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The Four of Hearts
A SERIAL OF YOUTH AND LOVE
By Virginia Terhune Van De
Water.
CHAPTER XIL.
(Copyright, 1918, Star Company.)
T the door of her own room,
A Cynthia listened, then turning
the knob softly, entered.
She drew & sigh of relef as she
noted the door of eommunication be-
Sween her room and Dora's was
ciosed. Dora was evidently un
dressing. There would be a few min
utes’ respite before Cynthia must re
port her news to her cousin
Disrobing hastily, she shodk Qown
her long hair, combed and dDraided
it, then, as no sound had yet come
from Dora, she turned out her light
and got into bed.
Lying there, she heard her cousin
go back and forth in her room, pre
paring for the night. Dora was al
ways slow about dressing and un
dressing. The last one who was
ready for bed usually opened the door
between the two apartments.
At the end of twenty minutes Dora
knocked, then entered without wait
ing for permission to do so.
“Hallo!” she exclaimed. “Are you
in bed already? 1 did not hear you
come in here. Do you want to go
right to sleep?
*“No,” Cynthia replied, “I am not a
bit sleepy. But I thought that you
were.”
*] am not now,” Dora !nformed her.
“And 1 have put on my heavy wrap
per and slippers so that 1 can sit
here and have a comfy talk with you.”
This wag certainly the time to make
her confession, Cynthia realized.
There was no way of escaping it. She
had hoped that Dora would be so
gleepy that she would not stay for a
chat tonight. That might, at least,
have put off the hour of revelation
until tomorrow. But ft had arrived
and must be met.
“Well,” Dora inquired, perching
herseclf upon the bed and taking Cyn
thia’'s hand in hers, “did father have
his business talk with you? You poor
dear—] have been thinking a lot of
what you just told me. It's hard, but
you mustn't mind. First of all, what
did father want to talk to you about?”
ABOUT GERALD STEWART.
“About Gerald Stewart” Cynthia
said.
The room was dark, for Dora had
not turned on the light, so Cynthia
could not see her cousin’s face. But
she felt the fingers holding hers tight
en. The volce that answered her
statement was tense.
“Abcut Gerald Stewart?™ The ques
tion was abrupt. ‘““What about him?
‘Was mother there?™ |
Cynthia did not understand her
companion’s agftation; in fact, her
own embarrassment was so actue that
'fio gave Dora's manner only a pass
ing thought.
“Yes, Aunt Amanda was there at
firstt Then she went to her own
room.”
“But what about Gerald Stewart?
'What aid father say about him?
'What had he been talking to Gerald
about? ‘
A Goal for the Child
By William A. McKeever,
One of the Nation’s Foremost Author
ities in Matters Pertaining to
Training the Child.
E had been calling at a com
fortable home in the cily of
C—— and were taking our
leave when the hostess ex
clatmed, “Please come upstairs be
tmmgomduhamp at An
nie's room.” 8o we did. Annie was
10 and a comely, modest child. And
the room, expressive of the charac
ter of the girl, was featured by a
bright, cheerful arrangement of the
treasured belongings. ‘
"And who is this?™ 1 asked, point
ing to thé photograph on the little
study table, of a woman of perhn.pnj
threescore years, and one whose face
indicated a character of unusual poise
and strength, |
“Oh, that is Annie's Great-Aunt
Liydia, long since gone. But Annie
is famillar with the story of her life
and makes it her model. See, here
is the sketch in this serapbook.” |
Now, here was something different
under the sun—a little girl mpeatediyl
holding up her own acts in order to
compare them with those of a beauti
ful model character which had grown
in perfection with the passing of the
years. “And do you suppose Aunt
Tiydia knitted for the Red Cross?™ in
quired lttle Annie, with a troubled
look. ‘T do not remember anything
that was said about it in .the story of
her life.”
And so It was that his sweet, silent
Ov cé of a great-aunt sat in
. ent over the deeds of happy, 10-
year-old Annie. The mother had
caught the idea of the influence of
_one's own thinking over the formation
©f his character. Accordingly she had
placed the attractive photograph and
the interesting life sketch in Annie’s
room and she had gone over every
item of the acoount with the MNttle
_girl many times in order to fix the
: *;rg in the childish mind.
g ow,"” said the mother, “Aunt Ly
~ @fa is to be one of vour dearest teach
- ers. Youare to think of her whenever
z do anything and ask yourseif if
_she would do it that way. For, re
Today’s Installment ot ‘The Four of Hearts’ Is Especially Interestmg—Be Sure 1o Read i,
FEHE TGO OIR GIAN S 4 XEAGAZIENTEPAGE
Cynthia moistened her lips with her
tongne and swallowed hard.
