Oregon City courier., May 03, 1907, MAGAZINE SECTION AND COMICS, Image 10

Mrs. Gray's Sacrifice
By Martha McCulloch-Williams
7 A GAME POSTPONEDBy Gertrude Smith j&
I
'T had been snowing for two days, and now the snow-plows
were out, a:id the first really good sleighing of the winter
would begin.
Thr great fields lay in unbroken whiteness. The woods along
the banks of the Iowa River were billows of snow. The large
farm-houses, and the number and size of the barns and other
outlying buildings, gave evidence of the richness of the soil that
lay buried and resting for another harvest.
Judge Hilton's house had the distinction of being built of brick
There was a dicnitv in its soliditv over the usual white frame-
, houses on the surrounding farms that well became the dignity of
the judge.
The judge was New England born and bred. There is the
veneration of Puritan ancestry in the' entirely Western soul mat
the Puritan mind still has for good old English Mood.
Isabel Hilton was her father's housekeeper and only child.
The mother had died while she was a baby, and she had ruled the
house and been ruled by her father since that tunc.
She had all her father's reserve and pride of family, and at the
same lime his happy nature and gracious manner, that won her
friends when she desired to make friends. Those who found it
impossible to win their way into her favor called this reserve in
Isabel her "down East aiis." There was a discouraging belief
among the young men in (lie country around, some of whose
fathers owned farms and herds of cattle large enough to divide
and establish them in enviable beginnings, that if the judge
thought any of them worthy to win his daughter's love there
would never be an opportunity to gain the consent of the young
lady.
The judge had theories against Isabel's entertaining young
men' alone, nor would he permit her to go with any escort but
himself.
The privilege of spending the evening with Isabel, in the pres
ence of her father, was considered a mark of distinction, and
held the one so honored on the wave of hope.
"If a fellow had the backbone to outsit the judge some night,
he might propose to the daughter," was the comment Mr. Hol
derman made to his son one day. Clint llolderman had been
one of Isabel's most persistent admirers.
"The trouble with all of you is, you go there shaking in your
boots, and talk to the judge, and come away with the big head
because you dared do that; but 1 tell you, if I was a young
fellow I'd outsit him if I sat till the break of day. It's some such
pluck as that the judge is looking for. He raised her, and he
knows her value; and she ain't going cheap to none of you. If
you can go in ahead of the other fellows and tow her in, I'll give
you ten thousand dollars and deed yoti a section of land. Come,
now, let's see what you're made of!"
In some way this lordly promise got adrift the current of coun
try gossip, and roused the admirers of Isabel, one and all, to new
interest in the contest. Large stories were told of the late hours
the judge, so he was sure of his welcome ; but to-night he looked
Clint llolderman drove over to the brick house early on the
evening that he had set his mind with Hint-like determination' to
give his father's advice the trial.
It was a cold night, and as he sped along in his new cutler,
drawn by a handsome span of black horses, and well tucked in
with buffalo-robes, his heart was warm with hope.
He had spent many evenings of the winter playing chess with
the judge, so he was sure of his welcome; hut to-night he looked
beyond all this. 1 le thought of the hour when, at last, with his
heart and understanding touched, the judge would bid them good
night, and he should be left alone with Isabel.
There' was no handsoinr young man in the country than Clint
llolderman; none who (lanced better, or who drove better
horses; but more than all this, the judge had repeatedly told linn
that he lad never k,nowii a man who played a better hand at
chess.
This was an encouragement indeed; for if the judge had a
weakness, it was for chess, and it would be decidedly pleasant to
have a sou in-law who could be to him such a ready source of
entertainment. As he drove into the yard, the judge came out on
the side piazza.
"Good evening," he called out. "Just drive on to the barn; the
man will put out your horses."
"Snapping cold, but splendid sleighing, the judge said, while
Clint was pulling off his overcoat in the liall.
"Yes. I believe my ears are touched," Clint answered, rubbing
them.
