VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON
body ; she disliked him beca-jse she
had made a fool of herself over him
in her own soul.
“Oh, are we picnicking?” she
asked blankly.
"Aren’t we?" he demanded, stop
ping short.
WNU Service
Her blood rose at once. Of course
they would picnic! She began to
deed since her fourteenth sum put peeled tomatoes, lettuce, fish
mer.
into a deep glass jar. Dick Stebbins!
But this was serious. Ariel had Why, he was the same country boy
refused to return to school after he had always been. Nice enough.
the accident Phil had talked to The salt of the earth.
Mrs. Tripp, the principal.
Mrs.
Dick came to stand beside Gall,
Tripp had put the case plainly to the wrapped packages of coffee and
Phil. Ariel Lawrence had been go sugar in his big hand, and she
ing too fast and too far for some trembled and dared not look up.
They went up to the old dam, In
time. A good boarding school, at
the sweetness of the autt mr after
her age. . . .
This had frightened Gall and noon, and built their picnic supper
Phil. They had not mentioned It to fire on the sunshiny shingle. Phil
the others, least of all, Ariel. They sat silent, utterly content, watching
had no money for boarding school, a fish line, his handsome, thick
even supposing that Ariel would go. Lawrence brows drawn together as
But very probably Ariel would he pondered something that was
rebel. She seemed qlder, harder, far away from fishing. Ariel and
colder, in these few days. The Van Murchison were on the shin
events of the past week had seemed gle.
Sam not being at home when the
to embitter her, to accentuate her
familiar Impatience with Cllppers picnic expedition had started, a note
had been left for him, pinned to the
vllle and life In it.
Poor little butterfly, caught In the kitchen door. Van, arriving before
trap of poverty, pettiness, shabbi Sam, had calmly read the note, and
ness, and genera) small town ugli had sat down on the Lawrences’
ness 1 Arial was only one of a thou doorstep to await Sam’s return. Aft-
sand, a million, girls, all over the ter which they had followed the
country who were dreaming of Hol others in Van’s car, a circumstance
lywood, contracts, admiration, ex that added the last touch of felicity
to the occasion for Gall. She re
citement
“She'd not mind marrying a man membered her old efforts to attract
like Van,” Gall thought "She’d Van. a few months ago, the sallies
know how to manage him. She of wit, the constant attempt to
wouldn't want more than he could amuse him.
Ariel made no such efforts—not
give! . . . We seem to be grow
ing up pretty fast all of a sudden.” she! She simply was, and Van
She had grown up anyway. She trailed her helplessly, irresistibly.
was a woman now, because she When Ariel went down to walk
loved a man. It made her feel sol across the old boards of the dam.
The Lucky Lawrences
. . . By Kathleen Norris « » *
Oopxrtxht by Kathleen Norrie
CHAPTER VII—Continued
—12—
And so downstairs to the dear
familiar plates and lights, the peach
tapioca and the blackberry punch,
the eager conversation that was
punctuated with laughter and sup
plemented by the books they always
dragged In somehow, for reference
or support
"Wonderful to have It cold again!”
Edith said.
"Wonderful!” Gall echoed. But It
was not the autumn coolness that
made her heart sing and float like a
skylark.
The secret was always
with her. and when she forgot Dick
for a second, it was delicious sud
denly to remember him again. Gall
had never had any feeling like this
In her life before; she had never
known that there was such a feel
ing.
"Dick,”
she thought
“Dick.
Dick. Dick. Dick.”
And at the realization that he
might quite naturally come Into
the dining room, and sit here vis
ibly under the rasping gaslight, she
felt actually faint with ecstasy.
"You don’t like Van as well as
you did.” Edith guessed shrewdly
in the days that followed.
“No—but still I like him,” Gall
answered defensively.
«••*•••
They were In Ariel’s room, and
Ariel lying on her bed reading old
magazines, on the Sunday after
noon following the accident Out
wardly, everything was as usual,
but Gail was conscious of changes
In the air. She had been asked by
Van to dinner up at the Chlpps’
the night before, and had declined.
