The Re-Creation of Brian Kent | Page 4

Inn, Riverside, California, April 30, 1919.

"And see the rivers, how they run Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,-- Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep Like human life to endless sleep!"
John Dyer--"Grongar Hill."

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
A REMARKABLE WOMAN
II. THE MAN IN THE DARK
III. A MISSING LETTER
IV. THE WILL OF THE RIVER
V. AUNTIE SUE RECOGNIZES A GENTLEMAN
VI. IN THE LOG HOUSE BY THE RIVER
VII. OFFICERS OF THE LAW
VIII. THAT WHICH IS GREATER THAN THE LAW
IX. AUNTIE SUE'S PROPOSITION
X. BRIAN KENT DECIDES
XI. RE-CREATION
XII. AUNTIE SUE TAKES A CHANCE
XIII. JUDY TO THE RESCUE
XIV. BETTY JO CONSIDERS
XV. A MATTER OF BUSINESS
XVI. THE SECRET OF AUNTIE SUE'S LIFE
XVII. AN AWKWARD SITUATION
XVIII. BETTY JO FACES HERSELF
XIX. JUDY'S CONFESSION
XX. BRIAN AND BETTY JO KEEP HOUSE
XXI. THE WOMAN AT THE WINDOW
XXII. AT THE EMPIRE CONSOLIDATED SAVINGS BANK
XXIII. IN THE ELBOW ROCK RAPIDS
XXIV. JUDY'S RETURN
XXV. THE RIVER

ILLUSTRATIONS
BETTY JO
"LOOK, JUDY! LOOK!
AUNTIE SUE SAID, SOFTLY, "SHE DID NOT UNDERSTAND, BRIAN"
* * * SHE MADE THE LITTLE BOOK OF PAINFUL MEMORIES A BOOK OF JOYOUS PROMISE

THE RE-CREATION OF BRIAN KENT
CHAPTER I.
A REMARKABLE WOMAN.
I remember as well as though it were yesterday the first time I met Auntie Sue.
It happened during my first roaming visit to the Ozarks, when I had wandered by chance, one day, into the Elbow Rock neighborhood. Twenty years it was, at least, before the time of this story. She was standing in the door of her little schoolhouse, the ruins of which you may still see, halfway up the long hill from the log house by the river, where the most of this story was lived.
It was that season of the year when the gold and brown of our Ozark Hills is overlaid with a filmy veil of delicate blue haze and the world is hushed with the solemn sweetness of the passing of the summer. And as the old gentlewoman stood there in the open door of that rustic temple of learning, with the deep-shadowed, wooded hillside in the background, and, in front, the rude clearing with its crooked rail fence along which the scarlet sumac flamed, I thought,--as I still think, after all these years,--that I had never before seen such a woman.
Fifty years had gone into the making of that sterling character which was builded upon a foundation of many generations of noble ancestors. Without home or children of her own, the life strength of her splendid womanhood had been given to the teaching of boys and girls. An old-maid schoolteacher? Yes,--if you will. But, as I saw her standing there that day,--tall and slender, dressed in a simple gown that was fitting to her work,--there was a queenly dignity, a stately sweetness, in her bearing that made me feel, somehow, as if I had come unexpectedly into the presence of royalty. Not the royalty of caste and court and station with their glittering pretenses of superiority and their superficial claims to distinction,--I do not mean that; I mean that true royalty which needs no caste or court or station but makes itself felt because it IS.
She did not notice me at first, for the noise of the children at play in the yard covered the sound of my approach, and she was looking far, far away, over the river which lay below at the foot of the hill; over the forest-clad mountains in the glory of their brown and gold; over the vast sweep of the tree-crowned Ozark ridges that receded wave after wave into the blue haze until, in the vastness of the distant sky, they were lost. And something made me know that, in the moment's respite from her task, the woman was looking even beyond the sky itself.
Her profile, clean-chiselled, but daintily formed, was beautiful in its gentle strength. Her hair was soft and silvery like the gray mist of the river in the morning. Then she turned to greet me, and I saw her eyes. Boy that I was then, and not given overmuch to serious thought, I knew that the high, unwavering purpose, the loving sympathy, and tender understanding that shone in the calm depth of those eyes could belong only to one who habitually looks unafraid beyond all earthly scenes. Only those who have learned thus to look beyond the material horizon of our little day have that beautiful inner light which shone in the eyes of Auntie Sue-- the teacher of a backwoods school.
Auntie Sue had come to the Elbow Rock neighborhood the summer preceding that fall when I first met her. She had grown too old, she said, with her delightful little laugh, to be of much use in the larger schools of the more thickly populated sections of the country. But she was still far too young, she stoutly maintained, to be altogether useless.
Tom Warden, who lived just