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Show uiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiEiiiiiiiiisii iiiiiiiiii:iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii(iiiiiiiiiuii!3iiii:iiiriiiiiiiii;:irjit I THE RED LOCK I niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiimiiiiiiiin,,.. a nr 1 ,i i-i i j -..iiiiiNiiiiiimiiiiiimiiimiiiiiiiiiiimiiiin A 1 ale or the rlatwood3 Br DAVID ANDERSON Author of "The Ulu Moon" CnpyriKht hy Tlie Uohbs-Merrill Co. ".Not s' bud, Is U?" "It Is very beautiful." "J 'lowed y'u'd like It." The old man rubbed bla long bony hands together In a sort of grim satisfaction. "My daughter fools away hours and hours In that seat yonder under the big maple by the spring. I 'low ther' ain't a bird conies by 8ho cayn't mock." The preacher looked at him curiously, curi-ously, half sternly. "I can well believe you," he said. "A girl like your daughter, with her quite obvious gifts and possibilities, and so much a part of this wonderful profusion of wild nature about her, would naturally seek some such diversion diver-sion to keep her life from starving In this out-of-the-way plnce." The money-lender pondered these words and seemed on the point of resenting re-senting them; but only jerked bis thumb toward the window again. "Took a right smart pile t' fix It up like that. Money wasted, I tell 'er. We'll go across that way t' the house, If y'u like." "It would please me greatly." The momentary sternness had left the eyes behind the spectacles, the jerky precise voice had resumed Its effusive drawl. When they came down, Texle nnd Jack had already gone out Into the yard. Mrs. Mason was standing In the door, talking to them. The gray-haired gentlewoman turned to the preacher. "Brother Hopkins, won't yon please run over for a few minutes after sup- it wmm 4 1't'sir the preacher had said that caught his Interest. The gill was so entirely an unspoiled un-spoiled ereatnru of the woods that she let the preacher see how much the neat compliment v-'i1''! llL"r- With tho color tingling over her face, she sprang over the gnarled roots of tho great maple and ran u few steps up the path to the edge of the yard, paused and (hen hurried on. The preacher looked after her In his peering peer-ing way, while the woodsman strode up the path and overtook her at t'it kitchen door. "I'll run over and do tho chores, und then come back," ho said. lie walked on a little way and then came slowly back. The girl, just going Into the kitchen, seemed to know that ho had turned seemed to know that he would turn back. With her hand on the door casement she waited for him to speak. The man glanced out over the orchard or-chard ; up the side of tho cliffs ; along tho timber line that bearded them; came back to the eyes. The Inqulsl-tlveness Inqulsl-tlveness had lessened; the roguishuesg deepened. "You let 'lm lift y'u I" ho mut terod. With an odd, hard little laugh slis darted In at the kitchen door. CHAPTER III Three Candles. The last flare of sunset bad followed the Wabash out under the rim of the west by the time Jack Warhope came back along the orchard path to the red-roofed cottage. From the porch at the front of the house came the drone of the banker's voice, broken occasionally by the preacher's precise, Jerky sentences. Warhope listened for a moment. The money-lender was talking about a quarter-section that he had foreclosed fore-closed on the day before. The woodsman woods-man had heard many an hour of that talk. With a shrug of his shoulders, he pushed the gate open and walked around to the kitchen door. With a step that the woods had made light as a falling leaf he slipped In and stood motionless. The portly, pudgy form of Mrs. Curry, the housekeeper, house-keeper, was bent over the cook stove, busy with the supper. The flit of a shadow and the clink of dishes In the adjoining dining room told the grinning Intruder that Texle was "settin' " the table. For such an occasion there would be a white cloth, the best silver would be out, and there would be three candles Instead of one. The clink of the dishes ceased and the girl appeared In the doorway between be-tween the two rooms. Seeing Jack, she paused, tried to look severe, but failed, "Now look at that 1" Mrs. Curry straightened, and exclaimed: ex-claimed: "Big Jack I Mercy, how you can slip up on