"Isabel is popping some corn. She'll be glad you happened
over to help eat it."
Isabel was on her knees before an open wood fire, shaking a
corn-popper.
The lamp had not been lit, hut the firelight made the room
bright and cozy.
"Isabel, here is Mr. llolderman, my dear."
She sprang up. '
"I didn't hear you come in. Good evening. Come over here
by the lire. Why, it's Clint!'' she said, as he came into the glow.
"I thought father meant your father. 1 never think of you as
Mr. I loldenuan. 1 lave some coi n."
She held the popper open before him. "I'm sure I never think
of you as Miss Hilton," he said, plunging his hand into the corn,
and laughing. " That would he a little too much like strangers,
as long as we've known each other."
The judge cleared his throat.
"I have always decidedly disliked the informality of country
people in calling every one by their Christian names," he said.
"It leaves no degree in intimacy. But I suppose it is impossible
to know where to draw the line.'
Isabel went hack and knelt before the lire again.
"Oh, I don't know," she said, shaking the popper vigorously.
"As long as il is a custom, 1 don't think any one feels it a mark
of special intimacy, and so the custom is protected by being a
custom."
The young man sat awkwardly in his chair and was silent,
might have of closer intimacy with the family.
They seemed to be closing the doors against any thought he
The judge left the room for a moment, and came hack with a
lighted lamp and placed it on the claw legged table in the center
of the room, lie had put on a long dressing gown faced with
crimson ipiilted silk, and now he drew his great chair up before
t'ne lire, and stretched himself out in it.
"Come, Clint, I will let you shake the popper for me, and I'll
go down cellar and get some apples." Isabel looked at him with
a merry twinkle in her eyes, as she held the handle toward him,
and then ran out of the room.
Clint grasped the handle of the popper with the delight of suc
cess flooding his veins. Isabel had never before given him a
reason to believe that she cared for him that could compare with
that look.
Daylight would find him silting right there, hut he would
beat the judge's watch, and gain the opportunity of speaking to
her.
It was a delightful evening. The judge partook of the pop
corn, and the conversation was more than usually affable and en
tertaining. Isabel sat on the opposite side of the fireplace, and crocheted
on a blue wool scarf. There were pink spots burning her cheeks,
and her eyes were very sweet.
The time passed on until the noisy clock on the mantel clearly
and forcibly announced the hour of ten.
It hail been comparatively easy this far, but now was the time
when Clint usually went home.
The real contest was ahotil to begin.
The judge shoved his chair back to the table, picked up a
paper, and began to read.
From time to time he glanced over the top of his paper at the
two talking before the tire, hut still read on.
When the clock struck eleven he threw the paper down, pulled
his chair back to the lire, and drew the young man into an ani
mated political discussion.
Isabel stirred about the room, putting things in order for the
night.
It was Hearing midnight, For the last fifteen minute the con
versation had begun to lag.
There were cold moments of complete silence.
"Had you noticed that 1 had trailed horses?" Clint asked in
one painful pause. j
"No, have you?" Isabel asked, coming forward with interest.
, "Yes; l'vc'traded the grays for George Merwin's blacks. Of
course there was considerable to hoot. They go like ihe w hid in
my new cutter."
"I shoulbl think they would." Isabel drew a deep breath. "I
do like black horses. 1 never cared for gray ones. always
think of having to look for a red headed girl," she laughed. "I
should think you'd always he on the outlook for one when tun
ride behind them." ,
"Perhaps Mr. llolderman is looking for a redheaded girl."
the judge said, with a ipieer look in the direction of the young
man. " There's a superstition that a red headed yirl has a Violent
temper. Now that isn't alwaxs true,'' he said alter h moment's
.silence, in which his thought seemed to have been far away. "Isa
bel's mother had as sweet a disposition as any woman that ever
lived, and her hair was the color of that deep flame there."
