Evening Star Newspaper, April 14, 1929, Page 108

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, APRIL 14, 1929—PART T ILL and I had often congrat- | ulated ourselves on ractically free of the in- B law proposition. Of course, my family would never have been a problem, because mother is so sweet and father is awfully broad- minded, and everybody likes my sister Kathie. With Will's family, it is a little different. I don't want to pin any orchid on my own shoulder, but it's only fair to admit that there are girls who wouldn't have got along with Mother and Father Horton anything like the way I have. The whole secret of getting along with parents is never to let them guess how little they know. That's the way I have worked it. Mother Horton, for instance, thinks she Lnows all about bringing up children, just because Will turned out all right. The truth of it is, it’s & wonder that he even lived! It was the nearest combination of good luck and the fact that he had a strong constitution. But do I tell Mother Horton that? I do | ‘o8 not. Not even when she makes fun of my bringing up the twins according to modern methods. “My stars!” she'll say, “I expect to come here some day and find Dot boiling up the baby book and putting it ‘hrough the sieve, to feed it to the bables. That’s about the only thing she hasn't tried to do with it already.” And never once since we've been married have she and Father Horton come to our house for supper in the Winter that he hasn’t gone through the same performance: I'll have the living room lights fixed just to suit me, the bridge lamp on in the corner by the radio, one bulb in the table light Ioosened, to keep it from being glary, and_the piano lamp with the violet rhade on in the other corner. Those i1ree together give a lovely, soft, romantic effect. But not to Father Horton. Every ringle time, he’ll blink around and t3y: “What's the idea? Getting ready ‘or & seance? Let’s have a little light cn_the subject.” ‘Whereupon, he’ll switch on the glar- ing, three-bulb overhead light, which raakes any room look about as romantic -3 a dairy lunch. But do I tell him nat the trouble is that his artistic ste hasn’t been educated up to violet t? I do not. I just laugh, and act hough the only reason I hadn't put c2 the overhead, myself was because y ctidn't have brains enough to push the zatton. Most of the young married couples va know have some sort of in-law ifculties, on one side or the other. i cott simply can't stand Corinne’s 'ster’s husband, and Bob and Ruth “ave to support Bob's old uncle, who criticizes ‘everything Ruth does. In fact, as Will and I looked about -4 our friends, we thought we were vetty lucky. And I guess we have s2en, at that. Even in spite of Cousin Effie. Cousin Effie is Mother Horton's cou- +n, Will's second cousin. Mother Hor- -n_always looked out for her. She d to be at their home when Will was ~-owing up. She was an old maid and quarter invalid—not quite as much as -~ semi-invalid—and poor. She owned 12 cottage that she lived in on Oak reet and had a tiny little income be- des; but, above that, Father Horton -:pported_her. S When Father Horton began talking ~out going to Los Angeles, for Winters, - least, Mother Horton was worried. 1e said she didn’t see how she could vonchial coughs that just pull him ~>wn to nothing—and Will said that, * they wanted to try Los Angeles, not 7 be held back by Cousin Effie. We ~ould look out for Cousin Effie. I _said so, too, of course. After all, © Father Horton pulled out of the i 1siness, it would all be Will's, and it <'d seem as though, having all that rone for us, the least we could do ~ould be to take on Cousin Effie pecially as it wasn't such an awful >t that Father Horton paid her. AR o Y MUST give myself credit for one ~ thing—that when I undertake to o a thing I do my best to do it thor- rughly. I knew that Causin Effie used > be at the Hortons' quite often for rieals and the first first Sunday after “1ey'd gone I invited her for dinner. I figured out just as nice a dinner, t50, as though I were having regular ' ~>mpany. I put on my rose crepe ess, t00. And I followed out my gular rule for dealing with in-laws. “7hen she told Will to give her a very small plece of the chicken, because rhicken always give her dyspepsia, the ratural thing for me would have th say: “Oh, chicken can’t possibly hurt you, usin Effie. It's one of