The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 3 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

¢ Po demest, ©) en eee . 470 : THE ARGOSY. twilight. The sight was so supernatural that it stirred me strangely; but I soon perceived that it was no phantom of my wasting mind, but a reality— a blessed truth. Soon that moving object took the proportions of a serpent moving toward me—on, on, slowly, solemnly like a penitents’ procession toward a pagan temple; and then realizing at last, I moaned aloud, “It is the caravan! ‘Thank God, it is the caravan!’ and so sank back uticonscious. ‘ When I revived long after, there was the cool mouth of a flask pressed to my lips, and strong, tender arms were about me. I opened my eyes. ‘Comrades !’ was all I could murmur; but they heard it, and there was a shout of triumph. ““My God! We thought you dead long, long ago,’ I heard them cry — brokenly. ‘What could have saved him till now? It is a miracle— a miracle !’ “T tried to speak, but there was no breath within to give my heart utterance. I turned and drew the burnouse from the brow of the still figure at my side. ‘Save him!’ I cried, though my voice fell in a whisper. ‘Save him ; for it was he who saved me!’ ““But they only shook their heads. One glance told the truth. My poor slave lad, my rescuer, my solace, my one joy in darkness and sorrow, had moved out on that long, bleak pilgrimage through the Unknown Desert. that knows no return path, yet with the glory of departing day wreathing about the still ashen forehead the saintly halo of a hero and a brother.’’ George J. Southwick. A GENTLE HINT. “You may not kiss me, sir,’’ she said, As saucily she tossed her, head, While laughter welled deep in her eyes; ‘*'You may not kiss me—till snow flies.’’ Now this befell in jocund May, When all the air with bloom was gay ; But I—I wished each leaf was sere And dull December days were here, Till there beneath the apple trees White petals showered in every breeze And lay in fairy windrows piled ; ‘Why, how it snows !’’ she said, and smiled. Winthrop Packard. EComicbooks (E) tn aa