by. Some one did come by, five or six horsemen together, evidently going to the meet, and hurrying as if late. grew botter and hotter. The cart-track | again on the bank and waited- for I had followed for some way stopped at what I hardly knew. There seemed to a gate in a stone wall, split into mere be a track coming down across the diverging sets of casual ruts. I chose river there, and some one might come the set which seemed the most direct and walked on, longing for another stream. By the gradual descent, and a view of the slope of the next hill, I judged I must come to water soon; and Strange, the advent of help, if I surely enough another quarter of a mile cared to ask it, brought back all my brought me in sight of a brook. I usual self-conscious timidity and diffifound out afterwards that I had struck dence. The spot was evidently not so the Badgworthy about half a mile above the Doone Glen. The hills on Exmoor are steepest at the bottom, and as I neared the stream I involuntarily broke into a run. The sun must have made me giddy. My legs seemed to have grown suddenly independent. I tried to pull up, but my foot slipped sideways, my other ankle twisted under me, and in a moment I was rolling down in a bundle. Ten yards or so, and a boulder brought me up sharply, bruising my elbow. I hung on to it though, and sat there for several minutes, panting and bewildered. deserted and out of the way as I had first thought it. Commoner people might pass or my ankle might be better presently. How could I ask these grandees? If I had been pretty or even well-dressed it would have been different, and I thought with what an air I would have demanded the services of any one of them as my right — if I had been anything but a hot, tousled, ugly girl. They glanced at me and went on, and I glanced back at them, as if just interested enough to look up, that was all. But when they had disappeared over the ridge I burst into tears over my misfortune and foolThen I tried to get up and walk to ish cowardice, and tried to walk once the river, and grew cold and clammy more, and once more sat down and all at once, in spite of the heat. A went on crying quietly, thinking of the little mishap frightens us in these un-priest and the Levite. adventurous times, and I was frightened more than I care to admit to find my ankle almost useless. I sat down on the boulder again and tried to think it out. An hour passed, and the solitude became unbearable, and the growing improbability of further help coming aroused my terrors afresh. To sit there alive and well in that beautiful place under the sun, and not know what was to happen to me - I might have to spend the night there not far from appalling. was I could not exactly tell where I was, and the map did not help me much; in fact, it served rather to increase my dismay, for there appeared to be no houses within miles. There was only I tried to be philosophical-a night one thing certain, and that was that I on the moor would not so much matter must get down to the water or faint. after all to a strong, healthy girl like I crawled down laboriously and pain-myself - then hopeful and careless; of fully for I was unwilling to test my course something or somebody would ankle again yet. The coolness of the turn up before evening, it was not two stream put new heart into me, and I o'clock yet. What a coward I was !resolved to follow it down, hoping to then desperate all by turns; and in arrive at some cottage or road before the desperate turn I tried to walk, but my ankle gave in altogether. A quar- was compelled to sit down in a few ter of an hour was quite enough, how-minutes and pant and relieve myself by ever, and during it I had hobbled say tears afresh. a couple of hundred yards. What a It was just as I was recovering from great clumsy idiot I was ! I sat down this fit that he came upon me. The noise of the stream prevented my hear- tion of his meaning, then smiled again. ing him coming over the grass, or else the heat of the sun and my pain and misery had rendered me almost uncouscious. But as he pulled up beside me the clink of his horse's bit caught my ear and made me look up. And at the sight of my face he swung himself off in a moment. I have heard of meekness in mankind, but I never saw it except in him. "Then to Porlock we'll go," he said; "but have something out of my flask first. It is a long way, and you must be faint." "Yes I am," I blurted out, "for I came out without so much as a piece "Can I help you?" he said. "You of bread." are in trouble." What senseless liars we are sometimes! What made me pause and then stammer no just then? Perhaps it was because he was so young and handsome. I am sure I cannot say. I wanted to be helped by a farm laborer, not a man with the face of an Apollo, the air of a Perceval, and the clothes of a Brummel, supposing Brummel ever went hunting. "That's all right," he said, "I have some sandwiches." What he must have thought of the eagerness with which I drank and ate up all he gave me I cannot imagine. Besides, it does not matter. He never showed a trace of amusement. When I had finished I felt ever so much better, and besought him not to trouble himself to take me further than the first farm he came to. But nothHe seemed puzzled and half inclined ing I could say seemed to affect his to take me at my word, as he stood tap-quiet, firm determination to see me ping his boot with his hunting crop. safely home. So I gave in, and Then he gave a final vigorous tap, left mounted with some difficulty. He adoff, and said in a very defiance of kind-justed the length of the stirrup for my left foot, the uninjured one, and then took hold of my loosened waistband with his left hand from the offside, and guided the horse with his right, while I clutched its mane. As we went along I told him all about my accident and despair, and he lis He looked at it, and then up again to tened with a sympathy that brought my equally swollen face. "Does it hurt you very much?" he asked. "No, not while I sit here," I replied. "But I can't go on sitting here forever." And I broke into a queer laugh. me to the verge of crying again. I had never known what a man's sympathy was like before. Everything about him seemed so strong and kind and gentle. The very swish of his white corduroys as he strode along was a consolation. Then he told me all about the moor and hunting, and pointed out the differ"Ient places around. The only sign of "Do you think you could manage to sit