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Show "it is too warm here, aunt, just now," she said to Mrs. Kelly. "Gd stand in the cool a while, child," said her aunt There's Aileen comin' oyer here; bide a bit Bat Mona was gone. Not under the trees did she stop, not by the little gate. Swiftly she passed out the side way, orer the dusty road and into her own yard. Here she paused a moment, and catching her breath with something that sounded like a sob passed around the tiny thatched hut, and so over the stile to the river. Down on her face upon the grass she threw herself, careless of the yellow sash of which she had been so proud; the yellow beads burst their string and Borne rolled down the bank into the river. She lay very still and quiet, so quiet that a nightingale gave her no heed and began to sing. A whip-poorwill whip-poorwill called on the opposite bank, and far off in the woods came the answer of his mate. The gleaming moon rolled slowly into view and silvered each branch and blossom. The birds sang on, but Mona heard them not She was thinking one hand on the heart that beat so fast, the other arm pillowing her head. She did not try to analyze her feelings; she would not have known how. There was a dull ache in her breast, and memory was torturing her. "Holy mother," she began, whispering, whisper-ing, and could get no further. "She will not help me now; I am too bad, too bad at all." She thought how unkindly she had always al-ways treated Gerald; she had laughed then to herself. ."Och, wirra, wirra," she ejaculated. And now Aileen had taken him; it was Aileen's fault, not Gerald's; how could she do it, how could she? And wear. his kerchief the prettiest girl in Kilgarnock those were his words, and now she knew what he had meant Oh, why had not Aileen staid awayt And now Gerald was gone from her entirely. Slowly she made up her mind that she would be brave; no one, not Aileen nor Gerald, should ever know the truth. Gerald should never know she was sorry now, and so he would be happy. She murmured him a farewell in soft Irish words, "Gerald, anoon ma Gerald." The slow tears trickled down her cheeks and gleamed upon the grass like diamonds. The moonlight lay over the prostrate figure in broken patches. Gently the breeze lifted and let fall again each dark ring of silky hair curling curl-ing over her head and down to the white neck that shone all the whiter. The moon reached the middle of her jeweled course. The nightingale sang, all unconscious of the silent grief beneath be-neath him. The lashes lay over her flushed cheek liko a dark shadow; in very weariness and worn out with her misery she had fallen asleep. The bird at last hushed his sweet treble and flew away. He had heard a hasty step over the grass. But Mona heard not, saw not Somebody came down to the river bank almost on a run, and stopped short at sight of the little figure lying there so motionless. He knelt down beside her. With a quick eye Gerald noted the tear stained cheek, the parted lips, whence came a long drawn sobbing breath. Without a word he gathered her up in his arms, asleep as she was, but Mona stirred and then started from him wide awake. , , "1 you oh, Gerald I" .' "They are all ahunt for ye," he answered. an-swered. "Ye have scared the heart 'av me. An' why did ye come down here?" "Don't," she whispered, trying to remember re-member her resolution. "I will go back now." She stood up and then swayed a little, dizzily. ' - "Mona, mavourneen!" said Gerald, holding her close.- She struggled to release herself, and stood back from him pitifully defiant. "Ye shall not touch mel" she cried. "Go back to Aileen; go back to her and spake your words. Tell her that same mavourneen story; she will believe ye. Let me pass; I can go home; I'll not need" but the proud curve of the lips weakened, and the eyes commenced to brim with tears. She turned away her head, and tried to spring past him. Gerald Ger-ald stood motionless at first, looking at her in surprise, and then he caught her by the arm. nead and float against the dull dun of the cow's side. He imagined he could hear her talking and cooing to old Light-foot, Light-foot, who seemed to him so unapprecia-tiw. unapprecia-tiw. He remembered Aileen. She and Mona were about the same age, but so unlike in appearance that kinship would have never been suspected. While Mona was rather below the average height Aileen was above it; Mona's curly tresses