Newspaper Page Text
Friday, December 26, 1924.
r S* ^ XXX X A**ata x xn nCX lI T I IIHHIlirTggT»»t««»r«»»»rry«
ELEPHANTS BOARD k, |
*
J j j
»
AND KEEP !
«
!
It Cost Nothing—That J '
Horrors Wonderful Gift. But, Oh, the J
of Ownership That Followed.
n
By ELEANOR [
Author PORTER , [
of “Pollyanna, n u Just David,” Etc.
<
Copyrtsht by BUuor H. Porto. J
iUi i n s i i ssstrtimiTtiii 9 f in mrumHiimimiS
14 ha l raIned a11 d *y
Raymond ’ spatting along
the wet slipperiness of the drenched
pavements, it seemed as if it had al
ways rained, and always would rain,
Helen was tired, blue and ashamed
ashamed because she was blue; blue
because she was tired; and tired be
cause—wearily her mind reviewed her
day.
„ ad dra
e *g e d herself out ©f bed
L . . _ St ?
a ; P f, V !’ but even then *»er
8 , . “ ad been hastened to
untidy half an
completion by the queru
lous Insistence of her mother’s frequent
“You know, Helen—you must know
how utterly Impossible It is for me to
lift my head until I’ve had my coffee!
Aren’t you almost ready?” Mrs. Ray
mond had wakened earlier than usual
that morning, and she could never en
dure to lie In bed when not asleep.
With one shoe unbuttoned and no
collar on, Helen had prepared the cof
fee ; then had come the delicate task of
getting the semi-invalid up and dressed,
It had all resulted as Helen had
feared that it would result—she was
late; and tardiness at Henderson &
Henderson’s meant a sharp reprimand,
and In time, a fine. Helen’s place in
the huge department store was behind
a counter where spangled nets and
embroidered chiffons were sold. It had
seemed to Helen today that half the
world must be giving a ball to which
the other half was Invited, so con
slant—in spite of the rain—were the
calls for her wares. *>
Annoyances at the counter had
been more frequent today than usual,
Helen thought. Perhaps the t#!n had
made people croes. Helen’s list of sales
had been short In spite of her Incessant
labor—and the list of sales was what
Henderson & Henderson looked at
when a promotion was being con
sidered.
^ In!nl.L . nd , . th .. a I°r , lta,1 „ ’ h . r rafterh0 „ ° f the ' lr ’
spangles, tu the » light k. chatter of coming
of care-free We girls ^“ g8 the ' 0,6 youth, marry and 7? love, lws
and laughter
Youth and love, and laughter.” Un
consciously Helen repeated the words
s J^ r ,ed lf Utterly I 0Uth as ^- she she
VC ; * g f° <M?r?
the fh miibm milkman? the a floorwalker? oh, yes,
and there was the postman. Laughter?
Lfn Z°, r f nember T, hC ? ShC
w had seen anything funny-really funny
en 8 t0 Ug
Of nr all «i| this *M Helen w thought «. v- as she
plodded wearily homeward; of this, and
more. At home there would be supper
!° and n ,HL the are noon ’ dishes mothro to to clear get to away, bed,
ber breath sbarP ! y 88
8b tb “ gbt °* tbe dltme J;’ Sh ® hoped l
ba ‘ . “ had ,?°* been codflsh-and-cream
Mrs. Mason. J, rLa Codfish ' k r, twice 8t SPCak a week
might do, but five times! (Mrs. Mason
was the neighbor who, for a small sum
each day, brought Mrs. Raymond her
dinner fully cooked.) There was a
waist to iron and some mending to do.
Helen sighed now. She was almost
home, but Involuntarily her speed
slackened. Unmistakably she dreaded
to go home.
At the shabby door of the apartment
house Helen half closed her umbrella
and shook It fiercely. Then, as If free
ing herself from something as obnox
ious as was the rain, she threw back
her head and shook that, too. A mo
ment later, carefully carrying the drip
ping umbrella, she hurried up three
flights of stairs and unlocked the door
of the rear suite.
“My, but tt sprinkles! Did you know
It?” she cried cheerily to the little wom
an sitting by the west window.
