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Kansas University Weekly.
He struggled bravely on, keeping the road fairly well, though by instinct rather than by sight, for the snow was almost blinding. When he came to the last turn, the wind almost took him off his feet. His courage was shrinking, his whole body was numb with cold and his face felt raw with the cutting of the sharp wind. The nearest farm-house was now almost as far away as Hardin's—he must try to go on. If he went through the field he could shorten his way by more than a mile. There was, perhaps, less danger of straying in the wrong direction if he kept the road, but he did not think he could loose himself in any of these farms, so half climbing and half tumbling over the rail-fence, he took the path through the field.
The storm seemed to be gaining in fury. Pete stumbled on, struggling valiantly with the wind but conscious that his strength was leaving him. He thought he must have traversed half of the field and was beginning to congratulate himself that he was to be victor of the elements when he stumbled and almost fell over a snow-covered heap lying among the stubble. His foot caught in something that looked, when he drew it out of the snow in trying to release his foot, like a badly torn coat. He stooped down and, brushing away the snow as well as he could, discerned with his more than half blinded eyes, a coat sleeve, which even the touch of his numb and stiffened fingers told him was not empty. A man, or a boy, overcome by the storm and perishing there in the snow! Perhaps he was already dead! But there might be life in the helpless form aud if there was every moment was precious. Some such thoughts went through Pete's head as fast as the wind rushed around him. Could he leave the unfortunate traveler there in the snow? Such a burden would considerably lessen his own chances for safety, for though the remaining distance was, probably, not very great, a blizzard is a mighty enemy and his strength was almost gone. "No, I can't," he muttered, "It might 'a been me as well as 'tother chap. I'll make a stagger at doin' as I'd be done by." So he took the heap up in his arms and literally staggered on. His burden
seemed a little less heavy than he had expected but nevertheless it was a dangerous handicap. Twice he fell, but he struggled blindly on, only hoping that he would find his way out of the field. In one thing the wind proved his benefactor, he finally came to the corner of the field where a part of the rail-fence had been blown down. He stumbled across the road, holding bravely to the insensible figure he had rescued, until it slipped from his arms as he fell through the doorway of Hardin's store.
When Pete opened his eyes he found himself lying on one of the long benches in the back of the store, and Bill Johnson holding a glass of hot brandy to his lips. The men at the stove looked at him anxiously. "Is he alive?" was Pete's first question. A half suppressed titter went round the group. Bill pointed at a bench a few feet away. Pete followed the gesture with his eyes, then he sat up and stared in mute astonishment. Was that the thing with which he had toiled through wind and snow and for which he had actually risked his life? "Well, Pete," said Bill consolingly "we know ye meant to do a good act. You'd a known as soon as ye took it up, if that pesky wooden frame hadn't made the thing weigh a ton. Anyway," he grinned, "ole Farmer Brown'll thank ye. He's always a boasting that that 'ere's the finest scarecrow there's been in the township in more'n twenty years." M.B.F.
In the After Years.
“—Comment fais-tu les grands amours,
Petite ligne de la bouche?—”
-Sully-Prudhomme.
It was one warm spring Saturday morning and the Professor was spading up the garden which edged the porch. Upstairs Mrs. Professor, seized with the fever of spring cleaning was rummaging through the attic and there was noise and bustle and clatter through the house.
Outside with the Professor was the rustle and movement of nature's spring cleaning. Little spurts of fresh green grass were springing up through the dried clumps of last year's growth. From the brown trees in the valley came the soft call of the dove borne on a chorus of bird-twit terings. The Professor noticed how the bud