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ed to the pressure of my arm and nestled close against me, unconscious as a little child. "You've no idea how much I think of you, Don D-jon. All the long days while I am working-”
"And what do you think then?" I
"Oh," she said happily, "I think of how you saved my life, and how brave you are "
"You really think I'm brave, then?" I asked.
"Of course," she said. "Brave and
big and strong. And then," her voice broke tenderly, and a strangely motherly cadence came in it-"I think so often how sorry I am that you have to be all alone, because you are so poor that you can't even have me to take care of you."
"Poor?" said I, a little haughtily perhaps. "Why do you think I am so poor?"
"Because you told me so," she answered. Suddenly she nestled closer still and put her face up very earnestly to mine.
"Don D-jon," she whispered pleadingly, "what does it matter how poor you are? Let me come. have clothes enough. And I won't eat anything at all, and you won't be alone any more, and I can take care of you when-when-" she could not seem to say whatever it was she had in mind.
"When what?" I prompted. "When-when your poor head-" "My poor head!" I echoed. "What's wrong with my poor head?"
"Sometimes," said Pepita, very nervously and hesitantly, "it-it forgets things. Sometimes you don't even seem to know who I am! And sometimes when you're awake, you wonder if you're dreaming, and you talk of dreams as if they were real. That isn't good for you. And you say things that no one can understand. And-"
"And so," said I, vastly amused, "you think I'm crazy, Pepita of the Saints?"
"No!" she said, horrified. "No! Never say that again! Only sometimes when your head is-is tired, if you'd only let me take care of ither confusion was pitiable.
"Pepita," said I, moved I suppose by the cadence of her voice, "you are quite the dearest, most unselfish But Mother-Mind that ever was. what you ask would never do. I'm -I'm so poor, you see, and all that."
She drew away a little, disappointed, and I had to comfort her. "But you're going to be a dear little sister of mine all the same, and-"
"Why," she cried delightedly, "that's just what I want. I want to belong to you, Don D-jon, and to take care of you, and-" she snuggled close to me once again, and she put her hands up and drew her face close up to mine. "Don D-jon," she whispered, "I wish-Why, you are trembling, too!"
Before the sweet, primal ignorance of her, the best that had stirred "Run in me slunk away abashed. into the house now, pretty one," I bade her. "There may be other caymans about that I haven't killed yet."
"I'm not afraid of caymans," said Pepita, "I'm not afraid of anything. Don D-jon, if you knew how I wished-"
"I'm afraid for you, then," said I, and pushed her from me almost roughly. She went away through the darkness, a dejected little figure, and left me pacing up and down the river-bank and smoking furiously.
"A town that brings one a friend like that," said I enthusiastically and very briskly, "well deserves to be called Felicidad. She was so happy that she was trembling. And she praved for me."
"But if there's efficacy in prayer," said I, "that removes completely any element of danger from my small act of Derring-Do. With Heaven and that old rifle both on my side "
And so I laughed.
But before I went to sleep I think
I came nearer to praying myself than I ever had before. And what I asked for inarticulately was that I might have a clean heart.
If there be any who find that wish quite laughable and priggish, I have no great eagerness for that person's further company.
(To be continued)
AS SEEN BY A GREAT SCOTTISH HISTORIAN
OU may well imagine, my dear child, that during those long and terrible wars which were waged, when castles were defended and taken, prisoners made, many battles fought and numbers of men wounded and slain, the state of the country of Scotland was most miserable. There was no finding refuge or protection in the law, at a time when everything was determined by the strongest arm and the largest sword. There was no use in raising crops when the man who sowed them was not, in all probability, permitted to reap the grain. There was little religious devotion where so much violence prevailed; and the hearts of the people became
so much inclined to blood and fury, that all laws of humanity and charity were transgressed without scruple. People were found starved to death in the woods with their families, while the country was so depopulated and void of cultivation that the wild deer came out of the remote forests, and approached near to cities and the dwellings of men. Whole families were reduced to eat grass, and others, it is said, found a more horrible aliment in the flesh of their fellow creatures. One wretch used to set traps for human beings as if for wild beasts, and subsisted on their flesh. This cannibal was called Christian of the Cleek, from the cleek, or hook, which he used in his horrid traps.' (From "Tales of a Grandfather," by Sir Walter Scott)
A MEDIEVAL CITY, WHOSE DESTRUCTION WOULD BE A LOSS TO CIVILIZATION. THE NEUTRAL POWERS MIGHT WELL PROTEST AGAINST FURTHER DESECRATION OF THE MONUMENTS OF THE PAST ON THE PART OF EITHER BELLIGERENTS. AS WE GO TO PRESS, THE POSSIBILITY OF THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION BECOMING A SCENE OF WAR IS VASTLY INCREASED BY ITALY'S ACTIVE PARTICIPATION AGAINST GERMANY IN
This celebrated cathedral is one of the most perfect examples of Italian Gothic. It was erected in the Fourteenth Century. The records of the work are singularly complete, and shed much light on Medieval communal life.