“About me,” she sald, In a low
voice,
“About you?” Dora replied.
This situation must be ended, and
Cynthia made a great effort. “Yes,
labout me,” she affirmed. “He wanted
,to ask Uncile's permission to marry
' me.”
The truth was out. It seemed to
Cynthia as though she had shouted it
through the room. The fingers clutch
ing hers loosened and slipped from
her clagp. There was a long sflence
before Dera spoke.
“You must excuse me,” she said at
last stiffly, “i I am somewhat sur
prised. But 1 had no idea that you
and Gerald were in love with cach
other. 1 congratulate you both.”
The voice was so hard that the
listener could scarcely believe the evi
‘dence of her own ears. Dora must be
very much hurt or very angry at not
‘havxng been taken sooner into her
‘compumm’s confidence,
“Dore,” Cynthia began, trying to re
)gdn her coustn’s hand, “don’t speak
ke that, dear, There was nothing
to tell untll today when you sent me
into the Ibrary—at least nothing that
I knew about. I did not know until
this afternoon that Gerald cared like
that for me.” |
~ "“You knew, I suppose, that you
Tlvved hirm 7"
The sentence had an accusing
sound.
A MUTUAL CONFESSION,
“l dld not know It, dear,” Cynthia
protested. “In fact, Dora, I—l think
you are right when you say that love
{s not as wonderful as some people
say, At Jeast—the kind of sentiment
I feel for Gerald is not what I always
supposed that love—'
‘! She stopped, burled her face in the
]pfllow and burst into notseless sobs,
- Dora hesitated, but only for a mo
‘ment. With a swift movement of pity
she bent over the bed and gathered
‘the sobbing girl in her arms, kissing
her again and again.
“There, there, dear!” she soothed.
“Have your cry out and you'll feel
better. 1 guess you have just discov
ered what lots of the rest of us have
had to discover-+that love and life
aren’t all they're eracked up to be.
Never mind, honey—if Gerald loves
:you. and you love him, even a lttle—
‘you will be happy. For you will love
hMm more and more all the time. No
‘woman could help doing that” |
~ Cynthia had stopped sobbing. “How
do you know?" ghe asked. ‘
“Well, you see, I am engaged, too,”
Dora reminded her, with an attempt
at a laugh, “so I am supposed to
knew something about it.”
“Yes—you and Milton,” Cynthia
mused aloud. “So you understand, of
course. I can see just why you should,
You could not help it.”
Netther of the girls realized that
each had made to the other a very
{lluminating speech.
Nor did either know that the other
had cried herself to sleep that night.
\ (To Be Continued.)
member, that you are to grow Into a
dear, good woman just as she was.™
The idea s perfectly sound. One's
own thinking early rfukos or mars
his character. Rven children are
naturally inclined to pick out a model
of some kind, most commonly a living
person against whose conduect they
measure thelr own to determine its
fitness. If your 10-year-old daughter
comes home from school set upon a
foolish purpose, you may be certain
that she did not invent it. More
probably she caught up the idea from
some older girl who is a sortof work-
Ing model of yours. The standards
may be cheap and false, but this older
one is, nevertheless, one of your own
child’s most influential teachers. Call
your child in, question her carefully
and you may trace the matter to its
source.
Finally, make use of this most ef
fective method of teaching your child
through the use of personal models,
Usually one good model is better than
the use of model traits drawn from
many. The former is concrete and in
structs through a living language. The
latter Is abstract and, therefore, stale
and uninteresting to the little one.
Find a dear Aunt Lydia for your
little girl and, though far away in
time and space, this attractive person
ality may help to make your child
beautiful,
AR R T N e
The Origin of ‘‘Foolscap.”’
Several exPlanutlons have been given
of the meaning of the word “‘foolscap,"”
as applied to a certain class of pa s
One of the ex&lmuflons is that wm
Charles the rst found his revenue
short he granted certain privileges,
amounting to monopolies, and among
these was the manufacture of paper,
the exclusive right to which was sold
to certain parties, who grew rich and
enriched the Government at the expense
of those who were obliged to use the
ggpef. At this time all English paper
re, in watermarks, the Roval Arms.
