The Winnipeg Tribune from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada • Page 58

The Stir aig'hfc Girl on. the Path Kr as I '( ijtLJTfilS Xmif l( 1 'rv she clasped her arms around his neck. 'li ti '''h vV, "He's coming, isn't he? Doesn't it say flrrwrw, I'fTTTlL "I he'll be here tonight?" I KiX'Jfvlil-- I I A I I I '-'X "Yes, that's what it says. So-o this tttflI13rNLli. YvMK Iff ipllkll Iff M' 1 V' 'l is the reason my little girl has been 'Y If.

T'l'''-'? ffi fififi ll I I Ur acting bo queer? Come, tell daddy all liJJU I'l l' iliifkuif nm I 1 ''i'l'1 J'7 I As they walked home arm In arm 7 1 1 gJMl' A If I 1 I i. I June told her father of her meeting with M'ililMl IfibV 1 II If I'-'Vi' D'Aubrey, of the friendship which she vjjflnl was loath to admit even to herself had I lFliflW7 'i T- developed into anything- more. (j i Jlfflfjw Vi 1 "Well, daughter, we'll see when he I ll imillwU IN I I comes. If he's all that you think and 1 IT tWl tilt if 7 I say he is he must he a mighty fine chap. At jfl'l' i' I lV Whatever makes my little girl happy 1 By Juanita Hamel 11 MM I if a7Xn do.

ru tr' and hi I i'i I II I That night after dinner the trio sat JUNE'S heart seemed to triple Its beat ft If iiTil M'- A i I on the broad veranda and talked -while as the train neared Kldorado. She If IWi I Wl 7 I Judge Derby smoked his customary dark had, in the early stages of her jour- llf'-'l' I I I I I i -V-: Havana before repairing to his easy ney, been inclined to doubt the wisdom lit1'-' i' I 'i chair by the reading lamp with the eve- of her return, for when she realized she In' I 1' Is j' nlng paper. It was evident he liked was rapidly leaving New York behind ffl''t ft I 7 I D'Aubrey. a feeling of remorse took possession of j'fm I 1 They talked mostly of the automobile her. There was something in the ma- lliW1 1 I I 1 accident which had been the cause of jesticalness of that wonder city that had I ll1 i I II IV Aubrey's long silence.

The pallor of fascinated her even while it had seemed fjlm-''f' iii I i''''' his face, which was slightly thinner, and 1 to repel her. Hut by the time she had 7 Aj It jJji'K a livid scar on his broad temple told reached Louisiana New York seemed rV i their own story. A long spell of unlike a vague, far away dream. ,1 Wgjlffi' JL 'J i consciousness had followed the "nasty When the train drew up to the station Yl 1 c-'-" n-y! fft spill," as he termed the accident that at Kldorado June was the first of the I 1 had nearly resulted In death for him. passengers to alight.

She saw her father -V J(Y. Ji iF J- standing a short distance away. In a sec- t- A Tnder the starry canopy of the ond more she was beside him, her arms kS-CvJY v'-f 'wmrV southern sky two lovers strolled un- clasped around his neck. As Is often the flpX heeding the mystic of the moonlit night, case in tensely emotional moments no, jlfflf 'tlVVi i unconscious of all save the sublime hap- words were uttered. Then June felt hint vvtcVvio iWA'iu I'iness of having found each other.

The press her outward, away from him until vV'VA'lj man's arm encircled the girl's waist as he held her at arm's length. With a 1 they moved across the lawn. The look almost of unbelief his gaze fastened ll'l Jl, V' moon's light traced thereon the pattern itself upon her face. The few seconds JL rV of the tall poplar trees and bathed the By Juanita Hamel JUNE'S heart seemed to triple Its beat as the train neared Eldorado. She had, in the early stages of her jour-ney, been Inclined to doubt the wisdom of her return, for when she realized she was rapidly leaving New York behind a feeling of remorse took possession of her.

There was something In the ma-jesticalness of that wonder city that had fascinated her even while it had seemed to repel her. Hut by the time she had reached Louisiana New York seemed like a vague, far away dream. When the train drew up to the station at Eldorado June was the first of the passengers to alight. She saw her father standing a short distanre away. In a second more she was beside him, her arms clasped around his neck.

As is often the case in tensely emotional moments no words were uttered. Then June felt htm rress her outward, away from him until he held her at arm's length. With a look almost of unbelief his gaze fastened Itself upon her face. The few seconds true," she half sobbed, half laughed as I she clasped her arms around his neck. I "He's coming, isn't he? Doesn't it say I he'll be here tonight?" "Yes, that's what it says.