The thrilling prospect of shabby,
quiet Dick Stebbins’ company at
the Lawrence house had made any
thing the Murclilsons did or did not
do unimportant.
Gall, in a cautious undertone as
they washed the breakfast dishes,
bad reported to Edith that Ariel
bad called Van Murchison on the
telephone at about ten.
"I think from what she said at
the telephone—she talked very
low,” she bad resumed, “I think
that be wanted her to go off some
where to lunch with him.”
“The Chlpps’?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Gall, if 1 thought you didn’t
care. I’d pray about It I” Edith had
said passionately. “Wouldn’t It be
wonderful 1”
“1 got a little fun out of it,” Gall
had analyzed the situation musing
ly. “1 mean, I loved the excite
ment and knowing persons like the
Chlpps. But I never got—anything,
really, out of Van.”
"Abigail Lawrence, he adored
you 1”
"No, no—he liked me. I amused
him.
We were like two boys.
Really we were,” Gall had persist
ed as Edith began a significant
smile. “He never put his finger tip
on me—he doesn’t make love I Or
at least he didn't to me,” she had
finished, thinking aloud, feeling for
words.
Upstairs in Ariel's room, they re
verted to the subject
“1 like Van.” Gail said. "But I
think he’s terribly giddy.”
"What would you want him to be,
a priest?” Ariel demanded unsym
pathetically.
“Don't you have the feeling he’s
always laughing at
everything,
Ariel V
“No,” Ariel answered stubbornly,
vcowllngly, "1 don’t.”
"Oh, I do,” Gal) said patiently.
"1 want to go away, Edith and
Gall,” Ariel presently said quietly.
“Phil can make a fuss if he wants
to. Or be can help me. 1 don't
much care.
But I'm going away
from Cllppersvllle.”
They looked at her sorrowfully.
She bad said this many times be
fore; she bad been saying It In
THE STORY FROM THE BEGINNING
The luck that brought the Boaton Lawrences to California just at the
beginning of the gold rush seems to have deserted the present generation.
From a 4,000-acre ranch, their holdings have shrunk to a small farm and
the old family home in Cllppersvllle. Phil, twenty-five, is In the Iron works.
Sam and seventeen-year-old Ariel are In school, Gall In the public library
and Edith In the book department of a store. Young Van Murchison, scion
of a wealthy family, returns from Yale. Dick Stebbins, Phil's best friend,
has the run of the Lawrence house. Ariel is sneaking out of the house at
night for joy rides. Gall, who would marry Van, feels she is making no
progress In his affections. Phil suggests Inviting Lily Cass, his sweetheart,
to supper though Gall and Edith feel she Is not “respectable.” Gall goes
with Van to a house party at Los Gatos with the Chlpps, his uncle and
aunt. She is received coldly. At a roadhouse Gall sees a drunken man with
Ariel. Next day Ariel admits she was there, and displays no remorse. Jail
is gloomy as she considers the family's outlook. Ariel and the driver of
another ct. - are booked for manslaughter, as the result of an accident In
which a child Is killed. Dick Stebbins, who has been admitted to the bar,
defends Ariel, and has the case against her dismissed. Gall suddenly real
izes that she loves Dick and not Van.
emn, consecrated. It was quite un
like any feeling she had ever known
before. Deeply, eternally, she was
Dick's—for sorrow or Joy, their
two lives were Indissolubly united.
She could even feel a little heart
ache for the girlhood she must
leave behind her. Love, marriage,
wifehood—thesewere solemn things.
Gall experienced a premonitory
pang. It was not all fun, saying
good-by to being giddy, free Gall
Lawrence. It was not all fun, this
strangely thrilling happiness, fear,
and pain that inundated her heart.
They were still gossiping and Idl
ing comfortably in Arlel’B room, and
the old clock In the hall had struck
three, in Sunday stillness, when a
door slammed downstairs, and Gall,
flushed and tumbled, descended to
find Dick himself In the kitchen.
