The Purple Parasol

doors and windows were open, and scores of young people in their best clothes flitted in and out, their merry voices ringing

nical bits of advice from lofty experts; the blushes of prospective brides; the red-faced de

ommunity would have liked to be glad. Everybody had "allowed" they would be married s

a barrel o' cider 'at Jud won't be wuth a bushel o' corn-husks at runnin' it. He's a dern nice boy, though, an' I'd hate like Sam Patch to see a morgidge put on the place. What she'd orter done wuz to married some big cuss like Link Overshine er Luther Hitchcock. They'd 'a' made somethin' out'n that little eighty up yander, an' she'd never need to worry. Dinged if she ain't put' nigh the purtiest girl I ever see. Lo

, knew that Jud was not and never could be a farmer; it was not in him. He knew it as well as she, though he was not indolent; he was far from that. He was ambitious and he was an indefatigable toiler-in art, not of the soil. He was a born artist. By force of circumst

Had this marriage come five years earlier everything would have been different. Instead of the little cottage, clean, cozy, and poor, there would have been the big white house on the hill, surrounded by maples and

One remembered the big white house on the hill, the other the old yellow farmhouse, large and rambling, "over on the pike." To-night they faced the minister in the parlor of one of the lowliest dwellings in the neighborhood. The boy had not an acre of all his father's lands; the girl was poor, at th

more of eager, excited friends. There was hardly a girl in the crowd who was not dressed more expensively than the bride. Justine was proudly aware of the critical, simpering gaze that swept over h

dresses, yellow dresses, and there were other dresses in which the colors of the rainbow shone, all made to fit women other than those who wore them. The men, old and young, bearded and beardless, were the most uncouth aristocrats that ever lorded it over a

n the blessedness of matrimony. Then came the vows. Their eyes met. The answers! They breathed them-the yes and the

s boy. They were husband and wife. The laughter, the jests, the quips, and the taunts of their merry friends were a jangle of discordant sounds, unpleasant and untimely, and kindly as they were meant, unkind. There were aimless hand-shakings, palsied kisses, inane responses

t the junction of the big gravel pike which led to the county seat and the slim, shady lane that passed Justine's cottage. Here of evenings the "hired hands" of the neighborhood gathered to gossip, tell lies, and

ake purchases instead of to the humble village as now; they talked of her kindly in their rough way. They discussed Jud with enthusiasm. Everybody liked him. His two years at college had not "swelled his head." He was "jest the feller fer Justine V

Gene Crawley's affec

He was not any better than the rest of the hands on the place, "'s fer as learnin' an' manners wuz concerned. Hadn't no more license to be skylarkin' 'round after Justine V

probably from the village of Glenville. There was no mistaking his identity. The heavy, swift tread told the watchers that it was

Thought you'd be

and his faded, patched blue overalls were pushed into the tops of his heavy boots. An old straw hat lay where he had cast it behind his chair. The black, coarse hair, rumpled and unkempt, grew low on his scowling forehead. His face was hard and deeply marked, not unlike that of an Indian. The jaw was firm, the chin square and defiant, the mouth broad and cruel, the nose large and straight, the eyes coal-black and set far apart, beneath heavy brows. The arm wh

ene," commented Jim Hardesty, tilting back in his cha

e weddin'?" asked Harve C

reddened the face of Grimes' hire

a trifle hoarsely. "Guess they didn' wa

e you, an' seems no more'n right fer her to have give you a bid to the weddin'," said Doc Rams

y reply was a

out by another feller, 'Ge

like Jud Sherrod beat my

's no wonder he ketched Justine. She's jest like all girls, I reckon. Smooth cuss kin

he porch like a caged animal, cursing hoarsely to himself, his broad shoulders hunched forward as if he were bent on cru

Ef you do I'll break somebody's neck. It's none o' your business how

ormation-" began Cr

m-mebbe I am! But you'll see-you'll see! I'll make him sorry fer it! H

tan, his eyes glowed, his voice was low an

I'll cut him out. I'll take her away from him, I will, so he'p me God! D' y' hear that? She'll shake him fer me some day, sure 's there's a hell, an' then! Then where'll he be? She'll be mine! Fair 'r foul, I

the gleaming teeth beneath them. For a moment no one d

n hound fer talkin' like thet! They ain't a bad drop o' blood in her body-they ain't a wrong thought in her head, an' you know it. You ki

ay motionless for a long time. The dealer of the blow stood over him like a wild beas

ooped and pic

you open your heads," he grated

ly on his head and swu

arted. It was near midnight and behind them the lamps flickered and sputtered with the last gasps of waning life. Silhouetted in the

ttering hands went slowly, gently to his c

losed and the p

figure writhed convulsively in the damp grass; his breath came almost in sobs. At last, taking his hands from his hot eyes, he raised his head and looked again toward the cottage. One by one the bright windows, grew dark, until a

o the cottage and fl