The Parliament under Cromwell madce
a Jest of this law, and among other in
dignities to the memory of Charles, it
was ordered that the Royal Arms be
removed from the paper and a fool's
cap and bells be substituted. These
were in their turn removed when the
'Rump Parliament was dismissed, but
}paper for the size of the Parliament's
Journal still bears the name of “foois
cap.*
Two Queens Who Have Felt War’s Heavy Hand
Alexandra of Britain and Marie of Russia, Dowagers and Sisters, Are Both Objects of Intense
Hatred by the Germans.
v 2 . '
HE recent appeal of the Dowager
I Empress of Russia, Marie Feo~
dorovna, for financial ald from
the Bolsheviki, whe overthrew her gon
and with him the Romanoff dynasty,
furnishes another instance of the odd
turns of the wheel of Fate in the
' hands of the god of war.
The Dowager Empress, as the wife
‘of the Czar Alexander 111, was the
most beloved woman in Russia. She
is a sister of the Dowager Queén
Alexandra of Great Britain, and the
two have always been devoted to
each other.
Daughters of Christian IX of Den
mark, the two queens long after their
marriage purchased a ‘beautiful but
unpretentious place near <Copenha
gen, the villa Hvidore, and there they
planned to spend their spare hours
together.
The war changed all that, and
while Bdward Vll's widow has been
working ceaselessly for the Red Cross
her sister has been at Livadia, in the
Crimea, where the royal Russian
family often gpent part of the winter.
Late dispatches tell of Queen Ma
rie's hope to return to Denmark, but
it is not unlikely that she will have
to postpone the journey or take it by
sea, as the Germans haveé no love for
her.
As Czarina, Marie was strongly
pro-French in her sympathies—so
much go that the Frankfurter Zeitung
described the two sisters as “the
moving spirits and principal ‘authors
of the International conspiracy
against Germany.”
This was before Germany had by
her own acts lifted the veil and re
vealed herself as a blood and hungry
pawn of Kaiserism.
In 1915 Queen Marie was quoted in
an interview as saying: “Oh, how I
hate these Germans. Ever since the
day they selzed Schleswig-Holstein 1
have hated them. One man alone
foresaw the terrifying German ag
gression, and that was the late King
Edward VIL” °
Although the Russian roya! family
possessed millions before the fall of
the dynasty, they have now only what
the Bolshevik Council chooses to al
low.
As girls, the two empresses were
brought up simply, and Queen Alex
andra wrote in one of her many
charming letters: *“Just think, my
trousseau cost more than my father's
whole yearly income.”
The end of the war will no doubt
see the two queens at Hvidore,
Nights With Uncle Remus
THE STORY OF AARON.
* By JOEL CHANDLEI;AI;;;{;!.E
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANI
MALS.
(Concluded.)
USTER JOHN was so much
B surprised that he hesitated a
moment, and then began to re
ply in a tone of voice somewhat loud
er than usual.
“Sh-sh! talk low!” whispered
Aaron. “Did somebody tell you to do
that 7"
“Yes,” said Buster John,
“Round anywhere by the spring?”
Aaron was very cautious in putting
his questions. Apparently he want
ed to make himself perfectly sure.
“Yes,” cried Sweetest Susan. “The
spring is the gate, you know.”
“She, too?" asked Aaron, nodding
his head toward Drusilla,
“Of course,” sald Buster John.
“I dunner how come I can™ go whar
de yuthers does,” remarked Drusilla.
“All right—all right!” exclaimed
Aaron. Then he counted them. “One
~—two-—three! And now you've come
to me. What for?
“We want to learn how to talk with
the animals,” sgald Buster John.
Aaron, who had been frowning a
Httle, semed to be relleved. The frown
Msappeared.
“Oho,” he cried, “is that all?” "Tain't
much, yet it's a heap. You'll hear lots
of sassy talk, Sometimes, maybe,
you'll have to stop up your ears.”
“We won't mind that,’ remarked
Buster John.
“Maybe not,” said Aaron. Then he
went to a large wooden chest that sat
in the corner, ualocked it, and pres
ently brought forth a bundle of red
cloth. This he placed on the floor and
sat beside it, motioning the children
to sit on the floor in a circie around
the bundle. He unrolled the cloth un
til he came to an oval-shaped mirror,
The frame was heavy and richly
carved and shone as bright as new
silver shines.
