The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 169: what you’re looking at

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

CREATION “Because you didn’t protect that poor little seed of corn. You pulled up the little sprouts and ate them. Hop saw you. You killed little living things! You killed growing things. I hate you!” For a moment I was tempted to spring at his throat. But the expres- sion of her face held him entranced. The look of ugly rage and imperious temper faded into a peculiar, curious respect. , | He gazed at the stalks. about him, waving in the night wind. He bowed his head. The great mystery of grow- ing life seemed to lighten his dark spirit in that moment, the tremendous secret of how empty lands are filled with life. We left him standing among the corn. Nelson was still up and busy with One Hop by the light of the fire. As we came into the lit circle. he stared up with a peculiar and triumphant ex- pression on his bronzed and bearded face. He pointed to his feet. A fresh- ly caught fish glistened there. REEF. 639 “An albacore!” he said huskily. “That means the fish are coming and the island is permanent.” ““ All same come from Ja-pan,” said Hop, shaking a wise head. “ Bimeby maybeso birds fly.” Meta looked up at the Evanses hur- rying up to view the miracle. I felt the quiver in her low tones as she said: “ God’s filling his empty house! ” -Mrs. Evans glanced quickly at her and a sudden blazing tenderness came into her weary eyes. “ And you, too! You dear child!” She held out her arms, and Meta swept into them, sobbing, “‘ Yes, yes!” 3 When they were gone, crying over each other womanlike and softly, Nel- son stood up and looked at me. “Holding master’s papers, I am competent to perform marriages, my son. Shake hands!” But One Hop, the Chinese cook, bent smiling over his work, silent in- scrutable; and up the hill Anerson stood amid the great stalks, alone in the garden he had no share in. CONSTANCY. Ovuvt upon it, I have loved | Three whole days together! And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall molt away his wings Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover. But the spite on ’t is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she, And that very face, [here had been at least ere thié A dozen dozen in her place. Sir John Suckling. CO 1TOO S CO@