a body." "Put 'lm t' work, Mis' Curry. We don't 'low no loafers, do we?" The housekeeper In reply was Interrupted Inter-rupted by a misbehaving skillet and she turned back to the stove. Supper was on the table. The woodsman woods-man took his place with the others. The banker dropped his hands in his lap, nodding toward the preacner, and bowed his head. The traditions of the Flatwoods called for a long and sonorous grace a sort of sermonette when the preaeh-er preaeh-er was a guest, but the new minister seemed never to have heard of any such tradition. The grace he said was so short, so direct and concise, yet so beautiful in thought and diction that the banker looked at him in pleased surprise. Supper over, there fell a moment or silence the delicious breath of repose that almost always follows the evening meal In quiet country homes. The old money-lender sat marking on the tablecloth table-cloth with his fork, as if mapping out the boundary lines of other quarter-sections quarter-sections that he hoped to have the chance to foreclose in a short time. The girl seized the favorable moment, mo-ment, and leaning forward, said: "Now, Mr. Hopkins, tell us about my brother- Ken I've be'n wishin' all evening t' ask. y'u," Her father stopped marking on the tablecloth and sat very still; the housekeeper crossed her knife and fork on her plate, as the Christians of Spain used to do In the days of Moorish domination ; the woodsman let his thcrughts revel in the faultless profile pro-file of the girl's face. The preacher caught the wistful look In her eyes the subdued eagerness of one who could not resist the desire to ask, ye' dreaded the answer. He fumbled his napkin. "P. S. Mr. Colin Is dead. He died before he could quite finish fin-ish signing his name." (TO BE CONTINUED.) "DIQ JACK!" RTKOrSlS. On the bnnlis of th Wtibush stand Toxto Colin and Jack Wnrhopo. young" ntul very much In lovo. Toxlo is tho only dauRhtor of old l'np Simon, rich ninn and monoy-lomlor. Jack la th orphan bound boy of l'rtp Simon, who had foreclosed n morttfaffe on the Warhope estate. At first Texle and Jack talk sadly of Ken Colin, the jrlrl's missing; brother. Then Jack nays that in ten daya hla servitude will be over, that he will rldo out Into the big: world to seek his fortune. Both know what that will mean to them. Texle and Jack talk of the red look of "Red Colin," Inherited In-herited by Ken. And Jack says he's coming back as soon as he finds gold In California. Then arrives the new preacher, Rov. Caleb Hopkins. CHAPTER II Continued. 3 "Mercy ! but you're a hard man t' herd. Pari y'u know you're goln' home wfth us t' supper?" "First I hear'd of It," the woodsman drawled, shifting his shoulder against the post. The girl glanced at the preacher standing at the edge of the road, Jerked her head ever so slightly toward him a motion so elusive that It would have escaped anybody else but Jack Warhope and lowered her voice to a whisper : "We'll frit Mm t' tell us about Ken." She turned away. The shoulders left the porch post, and the man followed. fol-lowed. The old banker was holding out his hand for the letters. He glanced them over, grunted, thrust them unopened Into the pocket of his faded coat; muttered mut-tered a word, drew them forth again, sorted out one, stared hard at the address ad-dress and postmark; and then, with a half petulant grimace, knocked the bunch of letters together, crammed them back Into his pocket again and, followed by the others, trudged away up the road. The venerable widow, like the rest of the village, must have been on the lookout for the new preacher, for she was at the 'door to meet him as he came up the walk with the others. The old banker presented him. "So glad to have you come. Brother Hopkins. It has been so dreadfully lonesome since I" The mild old eyes floated full of tears. The preacher seemed not to notice. "I saw your husband's obituary in one of the church papers." The widow dabbed at her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief; the preacher. In his hesitating,, jerky way, went on. "I Immediately wrote to Mr. Colin offering to come on a ah sort of vacation va-cation trip and serve the congregation until the vacancy could be filled. I was the more attracted to the thought of coming because my health had given way under the dual strain of preaching