(.. Sprinkles’ 1 Helen, how
can you
speak like that when you know what a
dreadful day It Is 1” fretted the woman.
“But, then, you don’t know. You never
do know. If you had to Just sit here
and stare and stare and stare at that
rain all day, as I do, perhaps you would
know.”
“Perhaps,” smiled Helen oddly—she
was staring Just then at the havoc that
that same rain had wrought In what
hud been a fairly good hat.
Her mothers glance followed hers.
“Helen, that can’t be—your hat!”
cried the woman, aghast.
Helen smiled quizzically. “Do you
know that’s exactly what I was think
ing myself, mother! It can’t be—but
it is.
’But It’s utterly, utterly reined!
“Yes, ma’am. »»
“And j*»u haven’t any other that’s
■really decent! ■
No, ma’am.”
The wonuci sighed impattewtly.
“Helen, how can you answer like that
when you know what It means to spoil
that hat? Can't anything dampen your
absurd high spirits?”
“High spirits 1" breathed the glrL A
quick dash leaped to her eyes.
Clothed In dry garments a little later,
Helen set about the evening’s tasks.
“Helen,” called a doleful voice from
the sitting room.
“Yes, mother.”
“She brought codfish again today—
five times this week; and you know
how I dislike codfish! »»
“Yes, I know, dear. I’m so sorry! •»
“ ’Sorry’: But that doesn’t feed
Tou me.
must spenk to her, Helen, i can’t
eat codfish like that. You must speak
tonight when you take the dishes back.”
«« Very well, mother; but—well, you
know we don’t pay very much.”
“Then pay more. I'm sure I
shouldn't think you’d grudge me
enough to eat, Helen.”
“Mother! How can you say a thing
like that!” Helen’s voice shook.
It was at the supper table that
Helen’s mother brought out the letter.
“You don’t ask, nor seem to care,”
she began with a curious air of injured
triumph, “but I’ve go! a letter frrn
Herbert.
The younger woman fltfdied.
Why, of course, I care,” she retorted
cheerily. “What does he say?”
■ He wrote It several days ago. It
got missent. But It’s such a nice let
ter !”
They always are. It
• i It asks particularly how I am, and
says he’s sorry I have to suffer. He
cares.”
Only the swift red In Helen’s cheeks
showed that the daughter understood
the emphasis.
“Of course he cares,” she answered
smoothly.
u And he sent me a present, too—
money 1” Mrs. Raymond’s usually fret
jful Helen whine carried a ring of exultation.
lifted her head eagerly.
"Money?”
“Yes. A new crisp dollar bilL He
'told me to get something pretty—some
little trinket that I’d U».”
“But a dollar—only a dollar,” mur
mured Helen. “Now youlre needing'a
wrapper, but that—”
“A wrapper, Indeed!” Interrupted
Mrs. Raymond In ’ fine scorn. “A
wrapper isn’t a ’trinket’ for mel I’d
have wrappers anyway, of course. But
then, I might have known. You never
think I need anything but wrappers
and—and codfish! I—I’m glad I’ve got
,one chlld that—that appreciates!
And Mrs - Raymond lifted her handker
chief to her eyes
Across the ‘able Helen caught her
i lower Up between her teeth. For a
'moment she did not speak; then very
! gently she said:
"Mother, you didn’t quite mean that,
r m sure. You know very well that I
|Td dress you In silks and velvets, and
I feed you on strawberries and cream,
L if I CO uld. It’s only that-that- But
ever mllld . Use tbe dollar as you
» lease - dear - Isn’t «‘ere something
! some uttle thing you would like?”
Mrs. Raymond lowered her handker
chief Her grieved eyes looked re
proachfully across at her daughter,
« ra tho ught of-a tie; a lace tie
jwlth pretty euds; a nice tie. You know
! how I like nice things! ii
“Of course, you do; and you shall
have It, too,” cried Helen. “I’ll bring
some home tomorrow night for you to
^ct from. Now, that will be fine,
won’t it?”
The other drew a resigned sigh.
«« « Fine’! That’s just like you, Helen.
You never appreciate, never realize.