Aaron placed the beautiful mirror
carefully on the floor, face up. Then
he threw the red cloth over his head
and over the children’'s heads. If any
one had been peeping through the
chinks of the chimney he would have
been very much puzzled by what he
saw and heard. He would have seen
the red cloth bobbing up and down
as if those underneath were bowing
their heads back and forth, and he
would have heard muffled exclama
tions of wonder, the loudest of all be
ing Drusilla’s inveluntary cory:
“Don't dat beat all!™
The children never told what hap
pened under the cloth, nor what they
saw in the mirror. When Aaron rose
to his feet, the ecloth still over his
head, he made a few movements with
his arms, and lo! there was the bundls
in his hands with the mirror wrap
ped in its folds.
Sweetest Susan looked at Buster
Jehn., “Wasn't it easy?” she cried.
‘Did you ever see anything as
bright——7" She would have said
more, but Aaron touched her gently
on the arm and put his finger on his
lips. At that moment a gander in the
spring lot began to scream.
“What did he say?" asked Aaron.
looking at Drusilla.
“He say, ‘l'm gwine atter water—
water—who wanter go?”
Aaron seemed satisfied with the an
swer. He replaced the bundle lin the
chest, turned the key and then leaned
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against the rude mantel shelf he had
nailed over his firenlace.
“You think I'm a nigger, don’t you?”
He turned to Buster John.
“Of course,” sald the youngster
without hesitation. *“What else are
you?
“T'll show you.” From his pocket
Aaren drew a little package—some
thing wrapped in soft leather and se
curely tied. It was a memorandum
book. Opening this small book, Aaron
Leld it toward Buster John, saying,
“What's here?”
“It looks like pothooks,” replied
the boy, frankly.
“Ain't a word in it I can’t read,”
said Aaron.
“Read some of it, please,” pleaded
Sweetest Susan.
Thereupon Aaron began to read
from the book in a strange tongue, the
tone of his volce taking on modula
tions the children had never heard
before.
“l ain’t never hear no jabber like
dat,” said Drusilla.
“What sort of talk is 1#t?" asked
Buster John.
“’Tain’t no creetur talk,” remarked
Drusilla; “I know dat mighty well.”
“It's the talk of Ben AIli” said
Aaron—" Ben Ali, my daddy. Every
word here was put down by him.'
“Why, I've heard grandpa talk
about uncle Ben Ali,” suggested Bus
ter john.
Aaron nodded. “Many a time. Your
grand)a, my master, tried to buy my
daddy, but Ben Ali was worth too
much. I went to see him with my
master twice a year till he died. He
was ro nigger.”
‘““What, then?” Buster John asked.
“Arab-—man of the desert—slave
hunter—all put down ehre,” said
Aaron, tapping the little book with
his finger.
The children were anxious to hear
abcut Ben Ali, the Arab—Ben Ali the
slave hunter, who had himself be
come a slave. There was not much
to tell, but that little was full of in
terest as Aaron told it, sitting in his
door, the children on the steps below
him. ¥or the most part the book was
a dlary of events that had happened
to Ben Ali after he landed in this
country, being written In one of the
desert dialects; but the first few
pages told how the Arab chief hap
pened to be a slave.
Ben Ali was the leader of a band
that made constant war on some of
the African tribes in the Senegam
bian region. With their captives
this band of Arabs frequently pushed
on to the Guinea coast and there sold
them to the slave traders. These ex
cursions continued until, on one oc
casion, the Arabs chanced to clash
with a war-loving tribe, which was
also engaged in plundering and raid
ing its neighbors. The meeting was
unexpected to the Arabs, but not to
the Africans. The Arabs who were
left alive were led captive to the
coast and there sold with other pris
oners to slave traders. Among them
was Ben Ali, who was then not more
then thirty years old. With the rest,
he was brought to Virginia, where he
was sold to a Virginian planter,
fetching a very high price. Along
with him, in the same ship, was an
Arab girl, and she was also bought by
the planter. Nothing was said in the
diary in regard to the history of this
girl, except that she became Ali's
wife, and bore him a son and a
daughter. The son was Aaron, so
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named. The daughter died whilc yel
a child.
