THE STUDENTS JOURNAL.
OCTOBER 19, 1894.
VOL. III.
NO.7
Our Study Window.
A farmer is going to town along the smooth, shady country road; on either side are large elms waving their great branches in obedience to the wind; and above, a strip of clear, autumn sky forms a deep blue canopy. The farmer's horses are jogging along at a comfortable rate and do not see the great cloud of dust that is rolling toward them. But the farmer sees it and, turning to his wife, says:
"By Jinks, Mirandy! What on airth's acoming?"
"Looks mighty like a cyclone," Mirandy timidly ventured to suggest.
"Cyclones don't go skipping along the ground," returned her lord and master infinitely disgusted at her ignorance.
"It's dust." he continued, "but, by Jinks! there's suthing behind it. Looks like it might be cavalry."
And so it did, as it rolled gradually toward them, a great cloud of dust. Plainly there were people behind it,- perhaps Coxeyites.
"Guess we'd better pull up till they get by." said the farmer.
His wife assented in trembling tones; she didn't look with favor upon Coxeyits. But her fear was lessened as the band approached, and presented nothing of the appearance of bandits.
"Why -!" said the farmer as they passed the wagon, and,
"Why!" said his wife in open-mouthed astonishment.
"I they're city folks!" exclaimed the farmer.
"Walking!" gasped his wife. "Kicking up
dust like that," she added in extreme contempt as she choked on a large mouthful of it,
"Well, by jinks! Mirandy, what d——m fools them city folks air. Galong hoss!"
"We seemed to astonish them," said one of the dust enveloped party when they had passed the farmer's wagon.
"You should have explained our mission to them Mr. Editor."
"Doubtless that would have allayed their astonishment. 'A Society of Searchers for the Beautiful.' Imagine one telling them that! But is that the height to which we shall soon elevate ourselves? asked the Editor, pointing to a hill not far in the distance.
"Well, of course we needn't go in if your tired," said Miss Blackburn pretending she detected a note of reluctance in the Editor's voice.
The Editor protested against Gertrude's insinuation that he was fatigued, and declared that he would pit himself against any one of the party in a walking match.
"That's a rash statement to make. You forget that I was bred, if not born in England, and that Miss Mallowell used to be the president of a pedestrian club."
But the match was started; their steps were quickened, and the little band went along at double quick time.
"I'm glad something has stirred the Editor to action," Mildred still had time to think as the march proceeded. She walked easily, and liked to walk. It was so exhilerating to feel yourself rapidly moving along