Perhaps you think It’s ‘fine’ to stay
mewed up at home here and have ties
brought to you Instead of going out
yourself to the store and buying them,
like other women!”
Helen did not answer. As well she
knew, she did not need to. Her mother,
once started on this subject, asked
only for a listener. Wearily the girl
rose to her feet and began to clear
the table.
ti And it Isn’t as-If he didn’t have his
hands full, just running over full with
his business and all,” continued Mrs.
Raymond. “You know how successful
he Is, Helen. Now, there’s that club—
what was It, president or treasurer that
they made him? Anyhow, tt was some
thing; and that shows how popular he
is. And you know every letter tells
us something new. I’m sure It isn’t any
wonder I’m proud of him; and relieved,
too—I did hope some one of my chil
dren would amount to something; and
I'm sure Herbert has."
There was a pause. Herbert's sister
was washing the dishes now, hurriedly,
nervously. Herbert’s mother watched
her with dissatisfied eyes.
“Now, there's you, Helen, and your
music,” she began again, after a long
righ. “Yon know how disappointed I
was' about that. »*
“Oh, but piano practice doesn’t help
to sell goods across the ceuuter," oh
served Helen dully. “At least, I never
heard that it did.”
"Sell goods,” moaned the other.
it Always something a boat selling
goods! Helen, can’t you get your
ml»d for one moment off that dreadful
stone, and think of something higher?”
"But it’s the store that brings as In
our bread and butter—and codfish,”
added Helen, half under her breath.
It was a foolish allusion, born of a
much-tired spirit; and Helen regretted
the words the moment they had left
her lips.
Yes. that’s exactly what It brings
codfish," gloomed Mrs. Raymond. “I’m
glad you at least realize that.”
There was no reply, Helen was
working faster now. Her cheeks were
pink, and her hands trembled. As soon
as jwsslble, she piled Mrs. Mason’s
dinner dishes neatly on the tray and
hurried out with them.
“It's only me, Mrs. Mason, with the
dlshes,” she said a moment later, as
her neighbor peered out into the hall
GRIFFIN DAILY NEWS
In answer to the knock at the door.
"I'm a little late tonight"
“Oh, to be sure,. Miss Raymond;
coroe in—come In. Why, child, what
alls you?” cried the woman, as Helen
stepped into the light. >
"Ails me? Why nothing," laughed
the girl evasively.
As she set the tray down and turned
to go, the elder woman, by a sudden
movement, confronted her,
“See here, Miss Helen, It ain’t none
o’ my business, I know, but I’ve just
got to speak- Your eyes are all teary,
and your cheeks have got two red spots
in ’em. You’ve been erytn’. I know j
you have. You’re so thin I could Just
blow' you over with a good big breath,
And 1 know what's the matter. You’re
all wore out. You’re doin’ too much,
No mortal wroman can work both day
and night 1" ’
“But I don’t—quite,’’ stamixered the
girl. Besides, there is so much to be
done. You know, mother—though she
Isn’t very sick—can do but little for
herself.
“Yes, I know she don’t—seem to. But
isn't there someone else that could
help? • i
The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes
sought for a means of escape.
“Why, no, of course not. There Isn’t
anyone,” she murmured. "You are very
kind, really, Mrs. Mason, but I must
go—now. »»
The other did not move. She was
standing directly before the hall door.
“There’s—your brother."
"Why how did you come to know
.that I had—a brother?”
“Know It!" scoffed Mrs. Mason. “I
have known your mother for a year—
‘ever since she moved here; and as If
a body could know her and not hear of
: him! He’s the very apple of her eye.
!Why can’t he—help? Wouldn’t he, If
,he knew?”
i ■ Why Mrs. Mason, of course I He
.has—he does,” declared the girl quick
ly, the red deepening In her cheeks,
j "He—he sent her money only today.”
** Yea, I know; she told roe—of that, *»
l Mrs. Mason’s voice was significant In
jits Jshe smoothness. was going to get “Your her—a mother tie.” said
“Yes, ^
f a tie,” repeated Helen, with
feverish lightness; “lace, you know.
