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ROBEFT STEAD
-AUTHOR, or "THE COW PUNCHED','
«Ory*!4MT »Y sxjlad W.T HCWESTEAPERE-
SYNOPSIS
FJMr-old Rail, playmate, Jean Lane, Frank
ae«d six, ventures on the~for
Bidden wall of a dam, In a small On¬
tario town. He falls Into the water,
flinging and !• saved Jean's from possible death by
Rost to outstretched arms.
day he has a vision of romance
when weir Jean Informs him that because of
adventure of the day before he is
W the duty bound to being marry (hat her. He agrees,
only until proviso they are to
wait they are "grownups.”
John, CHAPTER II.—With Jean's brother
also aged six, Frank begins
by •obool. Two years later they are joined
Jean and Frank's sister Marjorie.
A little later Jean confides to Frank,
in verse, her hope of some day becom
lag "Mrs. Hall.” He accepts the "pro
yosat." Frank Is fourteen when his
mother dies. He takes a job In the
mill where hls father works. The boys
are killed eighteen when John's father Is
In an accident. Two years later
Frank's father and John’s mother are
married, Dissatisfied with conditions,
and ambitious, the two boys make
Flans itead," to go to Manitoba and "home
them. the girls agreeing to go with
They set out.
CHAPTER III.—At Regina they meet
“Jake,” who for a monetary considera¬
tion agrees to find them satisfactory
friends homesteads. He does so, arid the two
file claims on Sections Fourteen
and Twenty-two.
CHAPTER IV.—Jake sagely advises
the adventurers in the purchase of ilbp
•llee, if and in a wagon drawn by a yoke
oxen, and with a cow, the four set
out for their future homes.
CHAPTER V. — Construction of
■Whacks” and the making of a garden
are their first occupations. There la
a pond of good water on Frank's farm,
which serves them until they dig a
well. A young Englishman of the name
of “Spoof’ is a neighbor of theirs. They
all on Spoof, typical Englishman living of
reeding and education, who Is
n a tent.
CHAPTER VI.—Spoof, on his return
visit, discloses himself as a man of
varied social attainments. He promises
to Frank give the girls lessons feeling on the banjo. Jean
has an uneasy that
takes an altogether unnecessary and
undesirable Interest In him. Hls jeal¬
ousy is aroused.
CHAPTER VII.—Marjorie discovers
that they have a new neighbor, and the
four drive over to welcome him. "He”
turns out to be a Mrs. Alton, a wid¬
owed three-year-old Englishwoman, Gerald who, with her
son has taken up
a claim. The three women take to cacn
other at once. Spoof, on a visit to
Fourteen with hls Frank banjo, is told of the the
new neighbors. boy's Imagines Gerald,
mention of the name. has
a dtsauletlng effect on Spoof.
CHAPTER VIII.—Frank and John
leave the homesteads for a time to do
harvest work for wages on a longer
established farm. They encounter Jake,
who tells them of hls adventure into
matrimony. After two months’ absence
they return to their homes. Jean's en¬
thusiastic welcome stirs Frank to the
belief that Jean returns his love, but
be still has a lingering doubt.
CHAPTER IX.—The land sections oe
gln to fill up with settlers of all na¬
tionalities. Jake and hls wife have
located in strangely the neighborhood. aloof. Winter Mrs. Alton In.
remains sets
CHAPTER X.—Frank and Jean enter
into a marriage engagement. It Is
well understood that John and Mar¬
jorie are soon his to life be married. in snowstorm. Frank
almost loses a nearest
Spoof drives thirty miles to the
town to make arrangements for a dou¬
ble wedding.
CHAPTER XI—Frank and John,
for a joke, send Spoof on a fool s er¬
rand. through a storm. -lean, learning
the facts, becomes so indignant that
Frank's jealousy is fully aroused- The
two men go after Spoof and bring him
hack safely. Jean confesses to Frank
that ahe loves Spoof, though he does
not know It, and breaks her engage¬
ment.
CHAPTER XII.—John and Marjorie the
are married on Christmas day. All
neighbors attend the wedding, bringing Mrs.
suoh gifts as they can command.
