Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

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90 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE. THE TEARS STREAMED DOWN THE CHEEKS OF OLD ZEKE AND BLACK LUCY. girl. I know I shall love her. But, oh, I wish Zeke and Lucy knew. If I could only find them ! Somehow, I feel sure they are still alive and loving me, somewhere." Finally the fair head fell back, and in Ruth's dreams she saw New York, — a glittering panorama. Mrs. Travers loved Ruth from the moment she crossed the threshold of her magnificent home. Nathaniel Norton, her only brother, and family lawyer to the Mapleton's, had explained how the Old Master had died, leaving Ruth penniless. Mrs. Travers was a woman whom everybody petted, a motherly little person, quietly gowned, with puffs of snowy hair crowning her small head. She took Ruth into her heart, and the girl responded eagerly to the first affection she had known since the happy days at The Manor. It was a clear, crisp afternoon, with the red ball up at the park. Perhaps this was why Betty Travers, aged ten, shook her brown curls viciously, flounced around on the piano stool and started to play a Beethoven Sonata with a truly appalling touch. The music room in which she sat was beautifully furnished. Delicate lace shrouded the bay windows, and the winter sunbeams played gaily on the soft rose hangings. Over the baby-grand hung a landscape by Corot, and as Betty's dark eyes wandered toward it with its glowing sunset, and alluring, mysterious woods, where one could explore deliriously, she pictured herself like Alice in Wonderland, conversing with strange beasts, and her hands dropped idly on the keyboard. "Betty, dear," said a sweet, admonishing voice, "I'm afraid the lesson is not in my pupil's dreams. Now, is it?" went on the coaxing voice, and Ruth Mapleton came to Betty's side, patting the chestnut curls indulgently. She and Betty were inseparable, more like sisters than teacher and pupil. "Try, again, dear !" said Ruth, assuming her best "teacher air." "Dear me, Ruth!" exclaimed Betty, plaintively, "how much longer do I have to practice ?" "Not much longer," said Ruth, resting one white finger on the little, muti