Mother does so kwe pretty things I Oh,
and by the way,” hurried on the girl
breathlessly, “If you don’t mind—about
the dinners, you know. Mother doesn’t
care for codftsb-ancbcream, and If yon
could just substitute something else,
I I’ll pay more, of course! I’d expect to
>do that. I’ve been thinking for some
‘time that you ought to have at least
iten cents a day more—If you could
manage—on that. And—thank you; If
you would remember about—fhe cod
fish. And now I really must—go! »»
she finished.
“Well, of all things! Now what have
I said?” muttered the puzzled woman,
staring after her visitor. “Ten cents
•a day more, Indeed! And where, for
'the land’s sake, 1 b the poor lamb going
to find thatY’
Ix>ng hours later in the Raymond
flat, after the mending was done, the
waist Ironed, and the mother’s queru
lous tongue had been silenced by sleep,
the “poor lamb” sat down with her
little account book and tried to dis
cover just that—where she was going
to find the extra ten cents a day to
] DUy off Mrs. Mason’s codfish,
j The It did shone, not rain indeed, the next If morning. It
sun ns never
had rained, and never would rain.
There was the same apologetic rush
ID the morning, the same
Succession of buyers and
at the counter, the same glitter and
sparkle and chatter—the youth, and
love, and laughter. TJjiep at night
the surprise.
j Helen Raymond went home to find a
little flat dominated by a new
a presence so big and breezy that
consciously she sniffed the air as If
were entering a pine grove instead
a stuffy, four-room city flat.
Helen, he knows Herbert, my
bert,” announced Mrs. Raymond
turously; and ns she seemed to
[no further introduction was
the young man rose to his feet and
added with a smile:—
; My name Is Carroll—Jack
I Miss Raymond, I suppose,
‘ brother—er—suggested that I call, as 1
was In the city.”
“Of course you’d call,”
Mrs. Raymond. “As if we weren’t
I .ways glad to see any friend of
boy’s. Helen, why don’t you say
thing? Why don’t you welcome
Carroll? M
I haven’t had much chance
mother,” smiled the girl In some
barrassment. “Perhaps I—I
caught my breath.”
Not that Mr. Carroll ought to
of course,” resumed Mrs.
plaintively. “And he won't when
knows you, and sees how moderate
are. You know Herbert Is so quick,
she added, turning to Herbert’s
“l s her murmured the man; and
the odd something in his voice
,looked up quickly to find the
,eyes full upon her. “You see, I’m
sure, after all, that I do know
he continued lightly, still with that
somethin In his voice.
mother hfls been telling me lots
things—about Herbert"
“Yea-; we’ve been having each a
visit together,” sighed Mrs.
“You see, he understands,
Carroll does.
Again Helen glanced up and met
stranger's eyes. She caught her
sharply and looked away,
! And yet—It was not of Herbert
he talked during the next ten minutes.
jit was of Mrs. Raymond and her
daughter, of their life at home and at
the store. It was a gay ten minutes,
for the man laughed at the whimsical
playfulness with which Miss Raymond
off the pitiful Uttle tale of the
daily struggle for existence. If he de
tected the nervousness In the telling,
he did not show It. He did frown once;
but that wia when Herbert's mother
sighed apologetically: S
*4 Yofi mustn’t mind all she says, Mr.
Carrol!. Helen never did seem to real- ,
lie the serious side of life, nor what
I suffer; but that Is Helen’s way.
"After nil, It must *)e a way that
helps smooth thirds over some,” he
had retorted warmly,
At the end of ten minutes,* Herbert's
friend rose to his feet and said that
he must go. He added that he would
come again, If he might; and to Miss
Raymond he said very low—but very
Impressively—that she would see him
soon, very soon. It was no surprise,
.therefore, to Helen, to encounter the
big, tall fellow not twepty feet from
jher doorway when she started for the
‘store the next morning.
“Good morning. I thought you’d do
this,” she began hurriedly. “We can
talk as we walk. Now, tell me, please,
quick. What is It about—Herbert?”
“Then you—know?”
“Not much; only suspect. I know
everything Isn’t quite—right.”
“But your mother doesn’t know—
even that much?”
“No, no! You saw that, didn’t you?
I was so glad you did, and didn’t speak I
He is her pet, and she’s so proud of
him! It
. Yes, I know,” nodded the wan grim
ly. "1 saw—that."