Alton, alone of the claiming neighboring set¬
tlers, is not present, the ne
cMslty of her caring for little Gerald.
CHAPTER XIII
I had given Jean up, under protest,
as the only thing to do. But having
made my protest 1 meant to accept
my fate with dignity; 1 would take
my sentence like a man, and serve it
without whining.
1 had been long in going to sleep,
and as n consequence had awakened
ipte. The shack was bitterly cold; the
only comfort lay under my heavy
blankets]" As the light increased I
counted the knobs of frost that had
formed on the ends of the nails that
came through the roof. I had never
noticed that so many nails had missed
the rafters. We were rather bad cap
pouters. My mind leaped back to the
time when we built the shack, clear¬
ing all the events crowded between,
as the vtslon leaps from height to
height across great valleys In the
prairies. How unreal and far away it
all seemed! But another leap carried
me to the bank of a river, and little
children playing in the sand, and a
slow-pacing water wheel that sprayed
Its mist of diamonds In the sunshine,
I saw her little calico dress, her little
brown bare feet, the ringlets of yel¬
low hair hung about her cheeks. That
was Jean. . . .
The clock had stopped! It was with
terrific suddenness that I realized the
clock had stopped and In my barren
shanty was the silence of the tomb.
Its round, glassy face grinned an Im¬
becile grin at me from Its place on a
shelf on the wall. Its hands showed
a quarter to four. . . . Weil, there
was nothing very mysterious about
that. In the excitement of the wed¬
ding party I had merely forgotten to
wind the dock. Only an overwrought
nervous system could discern anything
uncanny in that 1 reasoned all this
oat, with absurd deliberation, as I
Ufrbed m y ey e s and wondered why
the clock had stopped. Or perhaps
the frost had stopped It
My watch bad fared better, and
when I drew it from my pocket on
the corner of the bed the friendly
i bustle of its ticking was reassuring to
my ear. I could hear the companion¬
able canter of Its balance wheel gal¬
loping down the road of life by my
side. "Next to a dog,” I said to my¬
self, “a watch is the best friend a
man can have.”
That set me thinking about dogs,
and I wondered why la all these
months I had neglected to provide my¬
self with a dog. As a sort of Insur¬
ance, I grimly reflected. One always
can fall back on a dog.
The hands of the watch said half-past
eight, and I suddenly remembered
that there were cattle to feed. It
would bo a decent thing to got up and
do all the chores that morning, if they
were not already done. So I drew my
underwear from beneath my pillow,
and sprang from the friendly shelter
of the blankets.
I hurriedly started a fire; watched
it until It had a proper draft; turned
the damper in the pipe to guard
against its getting beyond control after
I left It. Then, after drawing on my
peajacket, cap and mitts, I set out for
the stables. The morning was gray,
with a scattered sifting of small snow¬
flakes, but the nip to the air was not
nearly so uncomfortable as It seemed
when contemplated from under the
warm blankets. I reflected that com¬
fort and happiness are largely a mat¬
ter of the point of view. But that
doesn’t help when the bottom has fal¬
len out of your particular universe.
The stove lids were red hot and the
kettle was belching forth u small gey¬
ser of steam when I got back to the
shack. My search for remnants from
the feast: of the night before wus as¬
tonishingly fruitless, until I remem¬
bered that the young Hausens had
been turned loose upon the left-overs.
So,,I cooked a mixture of oatrnenl and
water, which I called porridge, balled
two fresh eggs, thawed out part of a
loaf of bread, melted a piece of butter,
and sat down to a meal that was hard¬
ly calculated to make me rejoice in
my single blessedness.
After breakfast I washed my few
dishes,, swept the floor, made my bed,
and generally set the house In order.
Even then It was only ten o’clock,
with nothing more to do until noon.
At noon there would he u repetition
of the routine, and then nothing to do
until night. At night there would be
supper and the evening chores, and
nothing more to do until morning.
And the next day the same, and the
same, and the same.
It was mld-afternoon~ when Jack
burst in upon me. “Well, old Robin¬
son Crusoe, how goes solitude?" he
demanded.
