Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

DARK 0’ THE MOON. subject, the old man stubbornly contending that “‘ rheumatiz is ketchin’!”’ As Lynnie and Archer Mackenzie passed Mrs. Sanders’s cabin—Johnny Jackrabbit having elected to keep the Prophet com- pany—that lady, peeping out of her win- dow, saw in their morning excursion a flaunting of her veiled warning of the day before. Her face hardened. Archer and Lynnie appeared to be going away for an extended sojourn. They were carrying blankets and provisions and canteens of water. : : Halfway up the mountain they sat down in the shade of a huge bowlder to rest. Lyn- nie’s hair was damp and curling about her. She was flushed and breathless. The camp lay miragelike before them on a sea of heat, a sea painted palest rose and mauve from the mountains. “We're leaving day after to-morrow,” Lynnie said to Archer. “ I wrote to Cous- in Horace last night.” And as she spoke she realized that Archer was glad! It was true, then, as she had thought last night. He loved Sophy! Archer was plainly constrained. “I be- lieve you’re homesick,” he said. “J don’t know. I—I feel a sort of sad, Sunday afternoon happiness in thinking about home.” “ Tt sounds pleasant,” said Archer; “ but what is it like?” “ Well, shut your eyes, and I'll bring it back,” commanded Lynnie. And when she spoke again her voice held a listening qual- ity. “It’s like this,” she began. “ Bees droning; an apple dropping in the orchard, and far away, off yonder, a dog barking; noble words from the collects you’ve learned coming back to you—words like‘ godly qui- etness,’ ‘a humble and a contrite heart,’ ‘the beauty of holiness,’ ‘ grant us Thy peace.’ And you smell the cinnamon vine.” ‘You make me feel oly when you talk like that, Lynnie!” He threw away his cigarette. “‘ There’s something about you that makes me want to be good. Pretty soon I'll be saying my prayers again before T go to bed.” ‘“ And so you should,” she told him. “You and mother are the only ones I ever knew that I’m sure will see God—” 337 ‘How about your three sisters?” “Huh! They’ll be mightly lucky to get to heaven at all; it ‘Il be a mighty narrow squeak.” ‘““Are they worldly?” asked Lynnie in open envy. “ Jammed full and bursting with pomps and vanities.” ‘““T’d dearly love pomps,” said Lynnie. “J know that. I wisi I could have other memories than such simple, old-fashioned, countrified ones, like—well, like remember- ing how spring water tastes when you drink it out of a gourd! I wish I’d been Cinde- rella—just for that night. I could always have remembered the lights, the music, the glass slippers—” “J can’t see you in the picture, Lynnie. I bet three cookies that when the clock struck twelve you’d have been discovered nursing the second cock’s baby, or poul- ticing the off foreleg of your godmother’s coach horse.” They laughed at this. Archer flicked peb- bles at an imaginary: target. Presently he said in a carefully casual voice: ‘“ Who is this Jimmy Gillespie you spoke of the other day? He doesn’t hap- pen by any chance to be the fruit tree lad, or the sewing machine agent, or the chap who rejuvenates feather beds—”’ “ Oh—Jimmy!” Lynnie smiled in ten- der reminiscence. ‘‘ Jimmy isn’t like that at all. Jimmy is the one that brought me books.” “ Books? What kind of books?” “Wonderful ones—modern.and thrilling. Loch Lyn, of course, was running over with books—but Jimmy’s were different. They told about huge cattle ranches, and feuds, and cowboys, and sage and cactus. That’s one reason I came here.” “J thought,” began Archer in an offend- ed tone—“I thought it was reading the Iliad and Odyssey that set you out in search of adventure.” “Yes it was partly that,’? Lynnie an- swered serenely. ‘“‘ And partly it was read- ing Jimmy Gillespie’s books.” ‘‘ T suppose,” said Archer, “ that you love him?” “J do,” answered Lynnie. “ Dearly.” ‘“ Are you going to marry him?” Archer’s COMME OOS. GO