The girl lifted her chin.
“And mother has a right to be proud
of him. Herbert Is fine. It Is only
that—that—” She weakened percep
tibly. "Was It—money?” she faltered.
“Y-yes." Carroll spoke with evident
reluctance. His eyes looked down al
most tenderly at the girl with the still
uplifted chin. “It—It Is rather serious
this time. He asked me to call and—
and make It plain to you. I had told
him I was coming up to town on busi
ness, and I promised. But—good Heav
ens, Miss Raymond, I — I can’t tell
you I”
“But you must. I’ll have to know,"
cried the girl sharply. All the pride
had fled now. “And you needn't fear.
I know what It is. He wants money
to settle debts. I’ve sent It before—
once. That Is it—Isn’t It?"
"Yes, only It’s—Lt’S a particularly bed
job this time,” stammered the other.
“You see, It—It’s club money.”
“How much—was It?”
Carroll sighed in relief.
“Miss Raymond, you’re a—a brick—
I to take it like that,” he cried brokenly.
“I don't know another girl who— It
was—well, a hundred dollars will cover
it; but he’s got to have It—tomorrow."
“I'll send It."
“But how—forgive me, Miss Ray
mond, but last night you were telling
me that—that—” He flushed, and came
to a helpless pause.
“How can I get It?” she supplied
wearily. “We’ve a little In the bank—
a very little laid by for a rainy day;
but it will cover that. Mr. Carroll,
how did he come to—do It?”
It was a short story, soon told—the
usual story ef a pleasure - loving
thoughtless youth, tempted beyond his
strength. Carroll softened It where
he could, and ended with:
“I asked Bert to let me make It good,
somehow, but he wouldn’t, Miss
mond. He—he just wouldn’t 1”
“Of course he wouldn’t,”
the girl sharply. Then, In a
voice: “Thank you Just the same.
don’t you see? Twould have done
good. I’d have had to pay you. . .
No, no, don’t say any more, please, »i
she begged. In answer to the
words that leaped to his lips.
have beea kind—very Kind. Now,
one kindness more, if you will,”
hurried on. “Come tonight I
leave you now—It's the store,
around the corner. But tonight
have the money. It’s In my name,
I can get It without
ing. You understand? Without
mother’s—knowing. You
Wl t hout—mother’s—kno wl ng.”
“I understand,” he nodded
as he wrung her hand to turned
ingly away. ______________
When Helen reached home that
she found the little flat dominated
again by the big, breezy presence
Herbert’s friend.
I've been telling him more
Herbert,” Mrs. Raymond began,
ously, as soon as Helen entered
room.
At the /door some minutes later,
roll found a small packet thrust
Ills fingers. He caught both the
and the packet In a firm clasp.
“You’re true blue, little girl,
breathed tremulously, “and I’m
to keep tabs on Bert after this.
make him keep straight for
for j'ou. He’s only a bit weak,
all. And you’ll see me again
very soon—very spon,” he finished,
he crushed her hand In a grip
hurt. Then he turned and
away, as If Ills eyes did not see
clearly.
<• Now, wasn’t he nice?”
Mrs. Raymond, as the girl closed
hall door. M And—didn’t he say
he’d call again some time? >*
“Tes, mother.
“Well, rm sure, I hope he will.
Isn’t Herbert, of course, ibut he
Herbert.”
He—does, mother." There was
little break In Helen’s voice, but
Raymond did not notice It.
“Dearie me! Well, he’s gone
and I am hungry. My dinner
seem to please, somehow.” -
“Why, mother. It
was it?”
** N-no. It was chicken. But
like enough It will be codfish
Helen Raymond dreamed that night,
and she dreamed of love, and youth,
snd laughter. But It was not the
shimmer of spangled tulle nor the chat
ter of merry girls that called It forth.
It was the look In a pair of steadfast
■blue eyes, and the grip of a strong
man’s band. t
THAT ANGEL BOY ,v
H* ;§§
gang Like an Angel, Bat His Trip to the Country
Will Be Long Remembered.
