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Show f An Incorrigible " Angel By F. H. LANCASTER. tl r tOoprrliht, IMS, bj Dll J aftj rab. Co.) HEIN, tho artist, dropped his book and strode to tho window, tbero'to stand and staro out upon tnl green slope that sltppod shimmering rod silent si-lent to the valley below. Greeifyjold where tho sun shot down to it: green black where tho pine shadows Vfell upon It; but always green, glad knd beautiful. A thing to hold any arMs tic eye. Ah, but this artist was blltid to It That unlucky line of Ruskhjfs. It had waked afresh a. the heart-hunger he had hoped to soothe Into er-lasting er-lasting rest with tho lullaby of labor. "An Incorrigible angoll" What mattered mat-tered it that Ruskln was writing of eighth century Irish art? At tho words had sprung before the artist's mental vision that tantalizing embodiment of beauty and mischief. If the great critic had coined tho phraso for the express benefit of monsieur's, his boat's, slip of n daughter. It could not have come moro pat to tho purpose. So while he stared nc tho slopo and Its wonderful play of high light and shadow the artist saw only dark eyo beneath thick, curling lashes, dimples dancing In rosaleaf cl)fcoki and tempting lips parting over pearly tooth. t,"Iow wonderfully lovely tho child 'is!" ho mused, whllo a smllo lifted tho tips of his mustache "Little tease. Incorrigible In-corrigible angel suits her to a dot" And ho smtlod again, finding these forbidden for-bidden fruits Very sweet Indeed. For all thought of the lovely child was forbidden fruit to the artlft. Iletng young nnd ambitious, and acknowledging acknowledg-ing f tankly that matrimony was too heavy a handicap for his career, ho had planned to eschew woman and the thought of her. ", VI'll ;nover manry for anything but love! 'Ergo, if I don't fall In love I won't marry," ho explained to his plpo, nnd pleased with his philosophy and its ponotratlon ho hnd pursuod his appointed ap-pointed path discontented and happy, or contented and unhappy, as is the way with artists, be the A big or little 4 NovOvotla. That path had brought him abruptly vls-a-Tls with an Incorrigible Incor-rigible angel. Comment done? It was time for his resolution to assert Itself or to turn toll and run. As for tho artist, he wished the resolution to stand pat. On general principles men like to be! lev o (hat they nro made of sterner stuff than a rope of sand. Or-talnmcntl Or-talnmcntl A week ago he had burned his sltetchis of rounded check and beauteous brow and said to his heart: "Enough, enough " Said It sternly all In the "dead vast and middle of tho night" Ehbeln, hut he kept on storing stor-ing down the slope until he spied a whlte speck at the bottom of it ' "Asp'asl's befrllled sun-bonnet." Ito xelzcd his hat and slammed his door Resolution had turned tall Quel esclandre, quel esclandrel Oul vratment It Is so out there on those green hills under tho pleasant sunshine among the tlmple lives of peaceful 'Cajan land The heart of ambition am-bition grows ashamed of Its clamor of Its everlasting "Give, give " "There Is a bigger thing than either money or success, and that Is tho serenity of soul that sets aside money and success as little tin toys that eternity may easily dispense with " The artist breathed In such thoughts with the air after resolution reso-lution ran away He fancied that It was because of the profound pcac and silence that he felt nearer to Heaven out here upon these green-wrapt hills, that It was the tall pines and the stars Hooping over thorn Hint nwoko those 'mystic ycarnlnpj.; that It was tho moonlight and the quiet that scat him off Into those long, long roverles wherein the big things dwindled and shrank and it seemed good Just to live on In silence at pence with all humankind. human-kind. Yea, truly, ho thought It was all a caso of atmosphere tho poor artist Little dreaming that It would have boon tho samo In Broadway or Boston had the incorrigible- angel been there. Like most men ho shrank from analyzing analyz-ing his emotions. But, Aepasl, the incorrigible in-corrigible angel, analyzed them for him. Ah, inula out! Her eyes danced when she behold M. lo -artiste smoking with his oyei on vacancy, and her