Isabel was leaning on the back of her father's chair. "Why,
father, you've always said my hair was almost the color of moth
er's. I'm sure no one would think of calling mine red."
"I don't know about that," the judge laughed; "and I don't
know about the temper, either," he added, reaching up and
pinching her cheek.
"I never liked red hair, but I'm sure I don't believe in that
sign," Clint said clumsily. He gazed fixedly into the tire, and felt
as though he were turning to stone.
The clock struck twelve with a resonant, defiant stroke, as
though it understood the contest in which it held the stakes,
When they met again it was before the fire in the sitting-room
at the brick house, where they had held the hours the night be
fore. Hut the contest with the judge had lost its seriousness.
Between them he sat, imperturbable, as he had sat the night
before; but to-night he was only an amusing barrier, and not a
serious obstruction. Love had leaped the bounds, and was free.
It triumphed in their eyes as they looked across him, and over
him, smiling knowingly at each other.
"We're going to have a dance over at our house Saturday
week, and an oyster supper. It is going to be a celebration of a
great event in our family," Clint announced with a meaning ges
ture to Isabel.
and refused to commit itself as to whose side would win.
At a quarter past twelve the judge stood up.
Clint fell his heart beating wildly. The moment of triumph
was at hand.
The judge crossed to the bay window at the other end of the
room. Isabel s eyes followed linn nervously.
Froni one side, among the geraniums and ivy, he drew the
chess-table, and pushed it before him toward the tire.
"I think it would be pleasant for us to have a game of chess,"
he said affably.
Clint sprang to his feet.
"Oh, thank you, sir. I think I must be going home."
"Oh, must you? Well, come over again, and we'll get at it
earlier in the evening."
It seemed hours before Clint finally found himself out on the
smooth, snow-beaten road, spinning' along toward home.
le would have been completely wretched m his defeat if it
had not been for that look in Isabel's eyes when she handed him
the corn-popper. He could endure his father's ridicule, and wait
his time, remembering that look.
And so he made a good storv of it at breakfast the next motrf-
ing, and added, elevating his voice above the roaring laugh of
his father and the shrieks of his mother and sister:
"Never you mind. The judge isn't through with me yet. I've
only fired my first gun. I'll own when I came out of the house
1 was out of shot, but 1 haven't given up the tight yet."
"Oh, you'll let some other bantam rooster carry her off. I
guess I'm safe enough on the cash and land I promised you," his
father answered with a provoking laugh.
"Don't you count on it," Clint said, springing up from the
table with lire in his eyes. "I'm not downed yet, I tell you."
"All right, sonny; we'll give a big dance to celebrate your en
gagement "and an oyster supper. I suppose there's no rush about
ordering the oysters?"
"I'll hold you lo that," Clint said, bringing his fist up against
the door. "If Ihe thing's settled by Saturday week, we'll have the
dance. If it isn't well, it won't be. I'm going over to town
after the mail."
lie turned and went out of the room. As the door closed, he
heard his sister say, tittering:
"Clint has about as hard a time courting Isabel as you had
courting mother."
This was a warm thought of comfort to him. At least Isabel
had never denied him her love, and he knew that his mother had
been hardly won.
It was a bright winter morning. Before him was a clear
stretch of road to the Iowa River, three miles away.
The white fields on cither side sparkled in the sunlight. The
great drifts, rolled up along the fences, looked blue in the shad
ows of their fantastic terracings. The sleighing never was better.
All at once Clint heard the noise of slcighbells, and a voice
called to him, "Give me the road!"
lie turned, and saw Isabel Hilton coining toward him, driving
her own bay ponies at a fearful rale.
Clint drove quickly out at one side of the road, and she sped
by him.
He saw that her horses were running away.
There had been no alarm in Isabel's face, though she was hold
ing the reins with all her strength, and had looked neither to the
right nor the left as she. passed him. If there was one thing
more than another that the llohlermans prided themselves in, it
was their knowledge of a good horse and splendid horsemanship.
