The Argosy — page 373: what you’re looking at

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

Ihe Village Blacksmith. | 355 to Mark’s further amazement, he saw Reuben take off his coat, wrap it round the bundle, which, as we know, he hid in the old tree, and then rush forward just in time to stop Vera from walking into the mill-pool, Mark, although near enough to see all this, was too far off to hear a word that was spoken, and the conclusion he jumped at was that Vera was attempting to commit suicide when the black- smith stopped her. But what in the name of all that was wonderful was Reuben Foreman, whom Mark knew to be ill in bed, doing in the middle of the night down by the canal? What business had he there? What did the bundle he had disposed of so carefully contain? Did Vera know ? Apparently not ; but Mark intended to find out as soon as he could venture from his hiding-place. Presently Vera and Reuben began to walk slowly towards the Rectory gate, and as they passed the place where Mark was hidden, he could hear they were engagea in earnest conversation, but only a word here and there reached his ears. Should he follow them, and try to overhear their conversation, which would perhaps throw some light on their mysterious conduct ? Or should he gratify his curiosity, and see what that bundle in the tree contained ? After a few moments’ hesitation he decided to do both: to run and look inside the tree first, and then follow this odd couple, and try to make out what they were discussing so earnestly. So, squeezing himself through the fence which enclosed the shrubbery, he ran to the tree, and, stooping down, he put in his hand, and found the bundle was warm, and moved when he touched it. Once again Mark rubbed his eyes, and once again those blessed mussels assured him he was not dreaming ; and then, half fearing the bundle might bite, he pulled it gingerly out of the tree, and, opening the shawl which wrapped it, he saw a sleeping infant. ‘‘ T’ll be shot if I am awake,” said Mark, scratching his red head. But he was awake, and he wasn’t shot; more’s the pity, perhaps. ‘A baby, as I am alive! Id as soon have expected to find a lion or atiger! A brat a month old, and Reuben Foreman leaves it in the trunk of a tree with his coat for its bed in the middle of the night. Blessed if I can make head or tail of this; it beats me hollow.” And he looked again at the sleeping baby. Was Reuben the father ? Was the religious Reuben, the pious blacksmith, no better than the rest of the world? Had Mark caught his spiritual guide tripping ? Mark was ready enough to believe Reuben a hypocrite; to the im- pure nothing is pure; all that the sweep touches is black. Suddenly the shawl in which the child was wrapped caught his eye; he knew it to be Janet’s, and in an instant he guessed that the child also was hers. Her long absence was accounted for at last. What Reuben was doing with it he now neither knew nor cared; he had but one idea: to find Janet, to tell her he knew her secret, and force her to marry him at once. As for the child, he did not care a straw GOL GOOO @ Ss (GO)