"Rotten,” said I, “but I can always
change my mind If I want to.”
“Aha!” ha exclaimed. In return,
clasping himself about the middle.
"A blow In the fifth ribl A subtle
blow under the fifth ribl”
Jack was obviously in great spirits,
but with a sudden soberness he sat
down beside me, and I felt hls hand
on my knee. "It’s not quite the thing,
old chap,” he said, "to cut us dead,
just because we’re murried—that is,
some of us."
“I haven’t cut you," I retorted.
“Give me time."
“I know it’s a raw deal for you.”
he went on, disregarding my inter¬
ruption, "and I’d give—I'd give—half
of my happiness, If you like. If I could
put It right. It’s a little embarrassing
for us all. But don’t you think Jean
Is worth a fight—a little more fight
than yon have made?”
“I understand English,” I said, "par¬
ticularly Jean’s English. If she wants
me now she’ll have to say so.”
"Oh, get off your high horse. He’s
a lame nag, anyway I Jean thinks she
loves Spoof, but she doesn’t. She’s
just infatuated with him. She’ll grow
out of that. But you might help her
along a little."
"I’m not so sure. Spoof’s a pretty
decent chap.” I said, inwardly giving
myself credit for amazing magnanim¬
ity.
"Of course he is,” Jack agreed,
somewhat too readily, as It seemed to
me. "But that has nothing to do with
It. Jean Isn’t putting you and Spoof
under the magnifying glass, s6 to
speak, and studying out which Is the
more decent chap. It isn’t done that
way. And to save her life she couldn’t
tell you why, today, she thinks she
loves Spoof, and why, tomorrow, she
will know she loves yon. Reason
doesn't enter Into these things at all.”
"That doesn’t make it any easier for
me"
"Maybe not,” Jack admit red. "And,
as I hare argued that reason doesn’t
enter Into the consideration, I suppose
It Is of no use to reason abont It
Then let us get onto ground you can
understand. Game on over for sap¬
per.”
I accepted with more alacrity than
might be expected of a young man
who wag resolved that although tied
to the stake he would not thrust hls
feet in the fire. Marjorie kissed me
when I went In—a kiss for her dear
old bachelor brother, she said, obvious
ly In fun, but I think there was a
pang of deep sisterly sympathy under
neath. Jean was calm, poised, self
controlled; her eyes seemed larger
than usual, and the white eat them
showed that clear blue tinge that is
found in some kinds of delicate china.
Either the lamp light was pecu¬
liarly yellow or Jean’s complexion was
below the mark. She chatted freely,
almost too freely, and laughed upon
occasion, but there was no ring In
her laughter.
Altogether, it was rather a difficult
evening. We played cards after sup¬
per, and tried, as so many others have
done, to forget our troubles in the
chance of a lucky hand. Even the
cards were against me. Jean and I
had always played together, but to¬
night Jack insisted that it was not
meet that a man should have his wife
for a partner at cards, so our combi
nation was broken. I may have had a
subconscious and disturbing feeling
that Jean's hand, to my left, would
have made better holding than any¬
thing I could hope to draw from the
deck. At any rate I played abomi¬
nably and went home early.
And so the days dragged on, I kept
a corner of my south window rubbed
clear of frost so that I might main
tain a lookout for a visit from Spoof,
for although he was my rival, or be¬
cause he was roy rival, I felt that I
had with Spoof something very much
In common. But Spoof seemed sud¬
denly to have discontinued hls visits
to Fourteen and Twenty-two, and for
the first time in that winter the trail
to hls shack was entirely overblown
and obliterated In a waste of snow.
Jack came over every day, and Mar¬
jorie and Jean came two or three
times a week and gave my shack the
womanly touches of which it was be¬
ginning to stand in need, but Jean
never came alone. I began to under¬
stand that the prairies give soiitude
without privacy; If one seeks privacy
he goes to the city for It.
