?’’ asked Desiree naively, wondering at the old woman's contempt. "Yes. But I was strong. You are lika your mother, vain and stupid,” answered she bitterly. “My mother!” There was Infinite sweetness in the voice of the child as she spoke. “Where is my mother, grande?” she asked, suddenly- confronting her grandmother with hungry, widening eyes. "Hiush. You must not bother me with questions. You have no mother.” There was a quality in the squeaking voice that touched the child, and she w-t nt closer to her companion, and throw ing her arms around her pleaded. “Tell me about lier, grande. Was she a little girl like me? Did she love pretty- clothes. and did you love her?” The lips of the woman trembled so that she could not speak for a while, then gently kissing the brow of her grand daughter, pushed her away and -aid; “You are very like your mother, child. So much so that it makes me shiver to see you loving these bright baubles as you do. They were the undoing of your mother.” “Grande," Desiree spoke briskly. “I am not going to leave you. My father must carry you with us. or leave me here. I will not go without you.” Nor could the child be persuaded against this decision, and when the ship weighed anchor that afternoon a wither ed old woman with a softened face and moist eyes could lie seen leaning against the rail of tho boat looking contentedly toward a little girl clinging raptuousiy to the hand of her father as the great machinery was set in motion. IV. In tihe autumn of 1905, yellow fever was epidemic in New Orleans. The hot, humid breath of disease panted through cypress woods, and low, stagnant marshe \ carrying death upon every breeze, and there seemed no relief from tho dreader plague. In the French quarter, men an<j wom en dropped off like cattle. In the house of the rich anil the por alike the angel of suffering and tears sat brooding. Toward the close of a sultry- day in September an open, public conveyance drove up to the great bronze gate of a quaint old brick house set well within a dense myrtle shade, and stopped. The sole occupant, John Alston, alight- • 0-*0-~-0:0»-0-+-0~-0~0-*-0-»-0*-0 — 0-*-0 — ■••••••♦•••»• 0 — 0 — 0--0 • ■ Through Stress of Competition ^ 0 0 0 0 0 —■ 0 -*■ 0 , ■0*'0 — 0 By W. H. KOEHEL. STRANGE atmosphere of matrimony was approach ing the village of Rugglcs- bury. That is was com pressed within an inade quately small space is true. The foremost van of Blinker’s World- Famed Circus held it. Yet the ve hicle lumbered none the quicker along the road for all the amorous vapor- ings that floated within its painted sides. The ringmaster, the clown, and the gentleman who illustrated the haute ■ecole upon a ooal-black steed sat there in moody pensiveness. L'ninafrled as ■were all three the disadvantages of their bachelorhood had become acutely evldent during a pause in a game of “nap.” Owing to a common dearth of funds they had been play-ing, per force, for the empty glory of points alone. It was perhaps this fact that caused their thoughts to stray in the direction of deeper affairs. “Traveling about like this," grumbled the clown, "don’t give no chances. By- the end of a week, wihen a girl’s got so far as to realize that you’ve a heart under paint, the orders is—up i and awa*-." "It’s different with me,” mused the ohev&lier de l’haute ecole, "but I don't know as It’s any better. It's my posi tion and appearance they've got to get over. It takes 'em a good week to learn that I'm not affable merely in a—a aris tocratic way.” ’’Same here,” chimed In the ringmas ter, "exa-otly.” "What we want," said the clown, "Is to go to work In a more business-like fashion. If we don't strike some Idea for quick courtin' like as not we shall go about the country single all our lives.” The ringmaster started up. "How about a beauty show?” he ex claimed. "Blinker would tumble to It if we had one at Rugglesbury. Good business for hint it would be. The point is tii is, consolation prizes—you know—us.” The amazed look with which the other two regarded him changed gradually- to one of fervent admiration, it was some while ere they spoke. When they did the ringmaster staggered beneath an unwonted torrent of compliment. Then, laying their heads together, they spoke in interjections that grew gradually more coherent. Thus the caravan rolled onwards out wardly much as usual. But in the first van was a whirlpool of ferment and of delirously maturing plans. It was a curious coincidence that pre cisely at this period a corresponding desire