Going downstairs, her heart rose
on wings, and she felt suffocated,
but when she saw him her mood
experienced a sudden chill. Dick
had on the old tweeds he had
bought at a sale two years ago;
his pockets were full of packages.
Suddenly, seeing him so, com
monplace and unexciting, in the
darkened kitchen, Gall found him
entirely uninteresting; her dreams
melted Into every day air, and she
felt ashamed and confused. Dick
Stebbins In one's dreams Indeed;
It was a desecration of their filmy
fabric even to think of him in such
a connection.
He waa unloading various cans
and packages from his pockets—
deviled bam, cream, rolls, butter.
Gall felt as remote from him as
If she had never seen him in her
Ufe before. He was nothing, no
Van followed. Ariel, Gall noted, did
not speak much; she never did. Van
did all the chattering.
The little fire burned hotly In the
windless air; long shafts of sunset
were striking level upon the water
now; the dam was a sheet of blue
satin, twinkling In the light and slip
ping Into exquisite Jade and ultra
marine shadows against the over
hanging banks.
“Oh, we do have fun 1” Edith
commented luxuriously, lying on the
flat hot stones as the meal finished.
There was silence in the group
that was resting on the shingle In
the dusk. A great owl floated low
over the dam, and was gone; the
creek rippled, rippled In the pause.
Clearing away all signs of the
picnic In the fast-gathering dusk.
Gall tried an experiment Upon
Dick's carrying off the coffee pot
to throw the grounds away behind
the trees, she rewarded him with a
casual “Thank you, dear!" said In
just the tone she used to Sam and
PhIL Later she said again, “Take
that will you, dear?"
She couldn't remember whether
she had ever called Dick "dear” be
fore. If she had. It had not meant
anything. Probably she bad, for It
seemed to make not the slightest
Impression on him tonight If be
bad looked surprised she had
planned to laugh quite naturally
and say, “I thought I was talking
to Sam!"
But there was no necessity for
this explanation. Dick paid no at
tention to the affectionate mono
syllable.
Oblivious old Dick, she
thought, who never dreamed that
close beside him was a woman who
was thrilling with love and happi
ness and the need for him In this
wonderful hour of autumn warmth
and moonshine 1
They walked, singing, down the
steep, rutty half mile to the cars;
Gall needed a hand now; the hand
that gripped her was Dick's. She
marveled that he could not feel the
electric current that ran through
the tips of the square, firm lingers.
Afterward she always remembered
the night they went up to the dam.
A hot night of moonshine and laugh
ter and talk on the shingle above
the dam.
Soon the weather changed and
autumn came in, with October, in
earnest. The leaves began to fall
now, and the winds to blow. To
Gai) It was a thrilling time, this
autumn tilled with hints of change,
of endings and beginnings. She was
In love, and It was entirely different
from what she had expected It to
be. Far from giggles, rapture and
excitement, It was a serious busi
ness ; It made her fee) grown up and
responsible.
She could never love anyone else
but Dick; It was all settled. Every
thing she thought now had to have
him in It; the future bad narrowed
Itself down to just Dick.
He had no money, he was coun
try-bred, he was only the son of the
people who rented the old Lawrence
place over in Stanislaus—it did not
matter. Gail, who had always felt
that Cllppersvllle limited and bound
her, knew herself quite willing—
ah ! breathlessly willing I—to live
contentedly In Cllppersvllle forever,
or out on the Stanislaus ranch for
ever; If Dick so decreed. What Ariel
or Edith would think oj this sud
den altering of all her dreams was
nothing; there was nothing any
where, except Dick I
And meanwhile Van had estab
lished a more comfortable footing
in the old . nwrence bouse than ever
before, and while he and Ariel did
not seem to be exactly flirting—ex
actly having an affair—there was a
far more substantial base to their
relationship than his friendship with
Gall had ever known. Very quietly,
in an almost bored tone, Ariel told
her sisters In early November that
Van was going east to get to work.
"No more college?"