In this way a couple of weeks had
passed when one evening It occurred
to rue that I could kill a dull hour or
two, and discharge a somewhat neg¬
lected filial duty, by writing a letter
to my father. Investigation proved
that I had no writing-paper, so I went
over to Jack’s to borrow some. product They
had none, either, but Jack
an old account book with qome blank
sheets in It, which we decided would
do ’quite well. In those days we
weren’t particular about stationery.
Jean wus In her room while I was
there, and did not come out, so in a
few minutes I returned to Fourteen.
There I set the lamp on the table and
spread the old account book out be¬
fore me. It once had been owned by
Jack’s father; the first pages were
filled with Items which apparently had
to do with the purchase of the Bane
farm, aud* with Mr. Lane's services tn
the woolen mill. I glanced over them
with casfial interest and as I did so
a loose slip fell from the pages. I
picked It up from the floor and found
a number of lines In Jean’s handwrit¬
ing:
When through the livelong day I sigh
And ponder on my sad estate,
X would my Nemesis defy
And bul-st the bounding cords of Fata
Now would I tear each bond away;
Now would I risk your sad reproofl
Come, let us live and love who may:
Come to me. . . , Spoof.
"So It has come to that,” I said to
myself. "Love-sick doggerel 1" I
crushed the sheet of paper in my hand
in a rage, even while a hot flush of
color ran up my face at the realization
of the fact that I had read something
newer intended for other eyes—for ruy
eyes least of all. So she eouid tear
the bonds away; she could risk hls
“sad reproof": she could do anything
but find words to fill out the feet of
the Inst line. "Come to me. . . .
Spoof!” With a sudden stabbing itt
my heart the question interrogated me.
Could Jean be ingenuous enough t<>
use those dots, after the manner of
our modern writers, to suggest some¬
thing which she shrank from saying In
plain English?
• ••••••
I resolved to have It out with Jean.
There was no sense In letting things
go on like this. Jean had happiness
within her grasp, for the taking, but
she persisted in writing moonstruck
“#o It Has Como to That," I Said to
My«olf. “Love-Sick Doggerel 1”
: doggerel to a man who apparently
cared no more for hot than for the
post that marked the comer of hls
section. Spoofs continued and delib¬
erate neglect—I called it neglect now
j admitted no other explanation.
j I spent a wakeful night thinking
j abont thla, and toward morning I got
i up and retrieved the crumpled bit of
j paper which I had thrown into a cor¬
ner of the kitchen. I spread It out
I and read the lines again. A night of
j reflection had worn the edge front my
Indignation, and I admitted that, from
an artistic point of view, the verses
were perhaps not so hopeless as I had
thought them. Indeed, they suggested
j a certain germ of poetic ability. A
little devil of conscience began an In¬
surrection in my sense of fair play,
demanding to know if I could write as
well myself. But I am no poet. I
i took a pencil and put down the word
j Jean, and then set about hunting for
rhymes for It, but I could think of
only two—“lean” and “bean.” Neither
of these seemed to lend itself to poetic
treatment
! Suddenly a whiff of memory rushing
; In from somewhere sent me scuttling
j among old school books at the bottom
J of my trunk. It was a whim of mine
to keep my old school books, If only
that In after years I might read and
appreciate the little gems of literature
which, with the assistance of a phleg¬
matic teacher, I cordially hated when
a child. Here It was—an old Ontario
j j reader with a Sensational story abouf
an Indian woman who killed a bear
with a butcher knife, or some such
weapon. My sympathy, I remember,
had always been with the bear, doubt¬
less because of the picture which was
made to represent the Indian woman.
I had read this story again and again,
when all other passages in the book
had failed to interest me, and some
little long-forgot ten cell of memory
said I would find a fragment of paper
tucked between these pages. Sure
enough, there it was! I drew It out
eagerly, but tenderly and almost rev¬
erently, aud held it under the lamp.
How that strange, childish scrawl
seemed to run ail over m.v heart and
pucker It Into little gasping pockets!
I could feel a thumping between my
lungs and the hard beating of my
pulse went throbbing through the pa¬
per in my fingers.
Wh«n I am old
And very tall
I hope my name
Will be Mra. Hall.