Isabel Hilton's love of horses and her daring in driving them
had been one of the first things that had won Clint's admiration.
Her control and courage now appealed to him tremendously.
His own horses seemed to have caught the spirit of the runaway
pair ahead, as the.1 ! w along over the snow after them.
Clint knew that any moment Isabel's slight arms might lose
the power to hold those tense reins so securely, and the horses
dash to one side, and the crash come, and there was nothing he
could do. On went the cutter ahead of him, swaying to the
left and the right, but still keeping the road. 'The bridge across
the Iowa River was just ahead. Clint thought of the bridge
with terror. If the cutter swayed to one side, as it was doing
now, the crash would come on entering.
lie saw Isabel's strength tightening on the reins, and knew
that she felt the danger.
Her horses llew up the slight incline lo the bridge, and Clint
braced his nerves to withstand the shock. But, to h'is amaze
ment. he saw that the horses were slowing up and entering the
bridge with all the respect of well -trained horses; and by the
time ihev were over the fro? en current below they were walking
as quietly as though they had decided on that point as the end
of their excitement.
Clint entered the bridge as Isabel was leaving it. She drove
out to one side of the road, and waited for him to come up
to her.
"I'll let you go on ahead of me now, if you want to," she called
out as he stopped.
"Look lure," Clint called back, "did yon think of those horses
stopping at the bridge that way, I'd like to know?"
"Yes; didn't you? 1 knew they might not, but I thought thev
would if 1 could keep them in the road. Didn't you think of their
doinc it ?"
"Well, no. 1 had something else to think about," he answered,
looking at her admiringly.
Isabel's face flushed, but she looked at him smiling.
"1 wasn't afraid as long as the road was clear, but I should
have lost all courage if 1 had seen a team coming."
"Talk of pluck!" Clint said, driving a little nearer to her cut
ter. "Isabel, what did you think of last night? What did you
think of me, anyway?"
She drove out into the road ahead of him, and then looked
back over her shoulder, laughing. "I thought, if you had only
wailed half an hour longer 1 would have been eighteen. It is mv
birthday to-day. I'm of age." And with that ':e touched her
pouies with the whip, and kept well ahead vi him all the way to
the village.
"What's the event you're celebrating?" the judge asked, look
ing over his spectacles.
"Well, that's something of a secret until to-morrow. I hope I
can tell you then. You must be sure and come. We're going to
have a great time."
'The judge looked at Isabel. "Do you think we can go, my
dear?"
Her cheeks were rosy. "Whv, ves; I should think we could,
father."
" I hank you, then ; we'll come," the judge said, leaning back in
bis chair, and looking at the ceiling. "And now would you like
to play that game of chess we didn't have last night?"
Il was evident he had no intention of giving up the field. Clint
did not answer. He was not as fearless of the judge as he had
supposed. His heart throbbed excitedly.
Isabel pressed her hands together hard, and looked into the
fire. The clock ticked loudly, emphasizing the silence.
Finally the judge brought his eyes from the ceiling, and looked
at the young man.
"Didn't you hear what I said to you ?" he asked, running his
hand through his forelock, and grasping the arm of his chair.
t.)s, sir, I did, said Clint, respectfully.
"Well, then?"
"If you'll allow me to say it, sir, I think I've won the game
already."
"What's that?"
"I believe, sir, I've won the game."
The judge glared at him for a moment, and then his eyes fell
on Isabel.
"Well, my boy," he said, drawing a deep breath the tears had
started to his eyes "1 don't know but you have." lie held out
ms nand. "I don't know but you have, my boy."
"Thank you, sir ; thank you." (
Her father reached the other hand to Isabel, and stood up and
drew her into his anus ; then pushed her from him, and crossed
the room to the door leading into the hall.
He turned and looked back at them and smiled.
"Well, children, I'm feeling a little tired to-night," he said,
"and I think, if you'll be kind enough to excuse me, I'll go
to bed."