should have entered the breast of one of the inhabitants of Ruggles bury- itself. There could be no doubt that Job Yardsley-, who kept the May- pole Inn, had no right to be a bachelor. A "warm" man, the master of a cosy home and of thirty acres, of grazing land besides, ought to find something better to do with his money than to spend it upon himself. Such was the female opinion of the village. Job was frankly callous. “If you were married. Job,” remarked his friend, Sam Evans, the day before the arrival of Blinker’s circus, "as likely as not y-ou'd find more objick in life.” Sam Evans was in the throes of bring ing up nine children. Job Yardsley gazed without interest across the bar parlor table. “So I’ve heard before,” he remarked. "Besides,” continued the other, "it ud be good for business. A nice, clean looking woman always puts me in mind of good beer, clean tankards, an' butter that's fresh. I'll bet your takings would go up. Others feel the same way—that's why.” A quick gleam entered Job's eye. it fell upon the untidy looking pot boy, then it wandered back to rest stealthily on the rim ot" ills glass. “Ah,” he observed, carelessly, “p'r’aps or -p'r'aps the reverse." Yet his mind grew strangely impreg nated with the idea. Evans had sown a mightier seed than he knew. Its sprout ing toward maturity- engrossed Yardsley to an unprofitable extent. On the next day a rustic in search of half a pint re ceived its double and the correct change for its half. Ere Job Yardsley could rectify his error the beer was in a haven whence no argument could retrieve it. Sam Evans chanced to be in the UAr. “Ah,” he chuckled, "there's only one reason for that way of goin' on—that's love.” Job started. Perhaps it was. If so, ell that remained for him to do was to choose the girl. The coincidence de- cldfd him. It was just after this that the poster announcing the beauty show at Blinker's circus came flaming into Ids bar in the manner of the dawn of a new life. “Yes,” said Job later in the day, “you might give it out as official. I'll take the winner of the first prize—and no questions asked afterwards.” “Aren't you leavin' it a bit to chance?” objected Sam Evans; “it might be—well— any one.” Job Yardsley flung a knowing leer. “It might,” be admitted, “and it might not. I’ve made my inquiries. Sam,” he continued, “no pigs in pokes for me. Every girl in the place has entered. But there's only three as stands a chance— Elizabeth Harmer, Jane Askew and Vio let Budden.” Sam Evans pondered. “That's true," he said. “I s'pose them three has the pick of Ruggiesbury-'s looks.” "I hope it’ll be Elizabeth Ilarmer,” said job Yardsley. Elizabeth Harmer was the daughter of a dairyman, the reputed owner of a nest- egg. The other two were the offspring of the local carpenter -nd blacksmith re spectively. "Which ever way it goes,” asserted Sam Evans, "the 'vertisement ror the May-pole will be first rate. ,-_s for lettln' folks know, you leave it to me. Job. You couldn't have struck a better man for what I might call givin’ wind to your no tion.” He proved as good as his word. When Job Yardsley entered the circus tent upon tho eventful evening of the beauty competition the murmur that was rising from the packed circle died into sudden silence. As he seated himself in that segment of the tiers which, red- baize-covered, demanded the most expen- sivo admittance, a wavering cheer rose from the opposite benches. These, being the lowest priced, held a freight of ir responsible ‘boyhood. The hushing chorus of a. multitude of mothers with 3ab- batically dressed daughters by their sides crushed the untimely demonstration. Joli Yardsley gazed about him in genu ine surprise. In whichever direction lie turned a small sea of faces iooked into ills own witli a frankly interested stare. Job blew his nose. It seemed to him that tlie space that separated him from his neighbors was greater than that in other parts of the amphitheater. When, upon the closing of the last turn of tlie usual programme, girls sing ly. in twos and In throes, shyly entered the ring in preparation for the contest Job’s heart beat perceptibly faster. A couple of score girls were there below— dark, fair, short, tall One—he wondered which—was destined to enter his life in tho most intimate fashion. The judges entered. Job started a little as he observed them. He had expected a more widely representative body, it con sisted of Mr. Blinker himself in a .frock coat and white waistcoat, the ringmaster and the haute