A mist came up out of the past and
blurred the serawly letters until they
swam before my eyes and faded out ol
sight. They had carried me back to
the dear dead days of childhood—
that Eden of life which comes before
the disillusionment which Is the FalL
The years between had gone out with
a gulp that filled my throat, and again
we were little children playing to¬
gether, solemnly mating ourselves for
the future under the witnessing mur¬
mur of the great pine. That had been
one of the great days In my life, and
I had not known It then. I wonder how
often we know the great day when It
is actually upon us? But In that day
I had drunk in something which had
become part of my system; part of my
flesh and bone and brain; part of my
hope, my aspiration, my life. And
now would I give it up? Never
never ! I pressed the precious missive
to my lips and suddenly the dam of
my overwrought nerves gave way, and
tears rushed down upon me. With a
man’s shame I would have checked
them If I could, but the flood would
not be stopped—and there was none
to see. I fell on my bed and let the
storm sweep over me.
After a while came calmness, and
with that calmness the resolution
which I recorded in the opening lines
of this chapter. I would have it ont
with Jean. I would put up another
fight for all that made life worth th%
living. 1 would not actept my fate; at
least, I would not ad ept the fate to
which Jean had resigned me. She
would see! . . .
But this was a battle which could
not be fought In pubUp, and I racked
my wits for some way in which I
might lay siege to Jean—alone. I
hardly could ask Jack and Marjorie to
get out of their own house while I
subjected Jean to the main drive which
was to break down her resistance;
much less could 1 Invite Jean to Four¬
teen for the same purpose. The
prairies, with all their vast spqces, re
fused me just that one little niche of
privacy J needed. As 1 turned the
matter over in my mind a clever plan
unfolded itself before me. I would
make a sled and invite Jean to go
coasting somewhere along the hanks
of the gully. Then we would wander
on and on, the farther the better.
Fortunately some boards remained
of the table which had supported the
wedding feast, and I went to work
With a will. The reaction from In¬
activity was in itself a tonic to my
spirits, and I found myself whistling
an Improvised tune which I fitted to
the words, “When I am old and very
tall, etc.” Hope rebounded, as hope
will, from Its dip Into despair, and I
began to picture the shack on Four¬
teen as It would be under the loving
care of "Mrs. Hall ” and the joy that
we would find in its seclusion. The
winter months, which had been drag¬
ging so unutterably, suddenly threat¬
ened to be all too short
I completed my sleigh and presented
myself at the door of Twenty-two.
Jack looked upon the vehicle with evi¬
dent misgiving. I may have built It
rather stoutly, but that was no reason
why he should suggest that I hitch an
ox to it.
“An oxl" I retorted. “This is built
for speed. I am going to ask Jean to
go coasting.”
“Aha 1” said Jack, significantly. “I
wish you all possible—speed.”
Jean sho wed no telu£ik&?e_abaut go¬
ing. She “dre w an s"woolen sweaTSr
and a short, cloth winter coat, with a
collar of some fluffy kind of fur which
had originally grown on a cat. She
had a little fur cap of the same ma¬
terial, which she pulled down snugly
on her head, and we were off.
We followed the crest of the gully
for some distance in the direction of
Sneezlt’s farm, ostensibly in search of
a good coasting spot, but actually much
engaged with our thoughts and the real
j purpose of our outing. That Jean
understood It perfectly I was con¬
vinced, and under such circumstances
the fact that she bad so readily ac¬
cepted my invitation was at least a
hopeful omen.
Walking on the untracked snow In
midwinter Is an uncertain business,
j I and of snowshoes. the prairie people For rarely the most make part use
! there was frozen crust that bore our
weight, but this crust has an unfor¬
tunate habit of giving way at unex¬
pected moments, particularly when one
has Just taken a big stride forward.
There is an effect very much like
coming upon the head of the stairs In
the darkness when you think you are
still safely walking along the hail. It
precipitates one forward with great
suddenness, but fortunately snow Is
a good thing to fall in. We scrambled
to our feet, laughing and In high
spirits. It was a wonderful thing to
laugh again, and mean It
At last we found a place where the
snow had curved In a great white
plume over the bank of the gully. For
fifty or sixty feet it dropped away In
an absolutely smooth descent; then
But the Descent Wae Steeper Than
She Thought; Her Momentum Over
balanced Her, and In an Instant I
Saw Her Careening Wildly Down
the Slope.
tame a sudden pitch, as though a great
indie had scooped out the drift; then a
mccesslon of little billows
ip by the cross currents at the foot of
She hill.