He- went out and shut the door.
(Copyright, S. S. McClure Co.)
T5he Ballashannon J ar vey
ON a fine harvest morning, as Terry slowly crossed a
meadow-field bordering on the Sligo road, on his way
way to go to work for Andy Breslin, his meditations were
suddenly and rudelv interrupted by an application of force from
behind, which quickly laid him flat upon his face on the grass.
Arising, he observed Micky Shane's he-goat getting into a position
for a second assault, which was delivered with like success on his
goatship's part. A second time did Terry regain his feet, and
this time essaved a hasty flight. Vit 'twas useless, for the goat,
with accurate delivery and unerring aim, fetched him to earth
an average of two times in every three yards. Finally, Terry was
compelled to face the goat, and happily discovered that by hold
ing his foe by the horns the offensive endeavors of the latter
were completely frustrated. From this discovery Terry at
first experienced delight, but after fifteen minutes' sitting upon
his haunches, holding the horns, and looking his enemy in the
face, the aunoving side of the situation slowly, but surely, dawn
ed on him, anil we regret to have to record that his expressions
became unparliamentary. 'Then a gentleman drove up in a trap,
and, reining in, laughed heartily at the ludicrous picture.
"What do you mean, my man." said he, "sitting there like a
fool, staring the goat out of countenance ? "
"M' sa'rra on me." Terry replied, "but it's foolish enough
lookiii' I am. Still, if you had the same trouble followin' this
goat to catch him, maybe ye wouldn't care to let him go so aisy,
for if I only drop mc hoults for a minute, I'll not see him for
smoke over "the hedges and ditches. Would yer honor take com
passion on me I know, troth, it's too much to ax ye; but when
a 'man's 'in such a hobble would yer honor oblige me by sieppin'
in ail' takin' a hotilt of him, till I twist a bit of a thimb-rope from
the havrick beyant to bind him ? "
"And leave my pony to run off ? "
" Oh, for the Lard's sake," said Terry, in a voice laden with
affliction.' " fasten the reins to a stone in the ditch, an' come an'
iiould the little animal for wan half minute for me. while I be
twistin' a bit of a thimb-rope, an' the Lard in His marcy bless
ve for it all the days of yer life; for if 1 quit a hoult of the
crathnr now, I'll niv'er catch him again."
The gentleman was moved by the distressful nature of the
appeal, and came to his aid.
"Maybe he's cross ?" said the gentleman.
"Oh, as quiet as a lamb, yer honor. Just get a good grip of
Ihe horns here.''
When he got the gentleman located, Terry started for the
r'U"Where are you going ? " shouted the gentleman.
"Home, plaise the Lard." said Terry with unconcern.
"I'll let the animal go in another minute."
"(lb, just plaise yerself aUuit that," said Terry.
And be did let him go, and started for the road also in
mighty wrath. Rut at the second step he thought a thunderbolt
luid collided with him, and he was stretched upon the grass,
lie half raised himself when the thunderbolt struck him again
on the most prominent part of his person, and sent him down
once more. He then realized to his dismay that the goat, which,
according to Terry, should have been hills and valleys away. va
disposed' to dispute the field with him. The contest from this
point became an exciting one, the kind gentleman getting by no
means the best of it. for he was well-nigh exhausted when relief
arrived. It wasl'erry who kindly sent the relief expedition.
When iie reached as far as Micky Shane's he called in at the
door tor the inmates "to go an' look attlicr yon divil of a goat
of theirs that w is snockin' saucepans out of a strange gimleman
in the field beyant." Satmtts MacManus.
