Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 122: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

756 The lady from Macassar drew back, shud- dering, her eyes fixed fascinatedly upon Teema’s, “Thus perish hate!” Teema cried exult- ingly. ‘‘ Now open your basket,” he com- manded. . Her hands trembled. At first it seemed as though she intended to refuse. But under Teema’s compelling gaze she reached forward and carefully removed the cover. The shadow of a smile began to play over Teema’s saturnine features. “Look within,” he commanded. She did so. Puddlewhit saw her face become suddenly gray. She lifted a hand ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. to her throat, as though strangling, then started back and would have fallen had not Teema leaped down and caught her in his arms. Suddenly she threw her arms about his neck and broke into a passion of sob- bing. He held her tenderly. An inscrutable smile began to play about Puddlewhit’s lips. As their mystified ship- mates looked from Teema to him and back again, he stepped forward and glanced into the basket. His head inclined in a nod of assent. “As I thought, the crucifix,” he said. Lifting his lips to Teema’s ear he whispered: “Son, kiss thy mother.” | Next Week: THE PSEUDO RAJAH | | LeJ U u IN THE ORCHARD AT DALVENI H! Here beneath this roof of green I throw me down and dream again The golden dreams of what has been The future harvests yet to gain! The wheat waves in the field close by; An apple, ripened ere its time, Drops from the tree; the sun’s great eye Seeks through the leaves, and as I rime The birds weave to and fro and sing The very songs I would declare, And now and then the branches swing, ’ Stirred gentle by a wandering air. The binders, clicking in the wheat, The whistle of a passing train, And distant noises of the street, Are to my song a low refrain. To-day! To-day I rest at ease And pick the golden fruits that grow In solitude on twigs of peace— The fruits that But, oh! The sober lines only dreamers know. To-morrow’s face must wear decreed by fate, And all the ties of toil and care Wait just beyond the orchard gate! Herman Rave. , LI Commcooolkx (SG (S@