Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

SPIRITS OF Both listened. Only the sough of the wind answered them. “Nothing, I guess,” said Harmsworth. ‘““ Must have been the wind.” “Well, mebbe it was, but—” Faintly a cry reached them—or was it merely the spirits of the storm, whining their complaint across a wintry world? The two stood, with craned heads, listen- ing; and they heard the sound again. By common consent both moved to the door, took down the bar, and stepped forth into U THE STORM, 789 the whirl of white beating on the porch, Behind them the door gaped open, a square of mellow light from within penetrating the storm. Immediately there was another cry —surely a hail—a big, strong voice rising above the wind in a resounding “ Hello!” And the next instant a big form was coming up the walk, through the white gloom, and to the steps. And Silas and Harmsworth looked into the eyes of Bu- chanan, and each one understood, all in his own way. U U A SPRINGTIME DREAM M* blood begins to tingle For my fishin’-rod and hook; I seem to hear the trickle And the babble of the brook. I dream of splashin’ fin tolk Every fountain that I pass, When the trees begin a makin’ Lacy shadows on the grass. I can smell the woodsy violet, I can feel the moist earth swish, As in memory I go trampin’ To the place I used to fish. I can hear the bullfrog croakin’ And the lark’s note high and clear; And the squirrels upward scamper To the highest branch in fear. I can feel the old impatience, As I found it hard to wait While I fitted out my fishin’-line And sorted out my bait. I can feel my light rod tremble, As my bobber sinks from sight; I can feel the thrill of conflict As my pole bends with the fight. How I grip my rod and hold it, How I jerk it in my play, As those lacy shadows whisper: ““ Aw, you have to work to-day!” E. G. Fox. Go NOOK (C@)