By ELEANOR PORTER
Author of “ Pollyanna,” « Just David,” Etc. :
, Copyright hy Eleanor H. Perter.
stsHE A room was very still. The
gaunt figure on the bed lay motion
less save for a slight lifting of the
chest at long intervals. The face was
turned toward the wall, leaving a trail
of thin gray halr-wlsps across the pil
low'. Just outside the door two physi
cians talked together In low tones.
“If there could be something that
would rouse her,” murmured one;
“something that would prick her will
power and goad It Into action!
“I suppose you’ve thought of—her,
her son?” Inquired the other.
"Oh, yes. Jed was sent for long
ago, but he had gone somewhere Into
the Interior on a prospecting trip, and
was very hard to reach. He has
not been home for years, anyway, and
the Nortons—James Is Mrs. Darling’s
nephew—have been making all the
capital they can out of it, and have
been prejudicing her against him—
qnlte unjustly, In my opinion, for I
think It's nothing more nor less than
thoughtlessness on ie boy’s part.”
Back In the sick-room the old
woman still lay motionless on the bed.
She was wondering—and as she had
A
ii
“Jim—Aunt Abby fiat Up 10 Minutas
In Bad Today!”
wondered so often before—why It took
so long to die. Tor days now she had
been trying to die, decently and in
order. Ella and Jim were very kind;
but, after all they were not Jed, and
Jed was away—hopelessly away.
did not even want to come back, so
Ella and Jim said.
There was the money, too. She did
not like to think of the money.
They were talking now—Ella
Jim—out In the other room.
“You gee,” said Jim, “as long as
got ter go ter town termorrer,
it f eema a pity not ter do it all up
once. I could order the coffin an’
undertaker—It’s only a question of
few hours, anyway, an’ it seems
a pity ter make another trip—Jest
that I”
In the bedroom the old
stirred suddenly.
A fierce anger sprang Instantly
llfo
“Jest fer that," Jim had said,
“that” was her death. It was
worth, it seemed, even an extra
to town! And she had done so
bo much for those two out there
“Let’s see; terday’s Monday,”
went on. “We might fix the
for Saturday, I guess, an’ I’ll tell
folks at the store ter spread It.
tin’ It on Sat’day’ll give us a
extry time If she shouldn’t happen
go soon’s as we expect—though
ain’t much fear o’ that now, I
she's so low. An’ it’ll save me
half a day ter do it all up this
It was snowing hard when Jim
back from town Tuesday night.
“Whew i It’s a reg'lar blizzard,”
begnn, but he stopped short at the
pression on his wife’s face.
En»r
“Jim—Aunt Abby sat up ten
utes In bed terday. She called
toast an’ tea.”
Jim dropped Into a chair,
“But she—hank It all,
cornin’ termorrer with the coffin l”
“You hadn’t been gone an hour
she began to stir an’ notice
moaned Ella.
“Gosh!" groaned Jim. “Who’d
thought it? ’Course ’t ain’t that
grudge the old lady’s livin'," he
hurriedly, "bot Jest now it’s
handy, things bein’ as they be.”
It did not snow much through
night, hut In the early morning It
gan with Increased severity. The
rose, too, and by the time Herrick,
undertaker, drove into tbe yard,
storm had become a blizzard.
“I cale’lated if I didn’t get this
coffin here purty quick there
be no gettln' It here yet
called Herrick cheerfully,
"Sb-h f Herrick, look out t" he
pered hoarsely. “She ain't dead
You’ll have ter go back.”
“Go back 1“ snorted Herrick.
man alive, ’twas us much as my
’ 1" ' y”
-
Page ». m v. 3;;ng
A.” A_,_ _.
worth to get here. There won't he no
goln’ back yet awhile fer mo nor no
one else, I cale’late.” * Sil
It was not without talk and a great
deal of commotion that the untimely
addition to James Norton’s household mi
effects was finally ''“posited to the
darkened parlor. Jim, perspiring, red
faced, and palpably nervous, was pass
ing on tiptoe through the sitting room
when a quavering relce from the bed
room brought him to a halt
\Tim, 1* that your w
“Yes, Aunt Abby. II i
"Who’s comb?
Jim’s face grew white, then red.
“C-come?" he stammered.
