Pictures and the Picturegoer (October 1915 - March 1916)

PICTURES AND THE PICTUREGOER 68 Week endixo Oct. 23, 1915 " LJOW long-, 0 God ! how long? " II Half-crazed withhunger, thirst, and fatigue, Jerold Roper dragged himself to his feet and stumbled across the rait towards a wooden box, the lid of which he raised with shaking and uncertain hands. It contained the one joy and comfort that had been left . to him after a night 'of stormahd shipwreck ; and if his eyes were moist as he lifted his infant daughter from, her bed it was because the sea might yet claim — alive or dead— the little dimpled body that nestled so warmly in his arms. A faint smile crept over his haggard features as the baby cooed reassuringly and crumpled up her little shell-like hands in play. " Little sweetheart ! " he whispered, with something of his old glad-heartedness. and laid her tenderly in her impromptu bed. The day dragged wearily to a close, night came, and another dawn broke, and still there was no hope of rescue or succour I'm the shipwrecked father and child. After hours of anxious vigil the man Jell faint and exhausted across the edge of the broken raft, and it was only when the cold waves swept across his brow some hours later that he awoke to consciousness again and groped upon his hands and knees for the box that pore his child. Bill bed and baby were gone! Gradually, as the raft was rocked by the motion of the sea. the little one's box had slipped from its place and floated awaj upon the bosom of the sea. In an agony of mind that amounted almost to madness, the starving, desolate man staggered to his feet and Bearched the wide blue sea with dry, burning eyes. I>ut there was no signof his baby-girl. With a cry of anguish he threw himself down upon the swaying raft, and it was as a mot ionless form that he was picked up later by the crew of a passing ship. As for lilt le Jane Roper, her fate was to drift to the shore of a desert island, Adapted from the " flying A" Film By M. OWSTOXBOOTH. to which had found their way several other victims of the wreck. " Lor, here's sumniat at last ! " cried a woman of the party, as the box drifted in with the tide. She hastened down, to the water's edge and, dragging it ashore, lifted the lid of the box. With a little cry — half delight and half amazement—she snatched the baby in her arms. As she did so her rough, hard face took on an aspect of motherliuess, which dispelled all the evil in her wild, black eyes. " Chuck that, nair," cried her husband, Jacques Forfeit, who had appeared upon the scene and was rummaging in the box for. as he put it, " summat worth the having." He would have tossed the child back into the waters that had borne her to them had not the mother-heart in Meg made her strong in her resolution to bring up the child as her own. # # * # Twenty years had transformed Jane Roper into a tall, slim girl of striking beauty. Meg and Jacques had brought her with them to the city, where they had become the leaders of a gang of thieves; but Jane had refused to aid them in their work, and Meg. in spite of her own evil ways, had insisted upon protecting the girl from a life of crime. There was a refinement about Jane that neither an evil home nor ragged clothing could in the least degree congeal. She carried her head high, though her beautiful dark locks were covered only by a coarse, ugly cap. and she walked with a pretty dignity in spite of her worn, old shoes. Her eyes and browbore traces of an intellectual mind, and it seemed to the pastor of the missionary church to which Jane went to find peace and quietude one day that in her he had found the potentialities of a high-minded and noble woman. That there was a rare and peculiar sympathy between them he knew from the first "moment his eye; fell upon h-r. •" Yon are very welcome here.' he said to her. with a "kindly smile, "and 3 must come as often as you can." Then he added, as her eyes lit up with the warmth of his invitation. " I would like to be your friend, if you will let me." "Thank you." she replied, gratefully. ': I will certainly come again. But—" and she glanced" quickly at her shabby clothes — " I'm afraid " He interrupted her with a laugh. " Such things only matter to those whose friendship is superficial and vain. It is character and one's mole of life that matter— not grand clothes, little girl." He walked with her to the door of the church and watched her along the road. There must have been some sad remembrance in his mind, for as Jane Boner disappeared from view he turned back and slowly paced the aisle. "Oh, Cod." he murmured. '"" in helping these. Thy children, help me to forget my own a miction ! As Jane wound her way through the streets she unconsciously attracted the notice of a young "rake" on the lookout for mischief, and. encouraged by one of his low companions, he pursued her in her Bight Fast though she van. she could not free herself from him. and iv hen at length she reached the door of the thieves' den. the only home that Jane had ever known, he was but a yards behind her. an ugly leer of triumph in his ej . \\ •; n scared face and hair tangled and tossed. Jane rushed for safety to her foster-mother, Meg. "Mil ma quick! Don't let him come'. " she gasped. Meg laid down her mug of beer in astonishment, but before Jane could give an explanation of the danger, the door flew opeu again and Lloyd Perry, her pursuer, entered the den. He gazed around him for a moment