I
HATE to have nothing but cedar
this hard Winter has made it
o red and fuzzv" Mrs. Cray
said regretfully, looking at the prickly
twig she held. "Still there seems to be
nothing else. Easter falls just too late
for the plum blooms the rain last night
washed them all ragged. And the pear
and peach trees are just fairly budded
and not even a jonquil blooming in the
garden. ,
"It beats me clean and clear," Mrs,
Murdoch returned discontentedly, "why
the good Lord should send us this late
cold season. I've heard ever since I was
knee high to a Grasshopper: 'Early
Easter, early Spring.' Still I cant say
as I mind about the blooms you've named
over. I ain't deceitful to man whv
should I try tcr be ter my God? And I
know He knows fruits ain't the same as
flowers, however, you may talk about
it. Don't you agree 1 le oughter have
always the very best we can give ?"
"Surely," Mrs. Gray said, making a
faint sigh with a lambent smile.
The set of Mrs. Murdoch's mouth was
portentous by it she knew some daring
thought hovered in that lady's mind.
But for a little while it was left tm-
snoken. Mrs. Murdoch rambling on : 1
ain't for denvin' the chanel looked pretty
all right, lined and bunched up with
dogwood blooms, the wax' von would
have it last year but I told Mist' Mur
doch then, and I think so yet. it put
folks so much in mind of the bush arbor
at a Methodist big nieetin' my conscience
wouldn't never let me help you do it
again. And Mist' Murdoch said I was
right for puttin' religion all aside, only
think of the nail-holes you made tackiu'
up them big boughs. Everybody knows
sweat-bees air shore to find some of them
holes and creep in through 'em to de
stroy all this we've had such a turribh
time ter upbuild."
"O, I hope not. I can't think the
nails did real harm. They were small
so small I can't see a mark," Mrs. Gray
answered, her transparent face flushing
as she scanned the church walls.
They were log walls, of fine straight
yellow poplar timbers hewn to a smooth
face, carefully laid up, and the cracks
between pointed neatly with mortar al
most matching the wood color. They
supported hewn poplar rafters of al
most Gothic pitch, which came out be
tween ceiling panels of narrow matched
poplar boards. No profaning brush hao
touched the wood. Every year it got
softer, richer, mellower, in tone. Yet il
was Mrs. Murdoch's plan to get the
edifice weather-boarded without, painted
within. She liked to have things fin
ished, she said specially churches. It
was a plumb shame, down right un re
ligious, to leave God's bouse naked as
you wouldn't leave your own.
The chapel had begun existence as a
mission. Indirectly Mrs. liray was its
reason for being. Virginia bred and de
voutly Episcopal, she had married one
of the Tennessee soldiers who marched
and fought four years with Lee, and
had come with him, smiling and un
afraid, back to the hill farm on which
he was born Life there had been hard
Jiarder, narrower, than she had
dreamed existence could be. But she
had faced hardship bravely as became
a thoroughbred, clinging and holding
fast to but one part of the old life. That
was her church, notwithstanding the
nearest Episcopal parish lay fully twen
ty miles away. Its church was in the
county town, so it had been doubly hard
to go there at Easter in piteously faded
garments and the most ramshackle of
equipages, yet sjie had gone. Further,
she had taken her children for baptism,
and when one after another they died it
had been her chiefest comfort that they
were laid to rest with the ritual of her
faith.
St. George's had received her with
open arms and tried delicately to help
her. It had planned to make a min
ister of the one son left her, her eldest,
but just as he came to seventeen his
father fell sick of old wounds and was
ten years in dying. The boy, of course,
could not leave him, and long before
the ten years were out had given over
aspiration and married a hill girl,
v comely, back-eved and red-lipped, with
v willing strength and a heart of gold,
but so rough and slip-shod in speech
and manner she was a continuing cross
to her mother-in-law.
But even Izsy, the new daughter, had
not broken Mrs. Gray's patience, nor
made her give over her church going.
The whitening hair above her trans
parent face by and by moved the more
zealous of her church-fellows to talking
of a mission at her door. But talk is
notoriously a slow builder, even when
supplemented by day's work from folk
who have only work to give.