were black as midnight, and Aileen's bronze gold. It had been a proud moment to them all when my Lady Lindores sent for Aileen to come to the "big house," as the tenantry all termed the great stone mansion, man-sion, and prouder still when my lady made known her wishes that Aileen should accompany her as maid. Not a throb of jealousy quickened Mona's Mo-na's pulses at Aileen's good fortune. She rejoiced with her cousin, and was un-feignedly un-feignedly glad. And now my Lord and Lady Lindores were home for a short while after a year of absence, and Aileen was back once more in the home of her childhood. With tears of delight her mother and Mona greeted the traveler, her father surveyed her with complacent pride and approval; to them she was more beautiful than ever. The month drew to a close. The "big house" would soon be empty again and ! silent The days had been busy ones; new cottages had been erected, new i barns and buildings; the wide estates j had been refenced and improved. And ; now all would be quiet till winter, when it was expected that the mansion would be filled with a merry crowd of guests and the logs would blaze on the hearths, malting Christmas cheer. My lord and lady, alike beloved by their people, had been planning some amusement for them as an appropriate and welcome wind up of the work. The wide new barn seemed particularly adapted for the purpose, and Lord Lindores Lin-dores announced that here he would give a dance and bountiful supper. Mona slipped down to the river, In glee at the good news Aileen had just i brought to her. She swung herself up to a limb that reached half way over the water, and scrambled recklessly out upon it till the bough swayed. "Geraldl" she called, looking eagerly down the river. "Hi, Geraldl" Ee was not in sight, but she thought he would probably be Just around the bend, fishing. In one moment the familiar fa-miliar faded red boat came swinging around. "Come here, Gerald, jist as quick as ye can I" she calls quivering with excitement excite-ment and splashing the water below with impatient heels. "Comin'," he answers. "Shure, Mona, what is it? Is the cow after dyin? Or the pigs stole? Tell it, colleen." "The cow!" she says, her eyes dancing; "oh, Gerald, it's me feet I can't kape Isthill long enough to spake wid me tongue. The. dance we're goin' to have in the new barn to-morrow night; ye didn't know that now? I have come jist to tell ye uv it." "And is that all?" says Gerald, as he rests his oars and looks at her surprised. "An' I thought, Mona, ye had a thing to tell and afeard the news. A big bite I lost, too, for whin ye called so fast I didn't bide to finish." "Well, ain't ye glad now, Gerald, for me to tell you?" "Faith an' I knew that same already. It was no news to me, Mona." Mona's red lip pouted. "Go back thin, Gerald, to your fishin"; 'tis not for me to bother ye." Gerald surveyed her with an odd expression ex-pression on his face. "Look, Mona," he said, drawing a little lit-tle bundle from the pocket of his corduroy cordu-roy tousers. "See what I am goin' to ask the purtiest gurrl in Eilgarnock to wear to-morrow night." And he carefully care-fully unrolled a wide pink silk handkerchief handker-chief and held it up for Mona's inspection. inspec-tion. The little maid clasped her hands in admiration. She had nothing like it and never doubted that it was intended, for her. " 'Tis beautiful, shure, Gerald." He craned his neck around to one side to behold the kerchief from her point of view. ' "Yes," he said calmly, and then folded it up very carefully in its tissue wrappings wrap-pings and put the bundle back into his pocket. A WITCH BEWITCHED. A water lily fell at Mona's bare feet. -' She knew quite well what it meant. She knew whose boat was coming around tj bend i the river, but she did not elrf look up. She was leaning against . the old oak tree at the water's edge, and idly picking to pieces a spray of golden-rod. golden-rod. The sunbeams sifted through the tree and flickered over the dusky head, slipped down past the lowered lashes, kissed the dimples on the bare elbows. ; t. The oars in the water censed their regu lar plash and the boat glided up to where she stood. The bits of goldenrod floated by on each sido. "An", Mona, did ye have no greetin' . for me? Why did ye come?" Mona drops the last scrap of flowers and looks at him. "Is it that you think I have come her to you?" she laughs. "Gerald, sure ye don't think that?" "And"why not?" ho says, in an injured way. "I told ye Sunday 1 was goin' to the Shallows; didn't I ask ye thin to come down?" "Perhaps," she says. "I have forgot." 