10
THE COURIER.
Av
THE PROPOSAL,
!
Edith Lewis.
Id one of the parks of San Francisco,
John Ilrightoo, en elderly Englishman,
was walking. It was noon. The place
was hair deter ted. A sort of golden
silence reigned, broken only by the
murmur ot a little child, or the splash
ing of the fountains. The air was fill
ed wilh sunlight and the odor of tulips.
A- few orioles Hashed among the trees.
It was the background for a philosopher
to melt into and lose himself, wrapped
around with light and fragrance. Noth
ing, however, would hare been less
melting than the figure ot the English
man. He moved wilh a sort ot stiff
energy, striking off with hie cane as he
passed, the heads of the roses. In this
unchecked pursuit he traversed the
park five times. The sixth turn, how
ever, brought him to a by-path which
seemed to promise a diversion. He
turned into it, making his way along a
breast-high laurel hedge, until faint
sounds behind it led him to pause and
look across.
Somewhat retired from view among
the roEO bushes, a little child was play
ing at a fountain. Near him sat a girl,
dressed in a gown of black stuff, very
heavy and close fitting. She was rath
er small, and exquisitely pretty. Never
theless it was evident to the English
man that something was wrong. Her
face, with its Boft and delicate contour?,
wore an odd, gray pallor, out of keep
ing in that July noon. Her eyes, large,
back and stood panting at. her knee.
He was an elf-like, little creature with
solemn eyes, and hair like spun gold.
He regarded Brighton gravely.
"Sit down," said the girl. "Don't
run."
She held her wineglass to his lips.
Then she gave him the rest of her broth
A faint color bad fluttered into her face.
Brighton watched them with a grim
smile.
'So this is how your countrymen
treat you," be said at last.
She raised her head with spirit, re
plying:
"They're not my countrymen. I'm a
Southerner."
Brighton chuckled.
"I'm from the north of Wales, ray
self," he said, "and I call myaolf an
Englishman. However, we won't quar
rel. What are you going to do now?"
She leaned back and looked at him
for a moment without replying.
"I'll going to thank you for your
kindness," she presently said. "Then
I'm going home.''
"Ilome!" he echoed. "Home!" He
laughed. "D5n't tell me you've a
home," he said. "The bed goes before
the loaf."
She eyed him without emotion.
"I daresay you're ryht," she answer
ed. For a moment she was silent.
Theh she slowly raised her eyes.
"My husband died in June," she
said. "I am a widow. I was taking
him back from Japan. A sea voyage,
the doctor said. So we went to Japan.
It is u frightful place. Never take them
there, they alwajB die. My husband,"
black and shadowy, were kept constant
ly turned upon the child, with a sort ot she added, "died on the return, in sight
btirhirie languor. Her hands shook of San Francisco.
helplessly when she raised them to put
back the hair from her brow.
Brighton regarded her silently from
behind the hedge. All at once, as he
stood, a singular thing occuired. The
place had been used for a picnic ground.
In the grass lay a loaf of bread, sodden
from exposure, the remnant of some
excursion, some pleasure party. It
caught the girl's eye. For a moment
she regarded it fixedly. Then her
charming face was convulsed with
eagerness. Glancing covertly about,
shewas reaching for the loaf, when an
exclamation from the ledge discovered
Brighton's presence. He came hastily
forward. But the girl was already upon
her feet. Color had burned two bright
spotb in her cheeks. She wbb tremb
ling with rage and indignation. She
strove twice for words which would not
come. Her eyes blazed on him silently.
"Don't stand," said he.
"Our money I suppose we spent it.
There was so much to pay for doctors
and nurses, hotels and voyages I al
ways gave whatever tbey'asked. When
it was over, I discovered we had noth
ing. I pawned my rings all my gowns.
Then, for the sake of my little boy, I
entered a shop. Four days ago, they
discharged me. My landlord has Bent
me away. I came to the parte. That is
all."
Brighton gazed at her.
"The boy what have you done with
him?" he asked.
She glanced toward the child apa
thetically. Then she drew from her
glove a small coin.
"For his supper," she exclaimed, hold
ing it out.
You have saved that," he gasped,
"for the boy?"
She met bis eyes with a sort of defiance.
"One does not starve one's child," she
She made a step toward him, then
groping backwards, diopped to her seat said
'and lay there. Brighton shook his head Brighton meditated
solemnly.
"Wait for me," he said. He started
off on a run through the bushes, leaped
a hedge, and brought up inside an im
maculate cafe, a square distant. The
waiters were astounded at the appari
tion of their most irreproachable pa
tron, bareheaded, breathless, ueing
strange Eoglish ' profanities, and with
beat demanding "nourishing food of any
How old are you?" he asked.
"I am nineteen."
"Have you no relations no rriends?"
"I quarreled with them when I mar
ried. I shall never go back," she re
plied. For a long space there waB silence.
In the trees a few birds chattered. The
child began again to drop pebbles io
the fountain.
sort whatever." With trembling bands
tbey prepared a tray. lie took it. He
did not volunteer an explanation. He
marched forth up the quiet street, fol
lowed by a handful of urchins whom
he dismissed &t the park entrance with
dispensations ot silver.
' The girl was lying in the same 'atti
tude. Reaching her, he set down the
tray, removed the covers, and began
feeding her the broth by spoonfuls.
Then he poured out a glass of wine and
battered a roll. She received what he
gave her docilely, but with apparent
Brighton paced back and forth be
tween the roses and the hedge. The
girl lay quietly, her lashes drooping.
All at once he turned to her again. His
manner bore traces of agitation.
-jjiBien io me," ne saiu. -iou can
not remain here."
She glanced up, but said nothing.
"I have a plan," he continued. "You
must accept it, whether you like or no.
Look at me. I am forty years your
senior. I am a bachelor. I have no
relations to quarrel with, and I am very
rich. This is what you must do. I
band " she drew herself up. with a face that held him for an instant mo
long breath. tionless, with dazzled eyes. Then he
"You shall have the child," she said, moved toward her.
"and I will go."
He looked at her. With one hand
she had gathered her skirts as it to fly.
The other she held extended toward the
child. There was something in her
''You have gone a trifle astray," he said
kindly. "That idpa of youre it was
charming 1 should like it very much.
But I should not have made the - mis
take you feared. I intended to offer to
adopt you.
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indifference. All at once she raised her don't ask if yon like me. I ask you to
bead sharply and looked about. take me an I am, to accept "
, "(Jeorgie!" she cried. She sprang to her feet.
The child had wandered to a distance. "No," she cried, "No. I cannot mar-
-At her call, however, he came racing ryyou. I cannot re arry you. My hus-
First Pub., June 104
Notice to Creditors.-E 1466.
In the county court of Lancaster county, Ne
braska: In the matter of the estate of Susan R. Lint.
deceased.
To the creditors of said estate:
You are hereby notified, that the County
Judge w ill sit at the county court room in Lin
coln, in said county, on the lGth day of Octo
ber, 1SKW, and again on the ICth day of Janu
ary. 1901. to receive and examine all claims
against said estate, with a view to their ad
justment and allowance. The time limited for
the presentation of claims against said estate
is sir months- from the 16th day of July,
1900, and the time limited for the payment of
debts is one year from the I6th day'of Julv.
1900. "
Notice of this proceeding is ordered pub
lished for four weeks successively in The
Courier of Lincoln, a weekly newspaper pub
lished in this State.
Witness my hand and the seal of said court
this 4th day of June, 1900.
ISEAI- Frank K. Waters,
... " County Judge.
By A alter A. Leese, Clerk County Court
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