“It looks good," said Jean. "Let me
«ee if it Is firm.”
With that she ran out upon the
jer dainty feet tripping down It like a
SHOES
Our shoe sales are increasing rapidly.
Why? Because we.sell a good shoe at a
money-saving price. We know that we
are selling the best shoe in town. We
have the
Craddock-Terry Line
which is the last word in staple shoes.
Display in our window.
We also have a Full Line of Staple Gro¬
ceries, Dry Goods, Caps, Dishes and Tin¬
ware and can save you money.
Salt, Sage and Red Pepper for
Hog Killing
Special—Armour’s Oats, pkg. 10c
Economy Store
m/
Hub Store Old Stand—Camilla, Ga.
jffd. Sat the descent
than she thought; her momentum ove*
talanced her, aud in an instant I saw
Ur careering wildly down the slope,
ter arms outstretched, her hair flying A
loose from under the rim of her cap.
kear the foot she disappeared entirely.
Perhaps I should have rushed after
ter, but I didn’t I hill sat down waited leisurely for
it the top of the and
her to reappear. Presently a mittened <
hand came up over the crest which
hid her from view; then something
something round* and furry, like a
sleeping kitten; then a forehead, two
eyes, and a glimpse of cheeks.
"Aren’t you coming down—to help
me?” she called.
Now I had meant to stand on my
rights; to tell Jean that she had gone
down the hill on her own accord, and £
might come back in the same way \ i
perhaps to poke some quiet mirth ajA -
her efforts to scramble up the slip¬
pery drift. When a man contemplates
matrimony he may as well settle at
once who’s who, and why. Now was
my time to be firm.
“No, I’m not coming,” I said.
Jean looked at me for a moment, in
surprise; then uttered not another _
word. But from her hand she drew
her woolen mitten, and raised her fine,
firm fingers in the air. One of those
fingers crooked, with the knuckle bent^
toward me, and the finger pointing to
her face; then, with a little seductive
flicker, she beckoned me to her, . . .
It was too much. I sprang on my
sled and shot like an arrow to Its
target,
"Isn’t it wonderful, wonderful!” she
exclaimed. “All this white wilderness ^
to play in, to shout In—Listen An<^
she helloed at the top of her voi#e.
Only an echo, beating back from the
banks of the gully, answered. See, we
are all alone—alone in all the world.
Why didn’t you bring me out here be¬
fore?”
“Are you glad to be alone with me,
Jean?" 1 asked, drawing her hand into
mine. “Are you giad to be here, alone, *
with me?” £
“Why, yes. You are my friend.”
“Only your friend?”
“Oh, see, there’s a place where per¬
haps we can slide right over the pitch!
Let’s 1"
She was on the sled In an instant,
and I behind her. I kicked it loose.
With a gentle crunching sound the
runners started scraping through the
snotv; then, as the speed increased, the
sound rose to a whine which mingled *
with the rush of air in our ears and
the spray of snow In our faces. Jean’s
heels were just above the snow sur¬
face, and when, as happened once or
twice, they dropped too low, they*
showered us with flying icy crystals*
Then, just at the dip, one heel drove
In much too deep—too deep to be ac¬
cidental—the sled trembled, turned
sideways, and went over.
We disentangled ourselves, laughing,
but we did not immediately reclimb the —.
hfll. I found a sheltered spot In the *'
pitch where we might sit on the sled
with our backs to the great drift while
onr faces caught the slanting warmth
of the sun and our eyes could range
the field of tiny rainbow signals
thrown up from the ripple at our feet.
Jean broke up the crusted snow with
the heel of her overshoe; then buried
her feet In the powdery mound. Pres¬
ently a toe came wiggling up through A
It ... .
"Jean, don’t” I cried. "You take me
(Continued on page 7,