1 came down to pick the cress; 'tis busy I am." So she flashes one glance at him and picks up her basket, as yet empty. "Cress! Why, Mona," he says, "come, . get ye into the boat. This cress is not half so lush as some a bit further. Come on," iu urges. Mona hesitates, and swings the basket np and down. Back across the green . slope of land she looks, across the stile and jiist beyond the hill, where a faint film etf smoke creeps up curling from the little chimney barely visible. Gerald follows her gaze. "Come, Mona," he says. "They won't miss ye." "Well," she says slowly, "well." In , reality she is longing to go, but of course it would not do to let him see it "Ye needn't help me. I can get in." 1 Lightly he dips his oars, and they glide down the river. Mona laughs. "They will be after me soon," she ays. "Aunt Mollie ' will be a-callin' me, but she won't know; will she, Ger-... Ger-... aid?" . . . ..... ,. - "No, colleen," answers Gerald In de-"night de-"night ' at' the smiling face she turns to him. He rests his oars in the oarlocks and lets the boat drift -- "Mona," he says, bending toward her, ' "Mona, listen" "An' won't 1 catch it, too!" she says with a peal of laughter, as though catch- ing it would be a festive occasion. "Here's the place; yes, Gerald?" "Yes," he answers moodily. "Wait, Til get the stuff; ye needn't move." - " She catches hold of the bending branch ' of willow and draws the boat close in shore. One small bare foot swings back and,, forth in the water as she balances ' herself on the prow and hums softly to herself. She knows he is angry; she guesses what he had started to say to her a moment ago, but what does she care for that? The lips are demure and serious as she thanks him, but the violet eyes are laughing. . "Gerald," she says, when the oars commenced com-menced to move, "Aileen's here." "Mona, stop a bit," he aaid, almost sternly. "What i this come to ye? What av Aileen to me? Are ye dhramin', child?" "Let me go," she whispered; "let me go." . "No, ni not let yon go. Spake to me, Mona. What is it? Nay, ye cannot go. Tell it to me!" She faced him then, and her eyes flashed through the tears. "An' ye would talk to me, would ye? An ya wonld wait forme to market; an' ye would sing to me nnder the thatch at night; an' ye would tell me ye love mel Och, it is not thrne at all, at alL Ye know I am speakin' bnt the trnth, an'j-e will make me say it Ah, bnt the heart av ye is black. Aileen is there dancin' to-night; Aileen is there waitin for ye with your kerchief round her neck the pink kerchief ye showed me and said 'twas for the purtiest gnrrl in Kilgarnock; go to her, go!" The little figure was quivering with wrath and emotiorn then she remembered remem-bered all at once that she had broken her promise to herself, bnt having broken brok-en it she was not going to yield an inch. "Shure, 'tis not that I care for ye; 'tis the base desate I hate. Let me pass now, if ye plase!" "An' I don't plase, Mona," ha said. "Is that all? Now ye shall listen to me. Ye wonld never hear tome afore, Mona; 'tis not my fault I do love ye, an ye wrong me when ye say no. Share, mavourneen, ma-vourneen, I love the very ground ye walk on, and the sound of your voice is amunictomeself. The kerchief aroon, are ye angered with the poor, pretty thing? See, I have it yet for the purtiest purti-est and smartest gnrrl in Eilgarnock. An' won't ye wear it now? I knew not even did Aileen wear one, an' 'twas not mine she had on her neck. Aye, bide yonrhead; 'tis here on my-heart is the right place for it No tears, Mona; Mona, mavourneen; 'tis all right now. An' won't ye wear the poor kerchief, colleen?" col-leen?" ' - He drew it around her neck, and held the ends close np under her chin. Presently Pres-ently she looked at him, shyly, from under un-der lowered happy lashes. "Ah, Gerald, tis too beautiful for mer George Wilson Prescott in Times- Petnnrrofc "Good-by, Mona," he called, bending over his oars again. She did not answer, but stared rather blankly at the little boat till it disappeared. disap-peared. "Indade, thin, I don't care if it's not forme. I wouldn't have it," shaking her head and speaking emphatically, "I wouldn't have it at all, at all." She climbed off her perch a little more slowly than she had mounted