His arms were still around Tennessee Atwood's unresisting figure; his voice was very tender as he spoke again.

"Tenny," he asked, "do you believe that I would make you a good husband?"

The girl's pretty face was blushing hotly as she looked up into Hardy Williams' eyes. Then her own sank shyly before his. There was no need for words. His earnest question had been answered.

"Your pappy tells me I can't come to his house any more," said the young man. "After to-day, Tenny, I won't have any such chance with you again. An' if I ain't willin' to stand by an' see you married to Jeff Prewitt, I've got to act right now."

There was a significant pause following this. "Tenny," asked

asked Hardy Williams, softly, "are you willin' to run away with me?"

"When, Hardy?" came his sweetheart's low question. "Right now," said Hardy Williams.

"It'll have to be

Right

right now, Tenny, or it may be too late afterwards. now, my darling, without seein' any of your folks or anybody. Do you trust me enough for that? Are you willin', Tenny?"

Tears seemed to be in Tennessee Atwood's eyes as they were again lifted, but there was a brave faith in them also. "Yes, I'm willin'," she made answer, timidly.

The kiss that passed between the two sweethearts when these loyal words had been spoken, was a long and true betrothal kiss. And Hardy Williams' face, as it fronted the bright day the next moment, was a fine study of pride and honest thankfulness. Then he took charge of Tennessee Atwood for all time to come.

"I've got my dug-out right down here at the bank," he said. "We'll go now, Tenny. We'll have to sorter run the gauntlet o' the barbecue folks at the bend in the river; but there ain't a man in all the L'Anguille bottoms can catch me or stop me on the water. I'm goin' to take you straight to old Parson Otis, Tenny, an' we'll be married before this night is over, God willin'."

Almost the next moment, it seemed, Hardy Williams' prompt resolution was being put into execution. Tennessee Atwood was seated in the bow of his frail egg-shell of a "dug-out," and Hardy Williams, the one paddle of his light

craft flashing in the sunlight, had sent it like an arrow straight out into the middle of the stream, and turned the bow down with the swift current.

Then they were under headway to "run the gauntlet."

And on the banks of L'Anguille, almost on the spot where they had stood, now stood Miss Mollie Hamilton. She was waving an approving hand at them.

"I'll come and see you, soon's you're married and settled!" she cried, cheerfully.

JOHN CHINAMAN*

BY B. DE SAINT-POL LIAS

A

S China has lately placed herself so conspicuously before the eyes of the worldmore so, perhaps, than she cares to be, considering the furious onset of the gentle but terrible Japanese!-I will endeavor, dear reader, to place before you a Chinaman, Son-A-Si, a real Chinaman of China, and the hero of this true story.

Son-A-Si is a handsome young fellow of twenty years, of firm build, with an open countenance, of decisive mannermany such are to be seen among this ancient people, whose blood does not seem to be so impoverished as we are sometimes led to believe. There was nothing in his appearance to indicate a lack of submission to the rites, and a profound knowledge of the rules of the most refined politeness-Chinese politeness.

Son-A-Si was born on the banks of the Blue River, in the midst of the countless masses, who form alone one of the most important divisions of humanity-in the first place by their number, and then, perhaps, by a civilization with

*Translated by Mary Ives Cowlam, from the French, for Short Stories. Illustrations by H. M. Walcott.-Copyrighted.

which we are very little acquainted, and about which we have much to learn.

Our hero had never dreamed of sudden acquisition of fortune in either money or politics. He was not, however, devoid of ambition; he had studied quite earnestly; he knew how to read and write; his pencil could form those famous characters-by means of which the Chinese of different types communicate with one another-with a lightness and grace which drew upon him the commendations of the mandarins.

And now, Son-A-Si was about to take his first examination for the office of mandarin. But he had been unfortunate -had sown a few wild oats. And then, then, in China, it requires very little for a young man to be summoned before the Family Council, which pronounces judgment in sovereign sway.

It is of these misfortunes Son-A-Si is thinking as he sadly follows

the banks of this holy river, from which he has never been separated, but from which he will soon be far, far away!

The festival of the moon is being celebrated, and this is the very day. On the terraces which surround the houses on the banks of the river, are great crowds of people the occupants of the houses and their invited friends-come to contemplate the pale orb of night mirrored in the still waters. The night is dark, the silence is profound.

Son-A-Si glides like a shadow along the lower bank of the river; gently and noiselessly he pushes the weeds apart with his

two hands, making a pathway through which he moves,

and from time to time bathing his bare feet in the edge of the water. He stops under a low flight of steps, on one side of a broad terrace, and— waits.

A blood-red light appears at the horizon, soon forming a convex curve from which flames seem to rise as from some distant fire. The moon

seems to separate

and rise in the form
of an immense
round red disk
from this lurid,

threatening fire, and as it mounts into the heavens, it is greeted from all sides by notes from the guitar mingling with human voices chanting incantations. As the chanting subides, the music becomes more harmonious; sweet melodies arise in the clear night air, which the glorious brightness of the moon is now inundating with its pure white light. From

all parts come the notes of the guitar expressing in sweet tones the delight of its worshipers.

Son-A-Si listens attentively. The sound of a fresh young voice reaches him. He recognizes it, and hastily climbs the flight of steps; and there, before his eyes, in this secluded corner, under the charm of her sixteen years, is pretty little Tam-Ly.

Son-A-Si does not belong to so high a caste

that he is obliged to marry a woman whom he has never seen, and whom he knows only by hearsay.

The beautiful almond eyes of Tam-Ly-which give such