All-Story Weekly, March 1, 1919 — page 149: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

an ‘encounter. It remained for Knock Brundage, without being aware of it, to supply the missing knowledge. Toward midafternoon of the second un- happy day Knock arrived at the cabin with a flat bundle concealed inside his shirt. He closed the door behind him before pro- ducing the mysterious article from its hiding-place. “You wanta look at somethin’?” he asked cautiously. “‘ What is it?” asked the Grouch. “ A book.” “ Take it away. I don’t want to read.” “It’s Mame’s book,” observed Knock. “T don’t care whose it is.” “Tt ain’t a regular book,” explained Knock as he unwrapped a covering of oil- cloth. “I mean it ain’t printed and it ain’t got pictures-in it. It’s a book she writes in.” The Grouch walked over to the table and glanced at the sacred volume. “Where did you get it?” he demanded. “Found it. I been lookin’ for it lots o’ times, but I only found it to-day. Mame she’s been hidin’ it diff’rent places. She’s been lyin’ about it, too; she said there wasn’t no such book. But I knew better. Every now an’ then she sneaks off an’ writes in it. She uster keep it in the stone wall, down by the orchard, but she took it away from there, an’ now she keeps it up in the woods. I followed her to-day, an’ after she got through writin’ in it an’ hid it again I went an’ got it.” Even then the Grouch did not evince any great interest. “You'd better put it back,” he said sharply. ‘TI can’t read it very good,” said Knock, unabashed. ‘“ She don’t write plain. But you can read it if you wanta. It says things about you in it.” The Grouch became instantly alert. “What about me?” he demanded. “Oh, I dunno. It don’t make no sense, I guess.” The Grouch picked up the book, drew a chair close to a window, and sat down. For several minutes he thumbed pages rather carelessly, hastily turning them over when- _ ever he discovered bursts of sentimentality ee ee I Et ge - > =e Pee i rt Sg ait a Sa a = —— ey eS: ee tS pee = = . <8 —. cay’ ae: ae —— i et an i a . a ST Pe ie a Se t aad Tt we =e J Pe See lies > ne by Se a at Si aS Ee + es ne Se EL: oer A a ee a Fp =e pz Gn ce ; ——— i Pa SS = mre ee Ss 4 OS = Ra ee ee ee ee eee nS 5 tae > = eee Sseere Va ae Fe “« aaa es Son, OL te up. pp mapa . aS et ~ + —_ fe : .- : re . 2 | 2 GROUCH. 4 and uttering shorts 5 of disdain as he ‘eure ‘ “ them. Then came a page that dealt with certain events at the farm since his own arrival, and the Grouch .read more slowly. Once he turned a fiery red and swore, and after that he read every mutilated and tottering word. The sense of being a trespasser vanished from his mind; he became a ruthless seeker’ of fact. It was not news to the Grouch ~ that he was beloved of Mame Brundage, although it was disconcerting to see the matter set forth boldly in black and white; but Mame’s record of observation concern- ing other persons at the farm supplied him with a good deal of fresh material for thought, and his absorption in this was — complete. And then he came to the wail of an anguished heart: He has bit the hand that feeds him. He has ofered me an insult. To-day I told him how I was kidnapd and he said-althow not in these exact words that he wished it had been done better. He ment by that he wished I was gone forever. It was a stab that went to my hart. I must of done something to ofend him. What ah what can I have done? And yet I forgive him for when one is a woman one must forgive. — Something in my hart tells me he does not mean all this cruelness. The Grouch sneered and turned another page. “ Say, what’s it about?” asked Knock. “ Nothing. Shut. up,” commanded the - Grouch. And then he aehed a passage that set him on the edge of his chair. I hav been in his arms and what more can I ever ask. It was him who rescued me. He is my preserver, And all his cruelty was just ment to hide it from me. Can it be that he loves me in secret. Yes it must be. I am scared of the way my hart is beating. I was in his arms and I dident know it. Oh how cruel is fate. “* How the devil did she find out?” mut- tered the Grouch uneasily. “ I suppose our - friend in the cottage has been filling her head full of rot. He ‘read again: She’s capable of it.” There is a picture with me in his arms but itis Ah to think that our in the hands of another. love shoud be known in a public way. a + See Seer +