You Never Know Your Luck, Complete

rd a fresh young human voice singing into the morning, as its possessor looked, from a coat she was brushing, out over the "field of the cloth of gol

skin, her laugh, her voice they were all gold. Everything about her was so demonstratively golden that you might have had a suspicion it was made and not born; as though it was unreal, and the girl herself a proper subject of suspicion. The eyelashes were so long and so black, the eye

just a slight touch of over-emphasis in this singing-girl's presentation-that you were bound to say, if you considered her quite apart from her place in this nature-scheme. She was not wholly aristocratic; she was

igence, which his daughter to a real degree inherited; but the mother, as kind a soul as ever lived, was a product of southern English rural life-a little sumptuous, but wholesome, and for her daughter's sake at least, keeping herself well and safely within the moral pale in the midst of marked temptations. She was forty-five, and it said a good deal for her ample but proper graces that at forty-five she had numerous admirers. The girl was English in appearance, with a touch perhaps of Spanish-why, who can say? Was it because of those Sp

was one of those who are so much the sport of circumstances or chance that they express the full meaning of the title of this story. As a line beneath the title explains, the tale concerns a matrimonial deserter. Certainl

king them pay for their own mending, which she herself only did when her boarders behaved themselves well. She scored in any contest-in spite of her rather small brain, large heart, and ardent appearance. A very clever, shiftless Irish husband had made her develop shrewdness, and she was so busy watching and fending her daughter that she did not need to watch and fend herself to the same extent as she would have done had she been free and childless and thirty. The widow Tynan was practical, and she saw none of those things which made her daughter stand for minutes at a time and look into the distance over the prairie towards the sunset light or the grey-blue foothills. She never s

s a fair proportion of the time. It used to perplex her the thrilling buoyancy and the creepy melancholy which alternately mastered her father; but as a child she had become so inured to it that she wa

way goes the lad t

ited him, her

to him, bright his

him well, for m

was soft; when he k

ressed his cheek wa

earth, heaven stoo

ereaway goes m

my lad-tell me,

did I speak, ne

beautiful; like a

eaway will I

he lad I loved he

hand in mine, kis

the wind, he will

ereaway goes m

h the music and the words; and though her lips smiled, there was a deep, wistful look i

ss, absorbed by the far horizon; then suddenly she gave a litt

ars-since the man came to live with them whose coat she was brushing. Perhaps this was only imitation, because the man had a habit of standing or sitting still and looking into space for minutes-and on Sundays for hours-at a time; and often she had watched him as he lay on his back in the long grass, head on a hillock, hat down over his eyes, while the smoke from his pipe came curling up from beneath the rim. Also she had seen him more than once sitting with a letter before him and gazing at it for many minutes together. She had also noted that it was the same letter on each occasion; that it was a closed letter, and also that it was unstamped. She k

e he always had a kind, quiet, confidential word for her, or a word of stimulating cheerfulness; indeed, he showed in his manner occasionally almost a boisterous hilarity. He undoubtedly was what her mother called "a queer dick," but also "a pippin with a perfect core," which was her way of saying that he was a man to be trusted with herself and with her daughter; one who would stand loyally by a friend or a woman. He had stood by them both when Augustus Burlingame, the lawyer, who had boarded with them when J. G. Kerry fi

ient for harmless deceit. He was fifty, and no gallant save in words; and, as a wary bachelor of many years' standing, it was a long time before he showed a tendency to blandish a good-looking middle-aged nurse named Egan who also lodged with Mrs. Tynan; though even a plain-faced nurse in uniform has an advantage over a handsome unprofessio

d to her the equivalent of a long history of the man whose past lay in mists that never lifted, and whom even the inquisitive Burlingame had been unable to "discover" when he lived in the same house. But then Kitty Tynan was as fond of singing a

tectives say when tracking down a criminal. It is, however, of no consequence; but it was clear that the song she sang had moved her, fo

was soft; when he k

ressed his cheek wa

hearth, heaven stood

ereaway goes

warm cheek against her brow; and perhaps that was why she had said aloud to he

d her footsteps. The blood in her face, the look in her eye quickened also. And now a figure

ent moods-after a long talk with Jesse Bulrush. "Hither with my co

arth of a d

of an earthy

hinking-a heavenly jumble. "If it wasn't for me you'd be carted for rubbish," she replied j

sung, floating through the air, had seemed familiar to him, while he had been greatly engaged with a big business thing he ha

away goes the lad

ited him, here

addened her, she knew not why. At the words the flaming exhilaration o

ttle jerk of the head and a clenching o

e house. An instant later she gave it to him. Now h

en I was a boy-and after, and after. It's an old song-old as the hills. Well

lf a little while before. The song-why did it make Mr. Kerry take on such a queer look

quizzical, kindly vo

, I want to be helped o

man was struggling, or pretend

ypoly," she answered c

boarder-nothing for me!" h

ted with a glint of her late father's raillery, and she gave

d. "I'll give you the t

horse-racers and gamblers

want to be loved," he b

d, which shows that her conversation w

gold bank," remarked Jesse Bulrush

le of the room looking dreamily

e sleepy grinding of the grass hoppers, the sough of the solitary pine at the door, and

sat at a sewing-machine intent upon some work,

erry's bedroom-he likes this green colour," the widow added with

ng for him," remarked th

y!" replied her mother reproving

the other returned with a smile, and she repeated the w

ly buzzed on its devouring way. Three people had said the same thing within a few minutes. A look of pleasure stole