“No, he wants to get Into busi
ness. His father says he’ll start
him in the New Jersey plant"
"Then he won’t come back to
Cllppersvllle?”
“Yes. He’s going to be back for
a week In January. That’s—that's
month after next!”
“He’s coming back after her!"
Edith said, when she and Gall were
alone.
"Oh, Ede. It does look like it!”
Gall's imagination was off at full
speed: Ariel married at eighteen to
young Van Murchison; Edith and
Phil and Sam living on here at the
old house; herself and Dick . . .
But this last snatched at her
breath. Herself and Dick. People
In the library would glance at her:
“She's engaged; she's going to mar
ry that young lawyer, Richard Steb
bins.”
Dick would have cases, and she
would study every detail of every
case and keep up with him. And
she would have babies—babies tum
bling about among the flowers.
It began to seem as If things
were happening In Cllppersvllle,
after all. The sluggish current of
Gall's life was stirred In many
ways. It was not only that Phil got
a raise, and that Van Murchison
might marry Ariel. Sam was work-
Ing for a scholarship, and might ac
tually win a year at Columbia I Co
lumbia university In New York.
Gail was assistant librarian now,
with the name "Abigail Lawrence”
printed In gold on the library win
dows and a salary of fifty-five dol
lars a month.
And then Christmas was coming.
Always exciting, It seemed doubly
so this year. Dick was boarding
with them now, for his mother had
gone to Oregon to stay with a
daughter newly widowed.
There was one cloud in the sky,
to be sure. Gall and Edith acknowl
edged Its existence bravely one De
cember evening when they asked
Dick If he thorght Phil really cared
for Lily Cass.
“That's a hard question to an
swer,” Dick said, with a faint frown
and a sigh.
“Do you like her, Dick?"
“Well—she's not my type. But
she's an awfully sweet little thing,
really.”
“Is she divorced, Dick?”
“No. But there’s talk of It"
“If she were, do you believe Phil
really would marry her?”
A paug£ Then Dick asked slowly,
“Would you girls care?”
“You’ve answered!” Gall said,
with a brief, mirthless laugh.
“I suppose I have.” Dick sighed
again. “There—there never was
anything wrong with Lily,” he of
fered, doubtfully.
“No!” Gail agreed forcefully. “Ex
cept that 'ie was as common as
fruit flies, and ran with that terrible
box-factory gang, and chewed gum
in church, and talked way up in G
major.”
This rather finished Lily's case
for the moment. But a little later
Gall said apologetically, “I don’t
know why 1 got so wild about poor
Lily. She certainly is having a
rather tough time of IL”
“I’ll tell you I” Dick said eagerly.
"Phil's the quiet sort.
He loves
Cllppersvllle; he wouldn’t change
places with the President Phil
wants to stay here and develop the
place, and he loves Lily—or If he
loves her—” Dick floundered, turn
ing red.
“We know he loves her; you
needn't be so scrupulous 1” Gall said
with a dry little laugh. “I believe
you d stand up for Phil If he went
out some night and cut somebody's
throat!”
But she loved Dick for his loyal
ty none the less, and curried the
mutton stew with one Idea In her
mind, "They all eat It, and he loves
It curried I"
Gail, frantic to start tying bun
dles and mixing batters, had to
spend the wet Mondny in the li
brary. She walked up to Muller’s
at five o'clock, not only to wait for
Edith but to help her effectively
They Looked at
Her Sorrowfully,
while she was waiting. Edith was
In an exhausted whirl of last
Christmas sales; Ariel also was
there as one of her Christmas as
sistants, at two dollars a day.
Italn was twinkling and sparkling
In the black night as the 1-awrences
came wearily, excitedly out and
started for home. Ariel was very
silent.
But Gall and Edith were gay.
Christmas eve, at library and shop,
was over, and nothing but fun and
holiday ahead.
Edith thought of
the tissue paper and ribbons tn her
lower bureau drawer. She would
begin wrapping and marking pack
ages right sfter dinner; she had
completely ruined herself on pres
ents, ns usual, and she felt the
usual Joy In her plight
im
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