the easies cigested foods there is. I gave it to t1e bables when they weren't quite 2 ~ars old, and it’s the first meat they ;ive you in a hospital.” But I didn't say this. I didn’t even “-11 her that dyspepsia had gone out. It a bit disheartening, though, to see a ce dinner be a perfect flop. She ~ouldn’t touch the lemon pie, either. “I can’t eat anything acid,” she said. 7 break out.” Will usually dries the dishes for me ndays; but Cousin Effie offered to. -7ill strolled over next door to talk to . It was a lovely Fall day, d, after we got the dishes done. Cousin Effie and I sat out on the +arch. Before the afternoon was over, made up my mind that, while I was ~aly too glad to have Will give her a - 12ck every month, and while I would, - course, take care of her if she were :'ck, I really couldn’t have her for <'nner, once or twice a week, the way e Hortons had always done. I ~-ver knew such a tiresome, depressing ~uman being to talk to. All she could talk about was her poor *--alth and her troubles. For any one - ho was interested in sickness, it would “ave been a real opportunity to learn lot; but, while I'm very sympathetic “1en a person is sick, I can’t say I'm 1ch interested in hearing them talk t it when they’re not. es,” Cousin Effie said, “I'm really ling fine today, and that always jes me. I mnever feel as well as ~is, except just before an attack.” Then she told me all about the at- '~cks she had had during the past ~sar. ‘The children were playing out : at even I, who certainly have every ance to get tired of them, had to “-ugh to see them. But Cousin Effie <In't even see them. She was 100 5y talking about how nobody ever e to see her any more. S /hy nobody of told Will that evening, after she'd -ne home, “if she just talks to them all the time, the way ‘Why, I'm * having done my ~4 had even decided to 1 two or ‘weeks. ~ake it for supper ¥ afternoon next time, LEEEHE g ; g td - i i been | say how we'd the lawn, and they were so cute |I ; gagement for that night.” By Fannie Kilbourne Solution of Marriage Puzzle Is Surprise. :‘x;d he never came back till after Cou- Effie had gone. The main trouble that I have found with feeling virtuous is that, after a time, it wears thin. It holds you up fine for the first two or three times, and then it begins to sag under the weight. I don’t feel nearly as well supported this Sunday as I had the | week before. In fact, I'm not sure that | T didn't complain about it & little bit | to Will. He didn’t take it very serious- 1y, however. He had seen Cousin Effie around his own home all the years before he got married, and he'd got used to her, H * k k¥ FR‘DAY night, night, I had invited Roger and Dulcie to supper. Our houses are so close together that Dulcie can put little Dulcie to bed in their room and by leaving our living room window o] a little we can hear if she cries. lcie and I have a very pleasant even ther while the boys are gone, an if they get back early enough the four of us have a game of five hundred be- fore they go home. It is a lovely ar- rangement, and it was a terrible blow when about 5:30 o'clock I looked out into the gathering dusk and saw Cousin Effie. There was nothing to do, of course, but to ask her for supper. Well, it simply ruined the evening. Dulcie and I had to be polite, and we couldn't talk about anything that in- terested us. By 9:30 o'clock Dulcie was 50 bored that she went home. Cousin Effie stayed, and told me about the ;,‘ime she had appendicitis till Will got ome. “I don’t see how I'm going to stand it if she keeps dropping in like this all the time,” I said to Will that' night. But he, fresh from a pleasant eve- ning ‘at the lodge, seemed to. think I was making much of a trifle. It made me kind of provoked, and I made up my mind that tHe next time Cousin Effie dropped in like that I wouldn’t ask her to stay. But the next time, which was only next Wednesday, we were just sitting down to the table, and I couldn’t get out of it. Will said that he had to go back to the office for a little while that evening. And he never came back till 10 o'clock. By that time the feeling of being vir- tuous had died in me altogether. I was more than provoked—I was mad. I had listened to_ symptoms till I was nearly crazy. When Will came back from having walked home with her I told him that I simply couldn’t stand it. “Oh, she’s not as bad as all that,” ‘Will