there instead ?" and he looked up at his horse's saddle with a smile. could hold you on and walk you wherever you wish to go. Where is it?" "I came from Porlock this morning to see the meet," I said; "and oh! if you could just take me to the nearest house, I could get home somehow." "I came from Porlock too; but I am late, and fortunate, too, that I am.” "Fortunate indeed," said I, "for me." amusement over my expedition that he evinced at all, was the twinkle in his brown eyes when he heard of my expectation of seeing Brendon Two Gates. And even then he did not tell me whether I had not seen them because they were too far off or because they were invisible. When we got back to the farm where I had asked the way in the morning, I He colored at my unkind construc-again attempted to persuade him to And, after all, he only did what he did because I was a woman and he was a gentleman. leave nie; but though he did not seem | go up again after all. If he did he in the least offended at my attempts, as did not see the hounds, at all events, I had half expected him to be, I saw for they ran that day, I heard afterat once that his meekness was of a wards, over the Barle towards North kind that has nothing in common with Moulton. weakness of will. If any one else had treated me so, I know I should have grown angry and impatient. As it was I remained on his horse, and watched the perspiration gather on his forehead as we toiled up to Culbone Stables. Then down the long hill we went, and I grew giddy again. The descent, too, made me continually slip forward in the saddle, and I could tell by the drawing together of his eyebrows and his set teeth what an effort it was to him to hold me back. We rested half-way down, and he blamed himself for not trying to find a cart at the top, and complimented me on having "stuck on so pluckily,” and I said something feeble in reply. What satisfaction can it give me to have been served because I am a member of a world-wide sisterhood? If I had been served for my own sake alone I should be more gratified, even though I might have less reason then to honor him for his act. In fact, I am discontented; I had rather consider him less courteous to consider myself less ugly. From All The Year Round, A GRANTED WISH. A FACT. So runs the Breton adage, grim and grave. "A GRANTED wish is oft a fatal boon." rune; 'Twere well to ponder ere we hotly crave. friend. years ago, one gleamy April day, When through the blue waves, starred with foamy fleck, We reached the bottom at last, and there at the garden gate stood Bella and John and Aunt Jane watching our approach with blank astonishment. I mumbled something quite hopelessly inadequate about my gratitude to him, and then followed explanations and more gratitude from Aunt Jane and Bella, culminating in the offer of a glass of milk, "as he seemed so hot."'Twas He took it all, including the glass of milk, with a modest appreciation which struck me as much more appropriate than any amount of "not at alls." It is not modesty that makes so many people refuse to accept thanks, but a fear of possibly spoiling the effect of the service they have done by their conduct afterwards. Perfect politeness lies rather in allowing people to thank you moderately. Then, after being assured by myself that my ankle was ever so much better, now that I had rested it and got home, he suddenly remarked that he meant to go up to the stables again to see what had become of the hounds. And with a graceful bow to us all he remounted and rode away. I do not know whether that was a mere excuse to avoid a possible invitation to call upon us, or whether he did The Antwerp steamer ploughed upon her way; And I was pacing on the wind-swept deck, Weary and frail, the tired old man drew For the keen sea breeze swept remorseless through The threadbare garments he was shivering in. Hearing how youth and manhood wearied | Had led him to the mighty organ, where past With one long dream, whose waking came at last. In a lone valley up in Cumberland, Teacher at school, head of the village choir, Tilling his little plot with patient hand, That slept in Härlem's giant organ keys. came, Nor how he gained the knowledge that he had, prayer. And for an hour, he said, the rolling waves Of thunder music, over roofs and floors, Through massive columns, over storied graves, And through the great cathedral's open doors, Had flowed, in grand, majestic harmony, O'er listening earth, up to the listening sky. Then sank to silence, utter and profound. No lingering cadence floated on the air; Down the long aisles died no sweet sighing sound, As, vaguely startled, we two entered there, But the strong yearning, thrilling all his Treading with awestruck footsteps, strangeframe, ly soft, Linked to the rush of wind or song of The winding staircase to the organ loft. Seemed of its thrilling trumpet peals to Lay the old man's thin fingers, as at ease; tell; And the poor music flute and fiddle woke In his grey church, of Härlem's glories spoke. And all the while, in silent, steadfast hope, He saved and spared, denying to himself All simple joys within his narrow scope, Until the hidden hoard upon his shelf Sufficed his purpose; but ere that was won His hair was white, his days were well-nigh done. While, through the painted clerestory windows shed, A golden glow lay on the hoary head Leant on the oaken back of his high seat. may greet. And, in the silent, solemn, holy place, We, as we speechless stood and looked on him, Felt he was listening with the Seraphim Yet in a child's blind, ignorant faith he To music sweeter than the lovely strains went That fed the fancies of the lonely boy; On his strange errand, with nor doubt nor To music richer than the dreamy gains fear, Yet humbly grateful for the scroll I sent To make his passage to his idol clear; Chancing to know the man whose word could break Through rule and wont, for my poor pilgrim's sake. Another day, following to Härlem, I Told me that morning he, at my request, That gave the tired man his hours of joy ; To music such as rings in heaven alone From harps of seraphs round the great white throne. Whether he died because the frail heartstrings Snapped at the answer to his lifelong cry; Whether because, as in all earthly things, The dream transcended the reality; Whether his granted wish brought good or ill, I cannot tell; decide it as you will. For EIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & CO. Single copies of the LIVING AGE, 18 cents. |