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A Righteous Woman's Recompense
By Lella Marler Hoggan

I-the Divine Touch

"Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its death."

"And you're really going away, Willard, to be gone all winter?" asked Ethel, for the third time.

"Yes," he laughed, "aren't you sorry to see me go?"

"Yes," hesitated Ethel, "I'm sorry, and I'm glad. We shall all miss you, of course; but a year at school will mean so much to you, that we are willing to forego the pleasure of your society for the winter."

"A year isn't much," he meditated. "Just enough to rub a little of the rust off that's been accumulating for the past four years. I had hoped to be able to go last year, but Jim left for his mission in the spring and father was sick all fall, and that put us late with the crops. We are fortunate this fall in getting through so early."

"More good management, than good luck, I guess," laughed Ethel. "You've certainly earned a vacation. But, Willard, what have you been doing, you don't look just like yourself?"

"Had a hair cut-the first one this summer," he said quietly.

"Oh, you foolish fellow! I'm in earnest. You really do look different, tonight."

"It's the moon," he said nonsensically. "Things always look different in the moonlight."

"Always," she reiterated, catching the note of humor in his voice. "Such a night as this is capable of almost any transformation. I feel like a child of ten, myself."

"I can't tell you how I feel, Ethel. My heart is so full of joy tonight, that I can't find words to express my feelings."

"I believe your joy is contagious," she smiled, "even the night birds are calling jokes to each other."

"That hoot owl, for instance," he retorted. "Poor, melancholy, old fellow! He has caught your spirit of ridicule, and is trying to jeer me out of my joy. But you're both failing utterly. I feel more joyous every moment. If I were only a boy of ten," he mused, "only a boy of ten."

She did not reply. She pulled a few crimson leaves from the tangle of vines on the porch and slowly tore them to bits. The big, handsome man arose from the porch steps and shook himself, and walked slowly down to the gate.

"If I were only a boy of ten," he repeated to himself, "then I could tell her. But I am not." His strong face was set in lines of determination. He stood silent. The harvest moon moved along its path of light. Some little animal scurried through the dead leaves. He bowed his head upon his arm, as he leaned against the gate post.

"Dear God," he whispered. "You know how it is. Save her if you can. But however it goes, help me to be a man."

He walked slowly back and sat down on the steps.

"Harvest moon, isn't it?" he said, simply. Ethel replied by asking some question concerning his school, whereupon the conversation drifted at once into a pleasant channel again. His face glowed with animation as he told her of his plans. Many little pleasantries passed between them, and the evening came to a close all too soon.