Trese things Aaron told the chil
d.en, little by little and in a rambling
way, begging Buster John and
Sweetest Susan to say nothing abeut
the matter to any other person, and
threatening Drusilla with uplifted
finger that if she opened her mouth
about it he would put “the misery”
on her. Drusilla had seen negroes
who were the victims of “the misery”
—which is the plantation name of the
spell that conjurers put' on people,
and she declared over and over again
that she wouldn’t tell—*crossing her
heart” to show that she meant what
she said.
“Can we talk with the animals sure
enough—the horses, the cows, the
sheep, the dogs, and the hogs,” asked
Buster John.
Aaron smiled as he answered: “A
little bit now, more pretty soon. The
sheep—l don’'t know. Sheep don't
talk much around me. But the others
are talking #ll the time. You mustt
watch all the motions they make,
shutting the eye, switching the tail,
flopping the ear, stamping the foot—
all part of the talk.”
“When shall we try?” asked Buster
John.
“Right after dinner,” replied Aaron;
“we'll go see old Timoleon.”
“Timoleon!” cried Sweetest Susan,
in dismay.
Aaron laughed and nodded his
head. “We'll take him out the stable
and see what he says. Timoleon good
talker.”
“Oh, 'm afraid to go!” cried Sweet
est Susan. “Mamma told me never
to g 0 near Timoleon's stable.”
“T'll tell you de plain trufe,” said
Drusilla vehemently, “I wouldn’t g 0
up dar in dat fiel’ whar dat hoss is—
i wouldn't go dar, not fer money.
Ain’t I done see 'im jump on a nigger
man an’ tar de cloze off'n ‘im?
Uh-uh! you don’t ketch me up dar!”
“Little Missy will go with me,” re
marked Aaron. Then he pointed to
Drusilla. “You go or stay, but, look
out! No talk!”
“T'll set on de fence an’ see de hoss
eat 'em up,” suggested Drusilla, by
way of a compromise.
“She’ll go if I do,” said Sweetest
Susan.
“You mus’ n't be agwine, den,” was
Drusilla’s comment.
Aaron looked at the girl so severely
that she shrank back. |
“Don’t mind Drusilla,” said Sweet.
est Susan. “She doesn’'t mean any-‘
thing she says, except when she asks
for something to eat.”
“After dinner we'll go see Timo
leon. If he seems like he's in a good
1E Dowager Queen Marie Feodo-
Trovna, widow of the Czar Alexan
der 111, at the left, and her sis
ter, whom she greatly resembles, the
Dowager Queen Alexandra of Great
Britain, widow of Edward VII and
mother of the present King, George V.
The unfortunate Queen Marie saw her
son exiled by the revolutionary forces of
Russia and the royal family stripped of
all prerogatives.
humor,” Aaron explained, “we’ll bring
’hlm out. If he has been fretting
we'll let him stay.”
‘ This was perfectly satisfactory to
‘the children, especially to Buster John.
‘ They went to play, but they only
pretended to play. All they could do
was to discuss what they had already
seen and heard, and what they hoped
to see and hear. Time seemed to pass
very slowly. They sat down and
talked, and then walked about and
talked, but still it was not dinner
time. They would have become very
impatient, indeed, had mnot Buster
John chanced to hear the big gray
rooster call out to the yellow hen:
“Run, run, run! Here's a bug!”
The yellow hen went running, but
just as she reached the gray rooster
he turned and walked away with
great dignity, saying: “Come on, let’s
go; come on.”
“I might have known {t,” com
plained the yellow hen; “you are like
all the rest of the roosters. A re
spectable hen can't depend on any
thing you say.”
[ “Come nn, come on,” said the big
gray rooster, strutting along, “I was
just trying to get you away from that
one-eyed dominicker. He's not fit
company for you to associate with.”
‘ “Hoity-toity!"” cried the yellow hen,
“And didn’'t I see you this morning
scratching your toes off for the Fries
land pullet?”
Buster John and Sweetest Susan
laughed heartily at this, but Drusilla
was very serious.
“I dunno which de wuss,” she-cried,
“chickens er folks.”
After that, time no longer hung
heavy on the children’s hands. When
the dinner bell rang, Buster John and
Sweetest Susan were on hand prompt
ly, with their faces washed and their
hair combed. They were so anxious
to get through their dinner that they
ate rapidly, and tHis attracted the at
tention of ftheir mother, who wanted
to know what they had been doing te
make them so hungry. The only sat
isfaction she got was a request to
“Please, ma'am, make haste and have
some dinner fixed for Drusilla.”
This was very soon done, and in a
little while the children were ready to
g 0 with Aaron to see Timoleon.