The chapel was not consecrated until
five years after its building was first
bruited. It might have waited even
longer indeed, if the hill country had
not been full of mineral wealth whose
development brought into it a sprink
ling of other Episcopalians. Mrs. Mur
doch was. if not the richest, the most
masterful and liberal of the new com
ers. She felt that she should be like
wise the most influential was not her
husband head and part owner of the
biggest mining enterprise?
Dr. Blenncr, St. George s rector, open
ly deferred to the poor lady, and voting
Dyneforth, the curate, who came fort
nightly to hold Sunday services, ac
claimed Mrs. Gray as the mother of the
chapel.
"Dear me! You ought to see them
nail holes. Haven't you got your second
sight? You oughter have it at your
age," Mrs. Murdoch said pointedly,
craning her neck to look upward.
Mrs. Gray's lip quivered, but she an
swered bravely: "I'm sorry if I did
harm but the dogwood made a beauti
ful decoration. Mr. Dyneforth liked it
o much he told the 'town ladies about
it and they used it for their fair in
Easter week."
"Town folks may like it. T don't.
That's ail," Mrs. Murdoch sniffed loft
ily. "Come here! Lemme tell you
what's my notion. You know I've got
oleanders. Two big tubs, down in the
cellar. Ef they ain't so mightly fresh
lookin". they air a heap better'n that
rusty cedar. Besides, they're as ye may
say. all ready, standin' on their own
bottoms. Now, tomorrow mornin' I'll
make Mist' Mudoch hitch up at an early
hour so we can haul them tulis over here
with us. and set 'em in place each side
the little pulpit you know I mean the
readin' desk. You must come early, too,
and letch your wax flowers "
"Her wax flowers! Why, Mrs. Mur
doch ! Who ever heard of such a
thine?" Leslie. Mrs. Gray's grand
daughter and nainesake, broke in.
Airs. Gray herself got very white.
The incongruity grated upon her life
less things set to proclaim Easter,
whose soul is new life. But over and
beyond that there was keener hurt, as
of threatened loss and. bereavement.
The wav flowers, all stiff and staring
as they were, were all that remained of
her far-off happy girlhood. She had
made them in her last year at school.
Her father had gloated over them all
the way home, riding beside her in the
carriage instead of mounting his horse,
with the precious bouquet held carefully
upon his knees.
"Yes. I said her wax flowers. Don't
think. Miss Leslie, you know every
thing," Mrs. Mtirdoch'said, with an uglv
little sneer. "Not even ef you do set up
to be as high-toned as your grandma.
Why, it was only last night that young
man you think is such great shakes,
Mister Benny Lighton, was telliu' us
me and Mi-t' Murdoch about them
Eye-talian churches said a heap of 'em
was trimmed all the year round with
artificials, just the same as a lady's
bonnet."
Leslie looked at her grandmother,
flushing like a wild rose. She, too, had
heard some of the Lighton wonder
.-tories not told for wonders, but casu
ally, in response to her inspired listcn
irg. Lighton was an outlander who had
come to look over the mines. The look
ing over, of course, had taken him
pretty well everywhere; but, oddly
enough, all the way to everywhere had
managed to run within hail of the Grav
place. Since Leighlon was staying at
her house, Mrs. Murdoch resented his
interest in the Grays. Mrs. Murdoch
was childless, but her niece and namesake,
Euphcnu'a Angelinc Butler, now away
ai college, was coming home in June
with a diploma and any number of ac
complishments. Lighton was to be back
thin and Mrs. Murdoch wanted him to
be also fancy free.
"I say wax flowers don't suit Easter,
no matter what those strange people
do." Leslie began.
Mrs. Gray gave her a silencing look,
and said :
"I will bring the flowers, if you are
quite sure they look well enough!"
Leslie was very pretty her mother's
high coloring blended exquisitely with
her grandmother's chiselled outlines.