"Yes, 1 heard a sleigh and voices.
Who Is It?”
«< Why, jest—Jest a man on—on busi
ness,”
All day It snowed and all that night;
nor did the dawn of Friday bring clear
skies.
The sick woman was better.
At noon the sun came out, and the
wind died Into fitful gusts. The two
men attacked the drifts with a will,
and made a path to the gate. They
even attempted to break out the road,
and Herrick harnessed his horse and
started for home; but he had not gone
10 rods before be was forced to turn
back.
‘”Taln’t no use," he grumbled. “I
calc’late I’m booked here till th^rack
o’ deem!" ®
“An’ termorrer’s the fun’ral,”
groaned Jim. “An’ I can’t git nowhere
—nowhere ter tell ’em not to come!’
Saturday dashed fair and cold.
Early In the morning the casket was
moved from the parlor to the attic.
It was almost two o’clock when loud
voices and the crunch of heavy teams
told that the road-breakers had come.
■ i I set ter work first thing on this
road,” said the man triumphantly to
Ella as he stood, shovel In hand, at
the door. “The parson's right behind
an’ there's a lot more behind him.
Gorry! I was afraid I wouldn't gl(
here In time, but the fun'ral wan’l till
two, was It?”
“There’s a mistake,” Ella said faintly.
“There ain’t no fun’ral. Aunt Abby’s
better.”
The man stared, then he whittled
softly.
Mrs. Darling heard the bells of the
first arrival.
1 “I guess mebbe Til git up an’ set up
a spell,” she announced calmly to Blla.
That’s Parson Gerry's voice, an* 1
want ter se him.”
“But, Aunt Abby-” began Ella
feverishly.
“Well, I declare 1 If there ain’t an
other sleigh drivln’ in,” cried the old
woman excitedly, sitting np in bed and
peering through the little window.
*. Must be they’re glvin’ us a s'prtse
party. Now, hurry, Ella, an’ git them
slippers. I ain’t a-goln’ to lose none
o’ the fun!”
In state. In the big rocking-chair, the
old woman received her guests.
One by one the days passed, and Jim
anti EUa ceased to tremble every time
the old woman opened her lips. There
was still that fearsome thing In the
attic.
“If she should find out," EUa had
said, “ 'twould be the end of the money
—fer us.”
“But she ath’t a-goln’ ter find out,”
Jim had retorted.
The “funeral" was a week old when
Mrs. Darltng came into the si tting
room one day, fully dressed.
"I put on all my do's,” she said
smilingly. In answer to Ella’s shocked
exclamation. *T got restless, somehow,
an’ sick o’ wrappers, Besides, I want
to walk around the house a little.”
And she limped across the floor to the
ball door.
“But, Aunt Abby, where ye gpln’
now?” faltered Ella.
“Jest up in the attic, I wanted teT
nee — She stopped In apparent sur
prise.
Ella and Jim had sprung to their
feet.
“But you mustn’t!—you ain’t strong
enough !—you'll fall!—there’s nothin’
there!" they exclaimed wildly, talking
l*°'b together and hurrying forward;
“Oh, I guess ’tw<m't klll me,” Baid ~
the old woman, and the hall door
closed sharply behind her.
“It's all—up!” breathed Jim.
Fully fifteen minutes passed before
the old woman came back.
"It’s real pretty,” she said. "I alters
did like gray.”
M Gray?” stammered Ella.
Yes!—fer coffins, ye know.” Jim
made a sudden movement, and started
to speak; but the old woman raised
her hand. “You don’t need ter say
anythin’." ahe Interposed cheerfully.
“I Jest wanted ter make sure where
twas, so I went up. You see, Jed’s
cdmln’ home, an' I thought he might
feel—queer If he run onto It, casual
like.”
“Jed—cornin’ home!”
The old woman smiled oddly.
“Oh, I didn't tell ye, did i? The
doctor had this telegram yesterdav.
an’ brought It over to me. Ye know
he was here last night. Read It." And
ahe pulled frdm her pocket a crumpled
■Up of paper. And Jim read:
«» Shall be there the 8th. For God’s
•ake don’t let me be too late.
"J. D. Darllne ”