(Copyright, 1881, 1882, 1909 and 1911,
by the Century Company; 1883 by Jcel
Chandler Harris; 1911 y Xsther I!aßose
Harris ALIL, RIGHTS RESERVED.
Printed by permission of and by srecial
arrangements with Houghton, Mifflin
Company) ¥
Monday—A Rideron the Black Shl-j
ion.
The White Morning
By GERTRUDE ATHERTON
Chapter V.
iSELA, who had been staring
G acress the Konlginstrasse into
the heavy branches that hung
over the wall of the park, her mental
vision too aetively raking the past to
spare a beam for the familiar picture,
suddenly switched her searchlight
away from those milestones in her
hisworic progress and concentrated it
upen a suspicious shadow opposite.
Surely it had moved, and there was
not a breath of wind. The night was
mild and still.
She did not move a muscle. but
narrowed ler gaze until it detached
the flgure of a man from the dark
background of wall and trees. Al
ways apprehensive of spies. although
the Gott commandeered by the Kaiser
seemed to have adjusted blinders to
eves strained west, east and south, she
leaped to the conclusion that she was
under surveillance at last, and her
heart beat thickly.
She, who had believed that the long
strain. the constant danger, the in
cessant demand for resource and ever
ncre resource, had transformed her
nerves to pure steel, realized angrily
that on this last night, when she had
permitted herself an hour’s idle re
trospect before commanding sleep, her
nerves more nearly resembled the
strings of a violin.
No Desire to Hide.
’ Her apartment was on the ground
floor. She stood up, revealing herself
disdainfully in the moonlight that
now lay full on her windew. then
went out quickly into the wvestibule
and unlocked the house door. Her
only fear was that the man would
have gone. but if he were still there
she was determined to walk boldly
over to his skulking place and pre
tend she believed him to be a burglar
or a foreign spy. In these days she
i carri:d a small pistol and a dagger.
‘When she had stepped out on the
pavement she glanced quickly up and
down the street. Not even a polizel
diener was in sight, for this aristo
cratic quarter was, in peace and war,
the quietest part of an always or
derly town. It was evident that the
man spied alone.
Holding her head very high, she
started across the street; but she had
not taken three steps when the
shadow detached itself and walked
rapidly out into the moonlight. She
gave a sharp cry and shrank back.
It was Franz von Nettlebeck.
“You——" she stammered. “They
sent you——"
“They? And why should I alarm
you? Am I so formidable?” He ut
tered his short, harsh laugh and lifted
his cap. His head was bandaged;
' there was a deep scar along the outer
Lline of his right cheek. His face was
gaunt and lined; fnd his shoulders
sagged until he suddenly bethought
himself and flung them back with a
deathless instinct.
Gisela smiled and gave him her
hand, with a graceful spontancity.
“The sense of being watched always
' shakes the nerves a bit, and I have
felt up to nothing myself for a long
ltime. Why did you not come up to
}the window when you recognized
me?”
| “I was so sure of welcome! And
yet as soon as I was fit to travel I
came here to see you. I intended to
send in my card tomorrow. But I
could not help haunting your window
tonight, and when I had the good for
ltune to see you sitting there—with
’the moon shining on your beautiful
} face——"
“My face is no longer beautiful,
' dear Franz——"
| “You are a thousand times more
‘beautitul than ever——'
| He Follows Her.
) Something else vibrated along those
steel nerves, but she said briskly:
“Standing so long must have tired
you. Come in and rest. It is late;
‘but if there are still conventions in
this crashing world I have forgotten
them.”
Her rooms were always prepared
for a sudden visit of the police. If a
firing squad were her fate #t would
not have heen invited through the
usual channels. Even the arms to be
worn on the morrow were in the cel
lars and attics of citizens so respect.
able as almost to be nameless.
He followed her through the eom
‘mon entrance of the apartment house
into her Saal. It was a large, com
fortable room with many deep chairs
‘and on the gray walls were a few
iportraits of her scowling ancestors,
contributed long since by her mother,
A tall porcelain stove glowed softly.
’ Gisela drew the curtains and lit
several candles. She disliked the
‘hard glare of electricity at any time,
and she admitted with a curious thrill
of satisfaction that those manifestly
sincere words of her old lover had
given her vanity a momentary resur
rection.
