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On this question there was some debate and difference of opinion, until old Bob Warmus arose and said, 'Mistah Pres'dent, dey's no use er talkin'; I likes Colonel Sommerton mighty well; he's a berry good man; dey's not a bit er niggah in 'im.
Colonel Sommerton was smiling grimly by this time, and his iron-gray mustache quivered humorously. "She's a little brick," he muttered; "a chip off the old log by zounds, she is! She means business. Got the bit in her teeth, and fairly splitting the air!" He chuckled raucously. "Let her go; she'll soon tire out."
He could not believe his eyes or his ears. Surely that was not Colonel Sommerton standing up there telling such an enormous falsehood on him! He shook his woolly head dolefully, and gnawed a little splinter that he had plucked from the stump. "Of course, fellow-citizens," the Colonel went on, "that settled the matter, and the niggers endorsed Tom Bannister unanimously by a rising vote!"
"How do you know that?" asked Miss Sommerton, turning quickly towards him: "you have never seen any of my sketches." "Ah, well," stammered Trenton, "no that is you know are not those water-colours in Mason's house yours?" "Mr. Mason has some of my sketches. I didn't know you had seen them."
Trenton to put off his visit until the day after tomorrow? It isn't long to wait." "No, that is impossible. You see, he has just time to catch his steamer as it is. No, he has the promise in writing, while Miss Sommerton has no legal evidence if this thing ever gets into the courts. Trenton has my written promise. You see, I did not remember the two dates were the same. When I wrote to Trenton "
"I wish you would let me give you a little lesson in photography, if you don't mind." "I have very little interest in photography, especially amateur photography," replied Miss Sommerton, with a partial return of her old reserve. "Oh, I don't wish to make an amateur photographer of you. You sketch very nicely, and "
Mason was a man who never crossed a stream until he came to it, he said, "All right," put the letter in his inside pocket, and the next time he thought of it was on the fine autumn afternoon Monday afternoon when he saw Mrs. Mason drive up to the door of his lumber-woods residence with Miss Eva Sommerton in the buggy beside her. The young lady wondered, as Mr.
I shall always regret having treated you as I did, and I hope you will forgive me for having done so." "Oh, that's all right," said Mr. Trenton, swinging his camera over his shoulder. "It is getting dark, Miss Sommerton; I think we should hurry down to the canoe." As they walked down the hill together, he continued
In her agony of mind Miss Sommerton had expected to come upon him pacing moodily up and down before the falls, meditating on the ingratitude of womankind. She discovered him in a much less romantic attitude. He was lying at full length below a white birch-tree, with his camera-box under his head for a pillow.
In a short time the canoe drew up at a landing, from which a path ascended the steep hill among the trees. The silence was broken only by the deep, distant, low roar of the Shawenegan Falls. Mr. Trenton sat in his place, while the half-breeds held the canoe steady. Miss Sommerton rose and stepped with firm, self-reliant tread on the landing.
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