Moreover, she had a veritable bird in her
throat, and sang with heart and spirit, as
a bird must. Slip had sumr in tin- rlinn,-!
choir until Mrs. Murdoch had given the '
melodeon, winch had been supplanted in
her parlor with a piano. Along with the
instrument. Mrs. Mnrdorli h
the opinion that it was best accompanied
dv mate voices only.
Mrs. Murdoch, cre.itlv mnlli'lWl mm..
cd briskly about, bending, squintim'.
searching for dust and cobwebs with
microscopic vision.
"If we'd only thought in limp for
to practice, you might have helped sing
the anthem, Leslie." she said ; then,
after a pause, tentatively: "Nobody can
deny vour simrin' is nice rind TV.. I,,,
thinkin, when Phemy Angelinc comes
nomc, maybe you and Iter had better
sing regular."
Mrs. Grav said notliinn- T pjin l,.r.l.-,.,l
quickly away. 'Then all of them fell to
worK nciping niacK jinny, .Mrs. .Mur
doch's housemaid, make the church as
clean as it was bare.
Easter weather is tricksy. There hail
been hardly a hint of Spring until F.aster
morning, yet it dawned bright and
balmy, and swent nuii-Hu into .,1m,-.. f
midsummer heat. Buds expanded vis-
liny m tne strong sunshine a single
hardy blossom burst nut in fhr. ,-,.11,.,
jessamine trellis over Leslie's window.
.-uicr sue was in chtircll, Leslie bow
ed her bead so as not to see the wax
bouquet, set boldly forward upon the
make-shift font. Everybody knew it
everybody would be bound to think it
was there of Granny's choice and free
will.
Everybody in I
then meant one particular person. She
looked un nnicklv a hi -,,,,
caught the subtle ripple betwixt won-
oer ana amusement winch swept
across his face. Then elm 1,, !...!
down again, so as to see nothing but
her worn prayer-book. It had bcn
Granny's ronfirnirttinn ,'ff T
B'"' now
Granny s eye-sight demanded bolder type.
St. George's had supplied it. Glancing
at the hands which held the new book,
delicate, although work had knotted
them, Leslie drew a hard breath.
Mechanical v. she followed tliP ot-v.
icc, trying hard to keep her vagrant
heart in subjection. In this tlie music
helped her the quartette really sang
very well, and with strength enough to
mask the teasings of the melodeon. But
she did not raise her head fairly until
it was time for communion Wl'nt 1,,.
saw then made her sink back, pallid, with
a utickly beating heart.
The wax flowers were not even
irhosts of theiusflvpc Th.
stalks, to be sure, were still upright, and
partly clothed m tailed green, with here
and there a remnant petal clinging to
their lumoish terminals th.-it lmd 'im,
flaunted as flower-hearts. All the font
was littered with gaudy waxen frag
ments, yet at least a handful had fallen
to the floor.
What would Granny do? Leslie
knew how rigidly she kept the com
mandments especially that against
going into the altar at enmity with
a brother. Could she forgive Mrs.
Murdoch this wilful and senseful de
spoilment? Almost with the thought
Granny's hand fell over hers in a
warm, tender clasp, and looking up sh"
saw the faded face illumined. Together
they went forward and knelt at .he
altar-rail. Leslie never remembered
clearly anything more until they were
out in the narrow church porch, with
Mrs. Murdoch facing them. She began
to say: "Well, I am right down sorry.
Sister Gray but whoever thought tlie
weather "
"Don't say another word," Granny in
terrupted her. "It is all for the "best.
My poor, foolish flowers could not last
always. What better fate could they
have than to be an Easter offering?"
"Well, I'm mighty glad you take it that
way if they'd been mine I should be
real nrovoked," Mrs. Murdoch returned
affably.
What else she said Leslie did not hear
for there was Lighton. giving Granny
his arm. and saying with dancing eyes,
as he led her toward the
"Dear Mrs. Gray. I, too, need to make
an Easter offering to you. Vwin't you
be very good and take me for a grand
son? I will answer for Leslie, if only
you say yes."