Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 2 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

BONDS OF ner, returns to the thrower’s hand; the rea- son is unknown to me as to you.” Tah-né thought for a time, then said: ‘“ But is not this a miracle?” ‘Nay, is the storm a miracle? Is the rising of the sun a miracle? Thus has the Great Father ordained; thus shall it be— and even so does the stick return, nor do we know the cause. No miracle, in truth!” Tah-né meditated for some moments, then spoke again: ‘‘ Husband of mine,” she said, ‘‘ to me does it seem that you have failed in your high purpose.”’ . 3 ‘In what manner? Am I not Great Chieftain? Are not Tsu-ven and Sa-ko treading the Long Dark? Are not the Peo- ple of the Mountain. Caves once more free?” | “In very truth! Yet was it not in your mind to teach the people that miracles are but knowledge and skill? That all powers come from the Great Father and are as free to one as to another, to artist and warrior and hunter as to priests? And yet, hav-- ing shown them the marvels of the priests and the marvels you have devised, with the causes thereof, are you not hailed by all as Master of Magic and Child of a God?” ] BOHEMIA. 208 Nan-a-ta laughed a little ruefully, then answered: “In truth, thus far have I failed. And yet—and yet—perchance there may arise one greater than I, who shall teach them, making them believe that the Great Father rules all, nor is he to be commanded by men. For me it remains to rule as_ well and wisely as may be, following whither He shall lead.” Tah-né moved closer to her husband, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. His arm about her waist, he drew her nearer still, his cheek against her hair. For a time no sound was heard save only the snapping and crackling of the fire, the rustling of the wind in the trees, and, be- low, the murmur of the river. At length Tah-né, turning her head, looked shyly up at her husband, whispering low: ‘In truth, my love, whatever comes, for me shall you remain always the Master of Magic, and Child of a God.” Tighter still he held her, and thus they sat, while the glow faded from the western sky and the myriad stars, themselves the miracle of miracles, peeped one by one through the blue curtain of the spreading heavens. (The End.) N elderly man with a parchment face creased in a thousand wrinkles, eyes red and rheumy, a weatherbeaten hat on which had descended the rains of many years, a patched coat buttoned up to the neck where it was held together by a rusty safety-pin, deplorable trousers, and by W Sneddon shoes a network of leather ribbon, and with one glove upon his clawlike hand—such a man was talking earnestly to Charlot as I came upon him outside the Rotonde. Suddenly Charlot slipped a coin into the hand of his old man, and with a clap on the back sent him about his business. LO@OOLK (©