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The day book. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, July 19, 1913, LAST EDITION, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1913-07-19/ed-2/seq-18/

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THE LITTLE HEIRESS; OR THE HUNTED LOOK
BY GOUVERNEUR MORRIS ILLUSTRATED BY THE FAMOUS
AMERICAN ARTIST, R. M- CROSBY
(Copyright bv Charles Scribner's Sons.)
HE Little Heiress had a hunted look.
And it was not the hunted look of
the girl who is hunted for herself
alone. Nor the hunted look that the
hunted wears in full flight when the
chance of capture is balanced by the
chance of escape. Under fair con
ditions (had she been worth but one
million, or even two), she might, like
the nimble jackrabbit of her natfve
plains, have furnished rare sport.
Prom two hounds, or even half a
dozen, she might then have 'run like
a ghost, foreseeing the strategy of
their .pursuit and vanishing finally
with a burst of speed and a joyous
. laugh.' But she was weighted in- the
race by many more millions than
two. On the day of her birth the first
million had come to her in the form
of a cheque, the signature, in her
grandfather's trembling and hcmored
hand. On the envelope enclosing .'jt
he had written: "A Nest "Egg, for
Baby."
But after that the millions-came
to ner- io sad ways and -with sad
words. First the heart that most
loved her ceased to beat, and the busy
fingers that had vied with Paris and
Flanders in sewing for the baby were
stifl. And they gave the baby more
millions, but for a long time could
not dry her eyes. When she was ten
the old grandfather died, and, though
they 'gave her banks, and ranches,
and oil wells, and mines, she cried
for him. And after that she became
the one flower in the heart of a stern,
gray man who owned many gardens.
Him she loved with all her strength,
and called MY father with immeas
urable pride.
Though there were never any lit
tle girls to play with, she was not
very different from the general run
of them. When she ran furiously she
got red in the face, when she fell
down and bumped her nose it bled,
and whe,n her stomach ached she
howled. The heavy millions had not
yet begun to weigh her down. It may
be that there were not enough. But
many more were on the way, and, as
before, to pay her for the death of
somebody she loved. She waited up
one Christmas Eve till very late for
her father to come home. He had
telegraphed that he would come. He
would come, the secretary told her,
over his pet railroad in his pet car
with his pet engineer at the throttle,
and he would make such time that
the country would gasp. But the
great man came home more slowly

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