Newspaper Page Text
Leap
Year Lady.
By VIRGINIA BLAIR
Copyrighted, 1908, by Associated
Literary l’i es**.
“1 have often wondered " h.v you
didn't marry,” said Hobble Hayes dif
lideutly.
The professor leaned ou the porch
rail and looked over his rose garden,
where the fireflies starred the night
with gold.
“Because I love a little lady who
doesn't love me,” lie said dreamily,
“and I'll have no other.”
“Oh!” Bobbie gasped as one who has
route unexpectedly upon a romance.
There was a moment's silence, out of
which Bobbie questioned curiously.
“How do you know site doesn't love
you ?”
The professor laughed. “She lets me
see that I am her good friend, her com
rade. but nothing more.”
“Look here, professor. I don't believe
you've asked her. not outright, you
know.” Bobbie accused.
“No, 1 haven't,” the professor admit
ted.
“I thought so.” Hobble stilted. “I
know how modest you are. You'd nev
er beligvt* any one cared if tjiey didn't
tell you. Now, I had t<> -why, profess
or, I just bad to bang around you aft
er class and come over here and bore
you and beg you to go places with
me before you'd believe that I thought
you were about the best thing I'd
found In college.”
The boy's voice was husky with deep
feeling, and the professor held out his
hand to him.
“Dear lad!” he said.
“And since I’ve been coming I have
found out how lonely you are and—
well, I think you ought to marry, pro
fessor.”
“Alas,” said the older man, “if it
were as easy as ? t sounds!”
“It is easy,” said Bobbie coeksured
]y. “I've—l've had some experience
with girls, professor.”
The professor chuckled. “More than
J have had in all my forty years, Bob
bie.”
“And I’ve learned/’ Bobbie asserted
solemnly, “that when a man wants to
marry a girl he’s got to let her know
that he cares awfully."
“But she knows that 1 care," the pro
fessor said.
“Have you told her?” Bobbie de
manded.
“Not in words," was the response,
“but. Hobble, boy. I've sent her a
bunch of pink roses every day that
they bloom In m.v garden, and I have
never looked at another woman.”
Bobbie silt up straight. “Oh. look
here," he said unexpectedly. “You
won’t mind if I guess who it is?”
“I don’t believe," the professor hesi
tated, "that we ought to bring her
name into it."
“Yes, we ought." Bobbie insisted,
"when it means your happiness and
hers, lsu't it Miss Merriman?”
“How did you guess?” the professor
demanded.
“Nobody else grows such old fash
ioned hundred leaved roses as you. and
when I went up to Miss Merriman's
room the other night to borrow a book
there was a bunch of them on her
table.”
“She is very fond of roses," t lie pro
fessor murmured.
“Of your roses.” Bobbie amended.
“I have no reason to believe that she
cares more for my roses than for any
other," said the professor.
"Well, I II bet she does," Bobbie ar
gued. “I'll bet she's got a lot of them
pressed in the Bible or her favorite
book of poetry.”
The professor rose. "1 hardly think
I like to bring her name into this dis
cussion." he said again quietly,. and
after that he and Bobbie walked in the
garden arm in arm, and they talked
of books and of men, but not of Miss
Merriman.
The next afternoon Bobbie called on
the little teacher.
“I want to know if you'll chaperon
some of the summer schoolgirls to a
picnic at High Rock," was his excuse.
But later in the evening he mentioned
the professor. “I don't think he's look
ing well." he said.
“1 have noticed it.” said Miss .Merri
man anxiously. "I believe tie is work
ing too hard."
“It isn’t that,” said Bobble. “lie's
in love. Miss Merriman. and the girl
he cares for is treating him verv cruel
ly ”
Miss Merriman turned pale. “Oh.”
she said faintly, "does—does he care
for,some one?”
“Y’es,” Bobbie stated, “and he ought
to be married. He is lonely, very
lonely. I am sure if the woman he
lores eohld know she would say ‘yes.’ ”
“I am sure she would,” Miss Merri
man agreed.
- “JL bare wondered,” Bobbie began
professor arc such o!d friends."
“Hut.” palpitated Miss Merrlman.
“I'm not a bit of a detective, Bobbie.
I shouldn’t know bow to look for her.”
