Sarah did not exactly know when the lady left and when Hyacinthus came,
but after a while they were sitting side by side on the door-step, and
the moon was rising over the mountain, and the wonderful shadows were
gathering about them like a company of wedding-guests.




JANE'S GRAY EYES


BY SEWELL FORD


When _The Insurgent_ took its place among the "best six sellers,"
Decatur Brown formed several good resolutions. He would not have himself
photographed in a literary pose, holding a book on his knee, or propping
his forehead up with one hand and gazing dreamily into space; he would
not accept the praise of newspaper reviewers as laurel dropped from
Olympus; and he would not tell "how he wrote it."

Firmly he held to this commendable programme, despite frequent urgings
to depart from it. Yet observe what pitfalls beset the path of the
popular fictionist. There came a breezy, shrewd-eyed young woman of
beguiling tongue who announced herself as a "lady journalist."

"Now for goodness' sake don't shy," she pleaded. "I'm not going to ask
about your literary methods, or do a kodak write-up of the way you brush
your hair, or any of that rot. I merely want you to say something about