WBT* 



6K 



TJIE ItflST 



.. .. 0F THE AZTECS. 



Dr. Edward J. Tucker. 



Chapter VII. 



ALLEN MEETS A COUNTERFEITER. 



Some months passed, during which 

 I devoted myself to the farm in a man- 

 ner Steve had never done. I worked 

 in a feverish desire to forget Steve and 

 Jessie, and not for any love of the farm. 

 At night, when my tasks were over, I 

 would wander down to the old bridge 

 and recall the incidents of the )ear 

 that had wrought great changes in my 

 life and nature. I was no longer the 

 careless, heedless boy I had been. I 

 cared no more for field sports and had 

 lost all desire for a medical education 

 The products of the farm sold well, 

 and I could have continued to make 

 money if I had had the ambition to 

 amass wealth, but my heart was dead 

 and 1 had no object in life. 



As the months rolled on, I became 

 more reconciled to my lot. The bitter- 

 ness that made life a burden wore away, 

 and I could think of Jessie without the 

 pangs that had formerly made me the 

 most miserable of men. My love was 

 as deep and intense as ever, but the 

 consciousness that there was no hope 

 kept it from burning at a fever heat. I 

 even persuaded myself I could look 

 upon her and Steve together without a 

 quiver. 



As the spring softened the frozen 

 earth and I was getting ready to start 

 the p'ow, I received a visit from my 

 nearest neighbor, who made me a flatter- 

 ing offer to buy or lease my farm ; an 

 offer I still had under consideration. 



One beautiful spring Sunday morning 

 I dressed myself in anew suit of clotb.es 

 I had ordered in town. Why 1 did this 

 I would not own, even to myself; and, 

 as I stood looking in the mirror at my 

 rugged healthfulness, a little voice 

 whispered, "Would you not like Jessie 

 to see you now? Remember, she has 

 always seen you at a disadvantage, and 

 the present time is not unfavorable to 

 you." 



I rather liked the idea of her seeing 

 me when my features were not con- 

 vulsed with rage, my hair unkempt, 

 when not clad in ragged shirt and 

 trousers, — the latter supported by one 

 brace and fastened at the waist 1 

 hickory pin in lieu of a button. 



In half an hour I was driving slowly 

 to town, still undecided as to whether 

 I was acting wisely in again placing my- 

 self under the influence of a love whose 

 hopelessness had made me so unhappy. 

 As I crossed the bridge I saw a man, 

 about two years my senior, sitting on 

 the coping, with his legs hanging over 

 the stream. He was of medium size, 



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