“Well. I'll give you a tip.” said Bob
ble. "You find the lady he sends his
pink roses to: she's the one."
He was looking at her with round,
innocent eyes, and he saw the color
come back Into her cheeks. He saw
the uplift of her graceful head, with
its crown of shining hair, lie saw the
radiance of her eyes.
‘Are you sure?” she questioned.
“Dead sure." said artful Bobble.
“Look here.” he went on. “If you
find out w ho it is. put her on to the
fact that it's leap year.”
“Leap year?" gasped Miss Morri
man,
“Yes,” Bobbie slated. “And it’s her
chance. The professor is such a dear
old piece of humility that he doesn't
think she can love him, and he's
afraid to ask her. because he feels
that it might make her unhappy to re
fuse him. And lie's certain that she
wouldn’t accept.”
“Oh, wouldn't she?” breathed Miss
Merrlman.
“And and you tell her,” Bobble con
tinued. “that lie’s the lx*st ever.”
“Of course he is.” said Miss Merrl
mnn. "Haven't I known him all my
life?”
“Well, I've only known himJtince I
came to the summer schools said
Bobbie, “but I’ll always lie more of a
man for having met him.”
They shook hands with enthusiasm,
and oil 1 lie stops Bobbie paused to say,
“He’s going to High Hook with us.”
But Bobbie did not know all the
working of the feminine mind, for Miss
Merrlman. instead of bringing things
to a crisis at the picnic, kept away
from the professor till day. giving him
only a vague smile now and then, in
stead of her usual frank companion
ship, ami as a consequence the profess
or went home In a state of desperate
forlornness, and even the wise Bobble
was alarmed and wished he had not
interfered.
The next evening, however, just at
the edge of twilight, as the professor
wended his solitary way through the
paths of his rose garden, the gate open
ed and a slender figure i:i white came
through.
“I have come to see your roses.” said
the leap year lady, otherwise called
Miss Merrlman.
"Are you real,” the professor de
manded, “or just a trieky spirit, who
will vanish in a breath?”
“1 atn not a spirit,” said the leap year
lady, “hut I've come to ask you a ques
tion.”
The professor's face fell. “I knew it
wasn't just the roses that brought
you." he said. “I suppose it's some tan
gle in your Greek?”
“No,” said Miss Merriman, "it isn’t
a tangle in Greek. It's a worse tangle.
And it has something to do with roses.”
“Botany?” asked the unconscious
professor.
“Oil, no!” Miss Merriman’s voice ex
pressed a certain scorn of his dense
ness.
“Well, you said it bad something to
do with roses,” the professor told her
helplessly.
“Do the roses you send me have any
thing to do with botany?" Miss Merri
man demanded.
“No; of course not," the professor
stammered: “of course not. They have
to do with"—
“What?" Miss Merriman’s tone was
eager. Her upturned face pleaded. Her
eyes were like stars. A faint glow
from the little moon turned her hair to
gold, and as the professor looked down
at her a great light shone in upon his
soul.
“Why—they have to do with—love."
he said.
“Of course.” was the tremulous re
sponse. "Oh. why didn’t yon say It be
fore?"
"I was afraid.” he whispered and
took her hands in his.
"You see I had to come—to your rose
garden”— she explained in the shelter
of his arms.
“To stay always?” he begged, and as
she murmured “always” wise Bobbie,
coming up the path, saw the tableau in
the moonlight and. chucking as he
went, beat a hasty retreat.
The Great Unknown.
It was many years before the
“Great Unknown” was identified. At
the publication of tbe "Lay of tbe
Hast Minstrel.” “Marniion.” "Lady of
the Lake” and finally of a novel called
“Waverley,” popular curiosity was ex
cited, and the whole of England rang
with the fame of the “Great Un
known,” as Scott was called. The
secret was well kept. Sir Walter
S< ott. who all his life had been stor
ing material and training his mind to
such concentration that he could work
in the midst of interruptions and was
able to turn out volume after volume
with a rapidity, two a year, that made
his readers doubt their very senses.
Ilis incognito was all the more per
fectly preserved in that he kept open
house at Abbotsford, devoting much
of his time go entertaining his guests
and visiting. It was not until the em
barrassment of his publisher? occur
red that the identity of the author of
tbe “Waverley Novels” was discover
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