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Show In the Pasture By EFFIE STEVENS (Copyriebt, 1911. by Associated Literary Press.) JrVO; I could never bring my-self my-self to marry a coward. ' I've made up my mind to that, Jim. Father says you 5) B are one, and the worst of vCl it is I I can't deny it." There was a note of sorrowful sor-rowful regret in Jessie Leighton's voice a3 she uttered this decision. "I know I am a coward," Jim Barlow Bar-low acknowledged humbly, as he sauntered along the country lane beside be-side her. "I've been afraid of things ever since I was frightened so in that horrible railroad accident when I was a little chap. Try as I may I can't seem to help it." "Aunt Martha says a man that's -half a man should be able to pro'-ct a woman from every danger," Jessie continued, as if she had not heard her companion. ''And a coward never could do that. Why, Jim, In battle you'd run away the first minute you sighted the enemy, before even a single sin-gle gun was fired, you know you would." Jim Barlow's handsome, bronzed face flushed with anger. "Your Aunt Martha hasn't ever needed any man to protect her," he jerked out. "What does an old maid know about what a man should or should not do, anyway? And there Isn't any war, nor likelihood of It, that I know of, so I don't think you need fret about whether I could face the enemy or not." Now, don't get cross, Jim, Jessie begged. "I didn't mean to be unkind. I suppose you can't help not being brave. But when a girl trusts her whole future to a man's keeping she wants him to be brave she wants to be able to look up to him and respect him." "I'd make you a good husband, Jessie," Jes-sie," Jim pleaded earnestly. "I'm not a half bad fellow, and I've a fairly good education. I'm not afraid to work, either; and to my thinking that counts for more in these days than rX 1 "Now, Don't Get Cross, Jim." mere physical bravery. I own one of the best farms around here, and I have something in the bank besides. I can give you as comfortable a home as a girl could wish. I hate to see you go on drudging at school teaching, teach-ing, year after year, when I know you detest it. If you didn't care for me, it would be bad enough, but I could bear it like a man, and not say a word more. It's the knowledge that it's only my cowardice that's keeping keep-ing us apart that nearly drives me crazy. If I could only do something to prove to you that I could be brave that I could protect you from every danger butI can't, I can't. " "Please don't take it so hard, Jim," she besought him self-reproachfully. "I'd do as you want me to in a minute min-ute if I could. Perhaps some time you'll do something that is really brave and then " Here her voice faltered and died out. Jim plunged forward in gloomy silence. si-lence. As Jessie quickened her steps to keep pace with those of her silent companion, she heartily wished that she had not permitted Jim to see her home. She might have known what would happen! This made the third time Jim had proposed to her, and it was very hard for her to keep on refusing. The two young people were so absorbed ab-sorbed by their own unhappy thoughts that they failed to notice the fast gathering clouds, which made it much darker than the hour warranted, warrant-ed, until Jessie was brought to a sudden sud-den realization of her surroundings by a big drop of rain on her face. "Oh, Jim, I do believe it's going to rain," she cried, in dismay. "That's so," said Jim, arousing himself, him-self, and scanning the sky. "Looks as If we might have quite a downpour." down-pour." "Oh, what shall we do?" gasped Jessie. "We are half a mile from home, around by the road, and there isn't a house near. My best hat will be spoiled. "We'll have to run for It, I guess,' Jim declared. "Couldn't we make a short cut through Farmer Gifford's pasture?" Jessie suggested. "His creatures are all in the other pasture now, you know." When they reached the middle of the pasture Jessie came to a full stop, clutching her companion's arm frantically, and shrinking close to his side. "Oh, Jim, look!" she breathed. The dim outline of a member of the bovine family loomed up huge and startling. In front of them. "It's that dreadful animal of Henry Potter's," Jessie shuddered. "Oh, what shall we do?" Jim's face blanched beneath Its tan. A shudder of fear swept through him. He cowered back a step or two. Terror was on the point of overmastering over-mastering him. Then a thought flashed into his mind. He remembered remem-bered having seen a couple of men at work in this very lot that afternoon. Courage filled his heart. Here was the very chance he had longed for well, not exactly that, but one that would answer as a makeshift, make-shift, he reasoned to show Jessie that he could be brave on occasion. A look of grim determination settled upon his face as he smothered a slight feeling of shame for what he was about to do. Then he called out, "Run for the fence, Jessie. I won't let him hurt you." "" "Oh, Jim, I can't go and leave you." Jessie faltered. "Run," Jim commanded in a tone that she could not refuse to obey. She ran as she had never run before, be-fore, stumbling over hummocks without with-out heeding them, and sobbing aloud like a child, from sheer excitement. "How cruel I have been," she thought. "And to think he, In spite of his fear, was ready to risk his life for me! Oh, how ashamed I am!" Jim did not move from the stand he had taken before the huge, gloom-shrouded gloom-shrouded figure, until Jessie had reached the fence in safety, and had climbed over It. Then he did a curious thing. He deliberately turned his back upon his adversary, which, by the way, had apparently not moved a muscle since Jessie had first spied it, and ran. The great form still stood like a graven image where he had left it. With a bound Jim vaulted lightly over the fence. "Oh, you are brave," Jessie sobbed, clinging to him. I'll never forgive myself for calling you a coward. You were splendid. Oh, Jim, I take everything every-thing back everything. I do love you." Again Jim smothered a feeling akin to shame, as he stooped and kissed the sweet, tear-wet face, upraised up-raised to his. On his way home, a little later Jim. stopped in at Farmer Gifford's. "There's an animal in your south pasture I'd like to buy," he said with assumed carelessness. "Why, there ain't any animal there except that cow sign-board Potter's men put up there this afternoon," twelve-year-old Willie Gifford burst out wonderlngly. "You shut up, bub," his father commanded com-manded sternly. Then he gave Jim an understanding understand-ing wink. "Saw you and your girl going through there awhile back," he remarked. re-marked. "I guess nothing serious would happen if the thing disappeared disap-peared right now. Potter didn't even ask leave for putting it there. Only don't leave any kindlings lying around." Just as the town clock struck 12 long drawn-out strokes a supremely supreme-ly happy man climbed the fence of Farmer Gifford's south pasture, and soon, by the light of a lantern, an ax was singing to the tune of "All's Fair In Love and War." But the man would have been considerably con-siderably surprised could he have heard a blushing faced girl whispering whisper-ing to herself, in the seclusion of her own room: "Oh I hope Jim will never find out that I saw Henry Potter's men putting that sign-board up. He would never forgive me for knowingly know-ingly playing him such a trick. But I couldn't help it. I had to have an eicuw for accepting him." |