ec.ole rider, tlie two latter still in the professional splendor of the arena. After a pause a fourth figure hurried to join the group. He wore an olive-green costume with gold-strlpea trousers. Job. gazing more intently, could perceive that it was the clown—un- clowned. Blinker mounted one of the whlte-paint- ecl pedestals that were wont to support tlie hoop-holders. The other three sur rounded him, perched on less elevated structures. In another moment the judg ing had begun. Job’s heart beatar 'fashcr yet. He glanced nervously at the (four men. The issue was in their hands. And such an issue! Upon it depended his and the Maypole's fate. He awoke to the fact that lie was repeating an inane Jingle— Elizabeth, Jane, Violet; which? Eliza beth, Jane, Violet; which? He wiped a damp forehead. He found himself eagerly. scanning tlie faces of the girls who, rejected and flushed, hurried bank to their seats. With still greater anxiety his eye sought out those who remained. Their number had been weeded down to six. Tbey- stood in two groups of three. Job gazed upon the first three. He liad not miscalculated- Elizabeth Hnr mer. Jane Askew, and Violet Budden made up tho trio. In the midst of his triumph he knew a moment of anxiety. Elizabeth Harmer, overcome at the last moment, had stuffed her handkerchief Into her mouth. She was concealing her best feature, her chin. The ringmaster, the clown, and the haute ecole rider descending from their pedestals entered into conversation with the three, pairing off one with each. Job noticed a (Startled look on the face of each of the girls. Then they- began to giggle. The gallant performers looked perfectly at home. A shout from a small boy among tlie audience broke silence. “What are you doin' there, Sally Ma- gin?" it called. Job's eyes turned upon the other trio of girls. Sally Magin. a snub-nosed, freckle-faced, prominent-eared virgin, was the nearest to him. The other two were, but little better favored. Job wonder ed whether a “booby prize” had been in cluded. Sally Magin turned a flaming face to ward her agressor. “If that's Tommy Burn that said that, his sister was outed first round,” she called back vindictively. Sally Magin had a temper. Further discussion was arrested by a loud call for silence from Mr. Blinker. A dead hush fell. Job turned a 'last glance toward Elizabeth Harmer and her two companions. His bosom swelled. Never before bad he realized how pretty they were. As each listened to a whis pering cavalier, a blush mantled six cheeks. M.r. Blinker, after clearing his throat, began: “The judging -being now concluded, la dles and gentlemen. It is my honorable duty to present the valuable prizes. The first prize is here—you can see it for yourselves—a red and white striped 'blouse. The first prize, ladies and gen tlemen, has been awarded with one voice —in fact, I might say magnanimously— to,” here lie raised his voice, “to one whom I will call the Belle of tho Ring. The fortunate lady Is Miss Sally Magin.” After a stunned moment of silence a roar went up that shook the canvas roof. But Job scarcely hep£il it. He felt sud denly faint. His eyes wandered from Sally Magin’s face, about tlie ring, then back to Sally Magiifs face. She was smiling—directly at him. The drama of the moment had inspired a gang of young men. leaning Into tlie arena they began to lead the prize-winner toward the spot where Job cowered. Blouse in hand she came, while the oc cupants of the cheaper seats rocked and swayed in open mirth. In the meanwhile the two girls who had stood at her side received a hair comb and. a straw hat respectively. But the presentation was unnoticed. Another shout went up as Sally Magin sank down by the side of Job. Job, with deeply flushed face, sprang to his feet. Utter silence fell once more. Job wavered. The stupendous hush had unnerved him. He sank down, and the sinking sealed his fate. A minute later Sally's arm was through his. Her eyes sought first the blouse, then Job, while the crowd thundered ac clamation. Only when it realized that Mr. Blinker had not completed his an nouncements did the turmoil cease. “We have now come, ladies and gen- Continued on Fourth Page. ed, and paying tlie cabman, walked hur riedly through the narrow archway, and up the long circular stei;s that led into the gloomy house. The years .since last the man had en tered there h'ad been filled , with paternal joys With Desiree and Madame Le Fie he hn ( i traveled the world over. With each succeeding year he had