it, and be-i be-i gan to sing a gay little carol. A bird in the tree caught the notes and burst i into responsive song. , Mona ceased sud-! sud-! denly. j "Oh, hush, ye bird!" she cried, impatience im-patience in her voice, and then as she I turned to go deliberately pushed a help-; help-; less little frog into the water. When the nest evening came the barn j was full of life and laughter. As Mona ! with her uncle and aunt entered the lit-' lit-' tie yard gate the plank-plinkety-plank of the violins came floating ont to them, mingled with the shuffling of many feet "Oh, make haste!" she whispered to ' herself, and could not keep her feet in ", the sober pace that suited her aunt's calm step. The lanterns hung down i from the doorway and windows, wide flags floated from the roof and streamers and folds of bunting swept across the walls and ceiling insido. Mon had spent an honr about the ' adornment of her small person, bnt she need not have lingered There were many feet bare besides her own, many other dresses old besides hers. Around I her neck was a string of yellow beads, and a yellow sash of Aileen's around her , waist They pushed their way to a seat, and 1 Annt Mollie fanned herself vigorously. Mona gazed around with interest. There was Mollie Stewart, and there was Maggie Mag-gie Tally and Annie Kavanagh. All these girls, as well as the lads, were on hand, bnt where was Aileen? She had said she was coming. Mona looked in one direction and then another, and at last there sat Aileen close to a window, and near by stood Gerald, gazing at her. Mona turned a little pale. She did not see Patsy and Barney and Farron edging edg-ing np to her; she never even thought of any of them. In her eagerness to make no mistake she stood np on tiptoe to see the better. Yes, it was Aileen, and now . Gerald was leading her ont to dance. , The pink silk kerchief was round her I neck. Something seemed to shoot across i Mona's eyes with a blinding pain. When j Barney begged her to dance she an-! an-! swered a little sharply, and he went 1 awayagain. , . - "Aileen?" . "Yes. She has the chance to see us now while Lady Lindores is at home. She is still my lady's maid, ye know, Aileen is, and it's myself would like to be in her place." "Mona! Ye would like to go away from from Kilgarnock?" "Yes," she cries, "surely." The boat's keel ran up to the landing place. She jumped out and then turned away with the basket in her hand. One glance she gave him over her shoulder. "An' would ye care, Gerald?" "Faith, 'tis not the likes of me she ' would be af ther plnsin'," he said to himself him-self as he watched the little figure trip . np tho green sward and over the stile. He forgot about the fishing expedition he had planned. He leaned back in the boat and fell to thinking. All the witches in the world are not yet suppressed; sup-pressed; there are still some few left to tingle up the senses of a man and leave ..him in, bewilderment The witch in Kilgarnock must have taken np her " 'abode in Mona Carey's small head - To ' ' torment the lads of the village, to be-, be-, guile and capture each unsuspecting heart, were accomplishments in which long practice had " made . her perfect There seemed such a sunshiny atmos-' atmos-' phere always around her that it mads her as dangerous as she was lovable and winning. Unlucky Gerald! " All her life he had known her, even back to the time when she had begun to talk in broken baby phrases. Although he was years older thaa she Mona treated him in the same careless, laughing way .in which she did all the other suitors. And though not one of them Could boast of any especial mark of favor, yet each one believed himself t to be ahead in the race-ach one except Gerald Shearn. Daily he questioned himfielf. tried to understand her: "bnt Bo," he thought bitterly, "it's an omad-hann omad-hann I am; she laughs at me." With all the love of his passionate, Irish nature he loved the maid, wor-ahiped wor-ahiped pretty Mona, who would look at. him so roguishly from under long lashes nd would not listen. And now he heard her voice calling: "Lightfoot Lightfoot, come np, come op; come to me, accHshla!" and the tinkle of the cowbell echoed back again. He pictured her sitting on the little stool and milking the cow; he knew how she would look he had often watched her. ; The sleeves of her frock would be pushed ' ' p' over her round ann;Vthe'dark rings j, f her- hair would lie 4ooselyover her |