So-o this is the reason my little girl has been acting so queer? Come, tell daddy all about It." As they walked home arm In arm June told her father of her meeting with D'Aubrey, of the friendship which she was loath to admit even to herself had developed into anything more. "Well, daughter, we'll see when he comes. If he's all that you think and say he Is he must be a mighty fine chap, i Whatever makes my little girl happy 1 will make me glad, so I'll try and see him ns you do." That night after dinner the trio sat on the broad veranda and talked while Judge Derby smoked his customary dark Havana before repairing to his easy chair by the reading lamp with the evening paper. It was evident he liked D'Aubrey. They talked mostly of the automobile accident which had been the cause of D'Aubrey's long silence.

The pallor of his face, which was slightly thinner, and a livid scar on his broad temple told their own story. A long spell of unconsciousness had followed the "nasty spill," ns he termed the accident that had nearly resulted In death for him. Under the starry canopy of the southern sky two lovers strolled unheeding the mystic of the moonlit night, unconscious of all save the sublime happiness of having found each other. The man's arm encircled the girl's waist as they moved across the lawn. The moon's light traced thereon the pattern of the tall poplar trees and bathed the that elapsed seemed like an age to June, but she met his gaze frankly, fearlessly.

"Daughter," he breathed the word tenderly, almost reverently. His know-v Ing eyes seemed to read the innermost secrets of her soul. "My little girl, I should have known that I did not have to worry for your safety, your honor. Yes, I should have known my little girl was to be trusted. "Hut thank the good Lord you're back." He folded her to his breast again.

His action was eloquent of his parental Instinct to protect her to hleld her. "I was preparing to come for you when your letter, saying you were coming back to nie, came. You must never leave me that way again, my child." This was the nearest approach he made to rebuking June, and It touched her more than the severest of lectures could have done. The first few days were filled with excitement that partially eclipsed the haunting memory of D'Aubrey. But as he gradually adjusted herself to the change the yearning for Mm came back with an accuteness that had the effect of reducing her to long periods of silence and abstraction.

She did not know that her father She trembled and drew closer in (he curve of his arm. percieved her moods and watched her with troubled eyes. Nearly two weeks passed. The day set for Hilda's wedding had come and gone. June received a letter telling of the little flat and the ecstasy of her new life.

But the expected letter from D'Aubrey did not come. One morning June walked slowly home from the postoffice where she had gone with a feeling that the longed for letter would be waiting. AVlth a numb, aching feeling she wandered along under the shade of the trees that bordered the road. In her hand she grasped the only two letters (both addressed to her father) which the clerk had handed her through the barred window. Wishing to be alone until she had conquered the feeling of depression that had come over her Bhe turned from the road and plunged into the cool wood.

She followed the path that led to the grapevine swing. Seating herself close by she buried her face in her arms as they rested on her knees. But she did not cry. What was the use of tears! She was thinking, wondering, trying to reason the why of D'Aubrey's actions. She did not know his address in Oklahoma, but she knew that the letter she had written and addressed to him at his New York office would be forwarded to him.

He should have received It before this time, and if he cared she should have had a letter by now. Was this the end? No! She could not, would not believe that it was. Several hours had passed when the sound of crunching brushwood warned her of an approach. She raised her head to see her father standing before her. "I thought I would find you here," he said as he extended his hand.

Between his fingers he held a yellow envelope. June recognized It as a telegram. "For me?" she questioned as with trembling Angers she took it and ripped It open. She hurriedly scanned the contents and as she grasped the meaning of the words she passed the yellow sheet to her father. "Oh, daddy, daddy, read! See If It Is forms of the man and the maid in Its white glow.

"It seems to me now" the voice was June's, but so changed that one would scarcely recognize it, so vibrant with tenderness and happiness was It "it seems that here in my heart I knew you would come. My heart was calling so you could not but answer. And to think you were Injured, unconscious and call- ing me and I did not know." She was silent for a time, then she trembled and -drew closer in the curve of his arm. "Stanley" it was the first time she used his given name: he grew slightly pale and drew her closer "promise me that you will 'always use the utmost caution In the future." "And if I do," he parleyed, "will you promise to marry me tomorrow?" "But Stanley, I D'Aubrey tilted back her chin, looked deep into her eyes and stopped her protest by pressing a kiss on her unresisting lips. They turned silently toward the house, along the path that was stralght-jut as the path of life loomed straight for June and -pointed to eternal happiness.

The End Copyright, 1917, by J. Keelfy) ft.