and teaching. And then, too, I had heard much about Buckeye and the Flatwoods from a ah classmate of mine while a student In the college la which I now have the honor to hold a professorship." The banker frowned thoughtfully; Texle glanced at Jack. Evening shadows were gathering thick In the corners of the room. The old man, becoming aware of them, glanced about him and turned to the widow. "Well, Sister Mason, If you don't mind, I'll jist show Brother Hopkins the study, and then you better g 'long over with us t' supper." With the fine courtesy of one trained to the parsonage, she excused herself; the old banker went on: "I b'lleve you said he was t' have the use of the study?" The Widow Mason was only too well used to the crisp curt ways of Simon Colin. She turned to the young preacher. "Brother Hopkins, I don't want you to feel that you are to have merely the study. My home is your home. Please feel free to use all of it or any part of it." The young preacher bowed very low, and turned to the banker,' who led the way up the stairs with as much authority au-thority as if he owned the place which, in reality, he did. The study, with Its writing desk and leather easy chair, with Its shelves and shelves of books, showed that its late owner had been a man of studious studi-ous habits and apparently scholarly attainments. at-tainments. An Immense apple-tree grew by the east window, thrusting its stout branches so close as almost to brush the panes. Through Its opening blossoms blos-soms and half sprung leaves enough of the day remained to catch a view of the old banker's two or three acres of park-like orchard that lay between the parsonage and the red-roofed cottage. cot-tage. The young preacher stood at the window and gazed out over the orchard, or-chard, aromatic with promise, green with Its thick mat of blue-grass, white under the trees where the blossoms snowed down. The banker slapped him on the houlder. He must have been deeply absorbed in the spell of the place, with Its quiet and repose, for he started and laughed nervously. "I must have been dreaming." The old man tossed a hand toward the window. "Brother Hopkins, Won't You Please Run Over for a Few Minutes After Supper?" per? I have so longed to talk with a minister since since " "It Is a minister's duty to go where his people call him," he said, in a voice pitched to reach the ears of the others, as it might have seemed. "I shall be very pleased to come." He bowed himself out and joined the half impatient banker on the doorstep. door-step. "Come on," the old man called to the others down the walk, "we're goin' across the orch'id. Brother Hopkins 'lows he'd like to." There was no gate between the banker's park-like orchard and the parsonage yard. The fence had to be climbed. When they reached it the preacher offered his hand to the girl, who, to the amazement of the woodsman, woods-man, took It and allowed him to lift her down a concession that meant much in the Flatwoods. At the bridge over Eagle run, merely a huge foot log broad-axed flat along the top the girl allowed the preacher to assist her again, and the woodsman was treated to his second surprise. He had seen her, hundreds of times, skip across that log as surefooted sure-footed as a squirrel. The path beyond led past the big maple with the rustic seat beneath the shelter of Its far-flung branches. At its roots a spring gushed up, lapping the white pebbles of the tiny gutter It had worn for Itself on its way to Eagle run. "Whispering spring," said Texie simply, sim-ply, raising her eyes to the preacher. "Jack named it that. He can think of s' many names f'r things. He's a poet, I guess." The woodsman fidgeted. The preacher preach-er glanced toward him, but made no comment. "My brother, Ken, use- t' tell me the fairies come down out of the cliffs at night t' dance around Whispering spring, and I b'lieved him I b'lieved everything he told me them days and I use' t' watch f'r the fairies." She looked up at the preacher; then back into the spring. "Do you b'lleve in fairies?" She asked the question as if she hoped he did believe in them. He glanced down at the reflected face in the water. "Yes ; there's a fairy peeping into the spring right now." The old banker grunted; the woodsman woods-man turned to the face behind the huge spectacles- It was the first thing |