The Re-Creation of Brian Kent

river, or strolled about the place, could have imagined him the wretchedly repulsive creature that Judy had dragged from the eddy so short a time before. And no one,--exe

, Brian Kent had been drowned. Homer T. Ward, himself, wrote Auntie Sue about the case, for the detective had told the bank president abou

acter, temperament, habits, and ambitions,--aside from his thefts from the bank,--prior to the time of his exposure and flig

arative certainty of his ultimate arrest and conviction, and being in a mental and nervous condition bordering on insanity, as a result of his constant brooding over his crime and

e man would be compelled to seek food. The mountain country through which he must pass was sparsely settled, and for a distance that would have taken a boat many days to cover, the officers visited every house and cabin and camp on either side of the river without finding

is not lurking anywhere in your beautiful Ozarks to pounce down upon you unawares in your little house beside the river. The man is safely dead. T

eauty. I never heard him talk so much before in all the years I have known him. Needless to say, I indorsed everything he sai

e banker's communication which related to the absconding clerk; but, about her re

she finished, her fac

looking at her with g

hing, now, to prevent your being the kind of man that you always meant to be,--and really ARE, too,--except for your--your accidental tumble in the river," she finished with her low chuckling laugh. "And, some day," she went on, with conviction, "wh

Brian's voice was deep

I can ever be, because, you s

rned his face away to gaze out over the river and the hills;

years ago. I thought, then, that nothing could shake me in my purpose; that nothing could check me in my ambition. I saw myself going straigh

ces, and so is forced to wind and twist and work its way along; but, the big, splendid thing about the river is that it keeps going on. It never stops to turn back. N

t I can go on?" he

o on," she answer

are you

miling, "seventy years mak

u cannot know--how my life, my dreams, my plans, my

ld, chaotic turmoil; how it rages and fumes and frets and smashes itself against the rocks. But it goes on just the same. Life cannot be always calm and smoothly flowing li

re was a note of almost

ak in your life? Were your dreams

t, then, as you feel now; but, somehow, I managed, and so found the calm places. The last hard spot came quite recently." She paused, wondering what he would

p to make it so!" h

s that is why the current landed your boat at my garden, instead

s words. "I could do anything for a woman like you, Auntie Sue," he said quietly, but

r life--just as if no Elbow Rock had ever distu

e; for the teacher of so many years' experience w

lems and its meanings. As one listens to the song of a bird without thought of musical notes or terms; as one senses the fragrance of a flower without thought of the chemistry

y were veiled in dreamy mystery, did Auntie Sue speak: "Oh, it is so good to have some one to sh

I know, for I have

flush of his manhood years, whose life had been so nearly wrecked, were drawn very c

d Auntie Sue that he wo

n dismay. "Why, Brian

ed; "but, of course, I must go so

mewhere, out into the wo

I am to go on, as you say, I must g

acher. "You are all alike,--you boys and girls. You all mu

"and must we not ha

t, before you can DO anything that is worth doing, yo

eal reason for my wretched fail

know where, to do something you don't know what. You are going to stay right here, and just BE something. Then, when the time comes, you will do wh

ce of Auntie Sue as a little boy to whom the wor

lly. "No, no, Auntie Sue, that sounds all true and ri

't it be

u. After all, as long as I am living, there is a chance that

orld again too soon. Some day, of course, you must go; but you are safer now right here. And"--she added quickly--"it would

can do nothing indefinitely; neither am I capable of living upon your

pride, that the gentle old school-teacher laughed until her eyes were filled with tears; and Judy, at the c

er,' that is all. And I love you for it. Of course you can't live upon my hospitality,--and I couldn't let you if you would. And if you WOULD, I wouldn't let you if I could. I am no more a lady of means, my haughty sir, tha

xpression, she continued, half-laughingly, but well pleased with him: "Please, Brian, don't lo

rotestingly, and his blue eyes filled, as he said, impuls

is already far beyond that point in its journey. Don't let us try to turn the waters bac

he waited for

very small amount in the--in a savings bank, I have not

he public schools for barely enough salary to keep her alive during her active year

t at the public neglect of the school-teacher, say of the man who had robbed her of the money that was to provid

ian, not in the least seeing

s is wild timberland. If I could have that fifty acres also in cultivation, with the money that the timber would bring,--which w

you want me to stay h

y hospitality as charity," she returned gently. "I am not exactly offering you a job: I am only showing you how

bad that I fear myself. Let me think it over until to-morrow. Let me be su

until Brian himself was ready. And, strangely enough, it w