The Hindered Hand Part 2

"You would cheat yourself. Your hair isn't as long as mine, but it is so black and lovely," said the young woman.

Looking at Foresta from head to foot, plainly but neatly dressed, the young woman remarked, "You are a pretty girl, Foresta--and a good girl,"

pausing between the former and the latter complimentary reference.

Foresta's kindly face lighted up with joy at the compliment. For some time she had felt, without knowing what it was that she felt, the need of a confidante--some one with a fellow-feeling to whom she could talk.

"Something funny happened once about Bud Harper and----"

"Yourself," said the young woman, with a sweet, knowing look.

"Yes," admitted Foresta with a light laugh, pleased that the young woman was entering so readily into the spirit of the recital. "Bud had a brother Dave that looked just like him," said Foresta. "Almost, I mean,"

she added, remembering that n.o.body was to be put on a level with Bud.

"Poor Dave is dead now," she said in sad tones, looking the young woman fully in the face as if making a further study of her.

Satisfied with the result of the inspection, Foresta now said in a confidential tone: "Dave died in the penitentiary. He and a white man got in a fight. Dave killed him in self-defense. Dave could have come clear, but it wouldn't have done any good. He would have been lynched.

His lawyers advised him to take a twenty years' sentence to satisfy the clamor, and said they were sure they could get him a pardon. All of Dave's friends thought it was better to take his chances with a good governor rather than a mob."

Foresta's eyes now filled with tears. "It did hurt poor Dave so to go to the penitentiary. He was such a good-hearted boy. He died there in about a year and a half. It may be he's better off." Foresta now paused an instant. Shaking off the spell of sadness she said, "But that's not what I started out to tell you."

"I know it isn't," said the young woman, smiling sadly.

"Don't be too sure you know what I have to tell," said Foresta, laughing. "It is really something funny."

"I am listening," said the young woman.

"One night Bud went to church with me. You know our church is called the 'high falutin' church,' and a good many of the poorer and plain people don't like to go there. Well, Bud isn't a highly educated boy and he doesn't like our church for anything. He likes the preacher all right.

He will hardly ever go in and sit with me. He walks about out doors till church is out, then comes back home with me. You are tired listening to my foolishness, aren't you?" asked Foresta.

"Not at all. I am interested," said the young woman rea.s.suringly.

"Well, Bud is a sort of a bashful boy. Dave was just the opposite. Dave was full of nerve. Bud kept a 'hemming and hawing' trying to, trying to er----"

"Well, just say that he was trying to," said the young woman, and the two laughed heartily.

"Dave kept after Bud to speak out, but Bud was afraid that he would spoil matters," resumed Foresta. "They rigged up a scheme to find out where I stood without Bud's risking too much. Now, remember, Bud and Dave looked just alike, almost. Many a time I have taken one for the other. When little they often got scolded and beaten for one another.

Their father never could tell them apart. Bud came to church with me one night, and he and Dave agreed that Dave was to carry me home without my knowing it was Dave. Dave was to make out that he was Bud and make a dash of some sort to find out how Bud stood with me. On our way home Dave didn't talk much. That helped to fool me, because Bud and I have gone along not saying a word; only looking at each other now and then.

But that night Dave, whom I was taking to be Bud, was unusually quiet.

And I thought then that he was meditating something. When Dave got home with me, he stood between me and the gate and said, 'You must pay toll to get in.' I knew he was asking me to kiss him. 'If you don't let me by I will call mama,' I said, mostly for fun, for I knew that Bud thought mama was against him. You ought to have seen Dave stepping aside to let me in. I didn't say another word, but walked into the yard and upon the porch. I knocked. Mama came and unlocked the door and went back. 'Good night,' said I. But Dave wouldn't move. He was so afraid that he had spoiled things for Bud. I stood there and thought a while. It came to me that it might not be wise to treat Bud's first attempt to say what I was willing for him to say, too coolly. And yet I didn't want to appear too anxious. You know what I mean," said Foresta appealingly.

"I understand you, perfectly, though my time hasn't come yet," said the young woman.

"So I stood on the porch," continued Foresta, "looking away from Dave, thinking and thinking how I could save myself and not hurt Bud too much.