discovered new beauties in his child, and never had she a wish that was not fulfilled by him. Also with each year had his influence in the world of science widened an c i when the plague, broke out in the panic-striek- en city and he realized the danger of h!s child who had of recent years made her home with her grandmother in New Or leans. he hastened there, with a wonder ful theory for exterminating the disease, an,j tlie hope of saving Desiree from the plague. Of her mother, Desiree knew nothing. Dr. Alston would not permit her name to be. mentione-d, and only once had Madame Le Pre carried Desiree into her little prayer room where t’he candies burned on the clean white altar and un veiled a beautiful 'portrait which hung on the wall. “It is your mother,” she whispered, sad ly. “Her name was Delpthine.” “Of what did she die?” questioned the child. "If only I was certain that she was dead!” said Madam Le Pre under her breath, and then she led Desiree out of the t'oom. It was a beautiful face upon which she had feasted her hungry ej es. A face all blossoms and snow, all dimples and curves. And after that, Desiree insisted upon living in the old home, dreaming of the days when Delphine played beneath the myrtle boughs or counted her beads in the clean little prayer room that Madame Le Pre held so sacred. So the years of her young ladyhood were passed in the French quarter be hind the solemn looking gate, with Le Grande and the Stay company a bright and wealthy young girl is apt ’o dra.v about lier. The plague had overtaken the city- before Desiree and Le Grande were ready to leave, and then, fearing for the safety of her beloved, and wishing to put his theory to the test. Dr. Alston hastened to North Carolina. An ominous silence brooded over the place as he entered the • door, and see ing no one astir, he called softly to his daughter. Her name was echoed on the darkness. Again he called, pushing open as he did so the doors of the li brary. “Entrcz,” called a voice softly, a voice that sent a« thrill through the man. “Delphine! You!” He exclaimed stern ly. confronting the occupant. “Yes. Even me.” “Why did you return?” MMy mother is dead.” "And our child?” “Your child, John Alston, Is well, and awaits your coming,” said Delphine, drawing herself up scornfully. "Does she know?” asked Alston, bit terly. "Site does not. I passed myself ofr as an old friend to whom Madame Le Pre had been very kind. No one in tlie city knows that tlie quiet Red Cross nurse is 'Fenfoliot,' the -danseuse! Tlie outcast! The scarlet woman! Nor shall Desiree, your child, ever know. she shall not have tho currents of her pure ytoung life stained by the crimson tide of my own. I am here as a nurse. I shall not return to 'the world, but go in a few days to a life cf atonement. I am signed for the lepers' island as nurse.” John Alton looked wonderlngly upon the speaker. Her face was still beau tiful with a delicacy of outline that be spoke weary watching and ill health. He was touched by her fragility. “Delphine, before we part again. I would ask you a question. Why did you leave m e in the first year of our marriage? Where did you go?” “You have the right to know, now that you ask. I left you because I loved you. I could not bear to divide you with your science, and in my capricious and ignorant youth I ran away and went upon the stage. When the child was born I was with my motner, Dut as soon as possible I ran away again, lest you should return and find me. I went to the depth of degradation and was soon lost in the maelstrom of sin and poverty. Then there came a time when my fortune improved. I became the celebrated Fenforlelt of Paris. Long ing for a sight of home, with a heart breaking of its own wilfulness, I came back just In time to see my mother die. She knew me, and blessed me at the end. Desire f has no intimation of the relation I beat to ner. She shall never know that tlie past of her mother runs crimson with stain.” "But she does know, and she loves you. mother.” said Desiree suddenly entering through the screen and layins her face against the Red Gross nurse. Delphine turned a frightened, question ing glance to John Alston. "Will you rameain?”. asked Alston. "Say yes, dear mother," urged Desiree. “As my wife,” said John Alston. “And my mother,” added Desiree. Suddenly a parting ray from the wes tern sun shot through the window and lay on the woman, glorifying her frag ile beauty and seeming to lay as a benediction upon her. "I will remain,” she said softly.