The Glory of the Foothills

The Glory of the Foot-Hills By Claudia May Ferrin With the lengthening of the shadows came the happy flurry of the customary tramp along the trail. Nate's day was done; and Allie Barden, glad of a respite from the heat of the kitchen, skipped past the crude piazza where lounged her father and the two or three boarders, with their outfits and reminiscences. On down the path through the miniature orchard, dotted with mountain hemlock and clumps of huckleberry; on past the hedge, another tok,en of her father's ambition. Presently she spied a gleaming straw hat — broad-brimmed, fresh, of the kind that spring from the village store, Nate's one great purchase each year. Her own, worn at mother's bidding, swung back full weight against the ribbons tied under her throat. A low call, and the former began a hurried bobbing in her direction. "I've waited such a long while, Allie." He kissed her awk- wardly. But she liked it, blushing a deep crimson. "Ten minutes?" she rejoined. "You're such a patient chap!" "Don't start a purty little scoldin', now. There's our other — the real price of waitin' we've got to do. When d'you s'pose that'll end?" They gazed off toward the western slope, beyond which the sun's rays were beginning to glimmer into color and uncer- tainty. The hill-side lay a green-black beneath; under that the darkness of the scrub forestry of the valley. An occasional light reminded them of their neighbors' existence. Down the valley could be seen, by stepping closer to the brink, the cluster that marked the village of miners' cabins. "Any mail?" It was her usual query. She took mechani- cally the fruit-culture magazine he handed over, tucking it into her belt. The periodical was an especial treasure of Sim Bar- den's, by which he planted, grafted and pruned. "The cannon-ball will be along, soon. I can't ever wait, somehow, till that comes by — to see if there's anything more. We'd lose nearly two hours." Half way up the slope opposite — easily seen as yet — gleamed the thread-like trail the railway had cut, when they were but children. The passing trains held a charm the two could not outgrow.

698 IMPROVEMENT ERA "You are early, remember. It'll be a half-hour, if not longer." "What of that? Let's walk down a ways, where we can see better. The lights'll show up big this evenin'." Their eyes fixed on the spur-hills and the sunset sky above, the two proceeded leisurely enough. But they had not quite reached the road leading over the tiny stream, when a cloud of dust on the hillside caused them to start in alarm. A heavy rock had become loosened, rolling directly into the railway track. "The flyer!" they cried. "It is time, almost. What can we do?" "Let's run, anyhow." They planned, breathless from haste, as they rushed wildly on — over the valley trail, across the rocky bed of the stream. "You go up the track an' signal the train," gasped Nate. "Here's a box of safeties — an' my hat! Burn it, burn that paper of your dad's — make a good strong light. I'll go the other way an' make the village quick as I can, so's they can telegraph." The limited, with every passenger and official in the height of excitement, came to a dead stop an eighth of a mile away. Allie, ready to faint from the strain, had burned both hats and the treasured magazine in her frantic effort to keep up the signal. Two hours later the wrecking train had ousted the impedi- ment and was making for the village siding. Nate and Allie, their own best secret a common one, had been handed the customary purse by way of a wedding gift. Through the dark- ness they hastened back to the cabin, to apprise Sim Barden — of the destruction of his magazine. Up the slope, at the spot whence the stone had broken away, a clump of men had awaited the crash. They slunk away like beasts of prey — wrangling, vengeful, out-done. Boston, Mass. The Greatest Blessing to a Man What is the greatest blessing to a man? The full answer to the question in its larger sense may read : The transcendently superlative blessing to a man is the love of a good woman, whose wifely, affectionate companionship, enables him to win out and go on; bearing and participating with him in his joys, sorrows, reverses and successes, in the vicissitudes of their travels along the ever-extending pathway of life; while the glory of father- hood and motherhood continues with them throughout the eons of eternity. — E. H. Lund.