Womanlike, I suppose, I decided to make a sacrifice of myself. I opened my door a little. Quick as a flash, but so he could plainly see what I was doing, I threw a kiss and darted in the house. Dave fairly flew to where Bud was waiting for him. Dave told Bud all about it and the two boys liked to have hugged each other to death. Dave having opened the way, Bud grew bolder very fast. After everything was understood between us and the time set, Bud told me all about the trick. And I boxed his ears for him. If you are here I want you to come to my and Bud's wedding."

Foresta now arose to go. Holding up a finger of warning, she said, "We haven't told the old folks yet."

CHAPTER IV.

_The Ways of A Seeker After Fame._

This world of ours, thought of in comparison with man the individual, is so very, very large; its sons and daughters departed, now on hand and yet to come, form such an innumerable host; the ever-increasing needs of the living are so varied and urgent; the advance cry of the future bidding us to prepare for its coming is so insistent; the contest for supremacy, raging everywhere, must be fought out among so many souls of power--these acc.u.mulated considerations so operate that it is given unto but a few of those who come upon the earth to obtain a look of recognition from the universal eye; and fewer still are they who, by virtue of inherited capacity, proper bent, necessary environment and the happy conjunction of the deed and the hour, so labor as to move to admiration, sympathy or reverence the universal heart, an achievement, apart from which no man, however talented, may hope to sit among the earth's immortals.

The fact that enduring world prominence is an achievement rarely and with great difficulty attained operates upon different individuals in different ways. Some grow weary of the strenuous strife, give up the contest with a sigh and retire, as it were, to the shade of the trees and with more or less of yearning await the coming of the deeper shades of the evening eternal. Others, fully conscious that they have been entrusted with a world message, confront a mountain with as much courage as they do a sand dune, and press onward, whether the stars are in a guiding or a hiding mood.

Mrs. Arabelle Seabright, aspirant for world honors, sat in a rocking-chair in her room in the Domain Hotel, Almaville, the stopping place of the wealthiest and most aristocratic visitors. Her small well shaped hands were lying one upon the other, resting on the back of an open book which was in her lap, face downward. Slowly she rocked backward and forward, tapping first one foot and then the other upon the floor. It was very evident that she was thinking, but a glance at the face was all that was needed to tell one that this thinking was not due to irresolution or uncertainty of purpose.

Nothing was ever more plainly written upon the human countenance than that this woman knew her own mind and knew the course which she was to pursue. Her thinking now is with a view to making travel along the elected course as agreeable as possible. The door to her room opened and there entered a young man of medium height with delicate, almost feminine features. His face was covered with a full beard that was so black as to appear almost uncanny, and it seemed so much out of place on one so young, the wearer not being over twenty-five at most.

"You have come to say 'yes,' my boy," said Mrs. Seabright, rising to meet her son.

The young man had really come to say "no," but that firm, unyielding look in his mother's eyes halted him. Instead of the determined stand which he had resolved to take, in the presence of his mother's imperious will, all he could say was, "Mother, I--I--I--had hoped otherwise."

His mother shook her head and looked him directly in the eyes. She wanted him to see the determination written in her own eyes.

He saw and collapsed. "I will go, mother," said he. "Be seated, mother,"

he requested.

Mrs. Seabright, directing a look of inquiry at her son, sat down.

He now dropped on his knees and rested his head upon her lap. "Mother, say to me the prayer that you taught me in my childhood--days when you were not this way. Lead me back there once more, for something within tells me that life is never more to be life to me."

Mrs. Seabright did not at all relish the sentimental turn of her son's mind, but she began in as tender tones as she could summon:

"Now I lay me down to sleep."

"Now I lay me down to sleep," repeated the young man.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep," his mother continued.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep," said he.

"If I should die before I wake," the mother said.

"If I should die before I wake," said the son.

"I pray the Lord my soul to take," concluded the mother.

"I pray the Lord my soul to take," the son repeated lingeringly.

"Mother, truly I am laying me down to sleep. I am putting my life, my soul away. When I awake from this sleep into which your influence as a mother has lulled me, I shall awake to look into the face of my Creator."

The young man now arose and turning upon his mother, he said out of a burning heart: "Oh, mother! May your soul meet G.o.d. As I leave you, let me tell you it takes that to reach your case!"

"You are not the son of your mother," quietly said she.