To Relax and Forget,. -
Her suspicions were by no means
allayed, even when she met his eyes
blazing with passionate admiration,
but why not play the old game of the
gods for an hour? What hetter prep
aration for the morrow than to relax
and forget?
“Poer Franz!” Her volce was the
same rich contralto whose promise
had routed the Howland millions
years ago. "Our poor, gallant men!
When will this terrible war finish?”
“Ask vour United States of Ameri
ca!" And he cursed that superfluous
ration roundly. “We had some
chance before. Now we shall be beat
en to our knees, stamped into the
dust, straight down to hell.” He
threw himself into a chair and pressed |
his hands against his face. |
“But when?” Giscla watched him‘
warily. If these were tactics they
were admirable; but who more full
of theatric devices than the Kaiser he
adored? :
A Plaintive Cry.
“Years hence, no doubt—if we con
tinue to hold the Social-Democrats in
hand and drug the people. We'll fight
3. A R - e
] e B
i N : 5
T 5y oo
W TR
on until our epemies might proves
that they are right and we were fools,
That is all there is to wazr*
Gisela sat down and let her hands
fall into her lap with a little pathetio
motion of weakness. “Sometimes I
wish the Socialists were strong
enough to win and end it all,” she
said plaintively.
“Oh, no you don't. You are a
junker, for all your independent no
tions, and trying to put some of your
own nerve into the women. I read
you with great amusement before the
war. But no ene lgows better than
yourself that the triumph eof democ
racy in Germany would meoan the end
of us.”
“I can not see that we are enjoying
many privileges at present-—unless it
be the privilege to lie rather than
be lied to. And when our enemies do
win we shall be pried out, root and
‘branch. So, why not save our skins
at all events? Ido not mean mine, of
course—nor, for that matter, am I
thinking of our class; but of the hun
‘dreds of thousands of our dear young
‘men who might be spared——*"
~ “Better die and have done with it
'And there is always hope—*
i "Hope?”
~ “Oh—in the separate peace, the ui
timate submersible, some new Inven
’uon—the miracle that has come to the
rescue more than once in history.
There are times when my faith in the
destiny of Germany to dominate the
world is so great that I can nct be
lieve it possible for her to fafl—in
’spne of everything, everything! And
everything s against us! I never
;rea.lized it until I lay there in the hos
pital. I was too busy before, and that
‘was my first serious wound.
~ "“Oh, God! what fools we were.
‘"What rotten diplomacy. Ewven I de
‘spised the United States; but as i
lay there in Berlin their irresistible
almighty power seemed to pass befors
me in a procession that nearly de
stroyed my reason. I knew the coun
try well enough, but I would@ not see.”
“They are a very soft-hearted peo
ple and would let us down agreeably
if the Social-Democrats overturned
the House of Mohenzollern and
stretched out the imploring hand of a
young republic——"
The Old Feeling.
“No! No! A thousand times rather
die to the last man than be beaten
within. That would be the one in
supportable humiliation.
“Canaille!” He spat out the word,
“I refuse to recognize their exist
ence——"
He sprang to his feet and before
her mind could flash to attention he
had caught her from her chair and
was straining her to him, his arms,
his entire body, betraying no evidence
whatever of depleted vitality. “Let us
forget it all!” he muttered. “We are
still young and lam free. I was a
fool once and you will believe me
when I tell you that I would beg you
cn my knees to marry me even if you
were Gisela Doring. ‘* * * [ nave
leave of absence for a month. * * #*
Let us be happy once more.” * * »
“It was a long while ago, * * *
all that, * * *do you realize how
long ?”
Gisela stood rigid, her eyes expand
ed. To her terror and dismay she
was thrilling and flaming from head
to foot. This lover of her life might
have released her from one of their
immortal hours but vesterday.
The One Way.
But although she had to brace her
body from yielding, her mind (and it
is the curse of intellectual women of
individual powers that the mind nev
er, in any circumstance, ceases tu
function), realized that while the hu
man will may be strong enough to
‘banish memories, and readjust the
lonely soul, its most triumphant acts
may be annihilated by the physical
contact of its mate. Unless replaced.
Fool that she had been merely to have
buried the memory of this man by an
act of will. She should have taken a
commonplace lover, or husband, put
out that flaming midnight torch with
the standardizing light of day.
(Cepyright, 1918, Gertrude Atherton.)
(To Be Continued Monday.)
~‘ . ,_":_I: .‘-.}':—_. =,
A e
L /74
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R, 0, “ »
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