HpH quivered with suppressed smiles when ho atammcrcd over tho request to b allowed to chop her kindling. , m, .; '' ' i I.. Alu, he v?a bstttr fitted to'Hrftw pictures th--Uo chop kindling, lelptvj vre artist, tVj bis long, slim fingers. As Aspasl watched him she seerald to sec. in contrast a blue flannel frfcirt straining oyer straight shoulders palla a keen ax flashed tip and dowa Witts poetical precision. But who would havo suspected that sho saw such visions, vi-sions, the deer-eyed maiden, as she heaped fthe chips In her apron with a shy: "I t'nnk you, sir." Hclnl It Is tho poets that tell us tho woods Is the place to see visions and dream dreamM. Volla, Aspasl saw many visions: of broad shoulders, as wa havo said: of foarlesR black eyes when sho looked at the artist's gold-rimmed glasses, of swift, strong strides when sho watched the artist's strolling steps; nf back-flung head and laughing lips while she responded to the artist's well-bred smile. Ah, irfon ami, besldo the machine-made man she kept seeing the man primitive with the beauty of a sun god and the bravery of a dumb beast nnd she could not comprehend culture. But, yet; It was fun to have a man who wore store clothes every dav for a beau. It made, the other girls si Jaloux And then the edge came up, to the artist, sharp and keen. It was a letter that did it. A cold, typewritten, dictated dic-tated ten lines. Heln, that thliuMi-tlve thliuMi-tlve from a husUIng "world 'cMet' should have found Its way into that delicious land of dreams and visions! An offer which if accepted meant a cool thousand or so and prospects; but which. It rejected, or even neglected, ne-glected, was as a door slammed in tho face of success. The artist walked the night away How could ho go and leave her. his Inroritglble angel? But how could he take her with him? In that hot-house atmosphere would she not droop and Ah, he had meiQl to give It all up for her To have a cottage on a hlll-slde with flowers blooming about the door, and now And now the Incongruity of It all struck a chill to his heart, Broadway and this beautiful child Poor little incorrigible angel. And he had deliberately taught her to. love1 him had wooed her wistfully, thinking think-ing of that home upon the hill that was not to bo Must he go away In silence? All tho manhood culture had left with htm rose in protest At the thought of those beautiful eyes darkening darken-ing with pain nnd those perfect lips drooping In sorrowful pttlence his heart began to hurt him. He did love her She fascinated his fancy. Ab, sho appealed to his tenderness a tenderness ten-derness he had not before suspected. Dear little Incorrigible angel. She would be pitifully corriglblo taken away from thovhills and the sunshine that were as tho very breath to her. But ho must do it Must take her away and trnln her to be a procer partner for his prospects. Ho was man enough to give small thought as to what his friends would nay, and.hjrJore morning even man enough to 7ris? above the crushlug lnconventcnco'of this unexpected expense. The day wore to orenlng and, eh blen, It was a bigger mnn than the artJst had over planned to bo that sat down beside his host when that host had eaten his supper and washed his feet nnd was feeling at peace with hlmsolf and Heaven. ,Vpry honestly he told this hcneit man what was In his henrt and thought, nnd hli host being slow-talking as well aa honest, said, reflectively: "Yns?" Ho smoktd a cigarette and added' "Yns; das one becg t'lng. ed'-ration, ed'-ration, I ain't had none, me. But, I know Yas; das one beeg t'ing " And then, unexpectedly, "Ou est-elle done Aspasl, Aspsslt- len, chtre." In mingled French and English he told her of the artist's Intentions toward to-ward ber and Aspasl sat with detaurely lowered lashes. Ab he watched her color quicken the artist felt his heart begin to swell. He was doing a noble thing and how was he to know that those divine blushes were for a dark-eyed dark-eyed boy beyond the bayou who could do his own love-making. The old man summed up gently: "It's fo" you to say, chere. But mq, I t'lnk yas." The Incorrigible angel raised her laaUcs and swept the artist a single swift glance of still disdain "But me," she said. "I fink no." |