said mildly. At that I just flew off the handle. “You don’t know anything about how bad she is,” I said. “You never see her. You do just the same as you used to do at home before you got married— you go off somewhere. You don’t know anything about it.” 1 “Well,” said Will, “I don’t see what we can do about it. We told the folks we'd look out for her, and we can't be- grudge the poor old soul a meal once in 3 while.” “I wouldn't begrudge her three meals a day,” I declared. “It's sitting for hours- and listening to her troubles. She doesn’t talk about anything except 'getng sick and nobody coming to see er.” ‘Will yawned. “Well, if we don’t get to bed we'll be sick ourselves,” he said, “and nobody'll come to see us.” And with that he seemed to feel that the subject was closed. * ok ok ok 'ROM that time on Cousin Effie be- gan to be a perfect nightmare to me. We were never just settling down to a cozy supper and the prospects of @ nice evening together that I wouldn't hear her knock at the door. I got to know it and dread it. She'd give a faint, deprecating little tap and push the door open and call: “Anybody home?” ‘With two babies, you couldn't simply keep still and pretend not to be there. It was worst of all when we had com- pany. I tried every way I could to keep her from coming those times, but it practically never worked. I'd say just as cordially as I could: “Come again, Cousin Effie. Any time except Saturday evening—we've an en- Saturday about 5 o'clock I'd look out the window and see her turning in at the gate just as sure as shooting. “Oh, are you having company?” she'd say, as though surprised. “Well, I'll run along and come some other time.” ‘The only trouble with it was that she nefler dicd run gm;x.uu got me to feel edgy at Will. We'd never had anything come between us before that we hadn’t worked out together. But Will wasn’t with me on this, When I'd say anything he'd just promised the folks and | how it would kill his mother if we weren’t nice to Cousin Effie. And then one one flimsy excuse or another he'd slide out and leave me with all the “being nice” to do myself. Over and gx:rxl mig:_tw lx:nke ‘Will understand, co 3 was as though I were trying to talk to a foreigner who couldn’t understand my language. I don’t know how things would have worked out eventually if it hadn't been for Kathie’s coming. I was getting more and more upset and more and more aggrieved at Will. But one Sunday I was just detts the table when I heard tgm o little tap at the door, and a minute later Cousin Effie’s “Anybody home?” “Oh, hello, Cousin Effie,” said Will cordially, “Come in. MnI:e fortdlnmr!‘ went on making the , in a kind of dull hopelessness. m{w that Will would be as cordial as could be all through dinner, but immediately fterward make an excuss to go some- Dear “another attesnoen itk _Goumin E%fiit’m?mh I knew that ll’ldtd‘x:" to. as_we were g down to the table, the telephone rang. It was_mother. % who's here!” she sald. the babies and come ty - of -dinner for E being Will's lodge | ¢ familiar | | We | cities, serving 12.000,000 people, passing y're a;:t- transcontin § g SE" 2 5B £i HEE B i B 2 g 5§ Y & g8 I don't know whether father noticed anything queer about Will or not, but I certainly did. He looked positively groggy, like a prizefighter, I imagine, ‘who has been practically knocked out, but has been just able to struggle to his feet. He carried the bables upstairs to their cribs, and came back, looking like a man slowly staggering out of a trance. “Dot,” he said, “that woman has been here this entire day.” “Cousin_Effle, you mean?” I asked, puzzled. His tone of voice would sug- gest that he was speaking of some slmmngn he had just met for the first e. “Cousin Effle,” he said. “I thought you'd never get back. I've been nearly crazy.” ? “What did she do?” I asked, won- dering what on earth she could have done that was new and surprising enough to shock him so. “Do?” he repeated. “Do? She’s done nothing for nine solid hours but talk about every sickness she's had since croup. I wish she’d died of one of them. She's told me 9,000 times that nobody comes to see her. Good heav- ens! I shouldn’t think anybody ‘would.” I waited for him to go on, and, when he dido’t, I sald, “Well, what else?” There was nothing new in all this. Will looked at me as though I'd in- “Isn’t that quite eno = “But protested. “Oh, no, not like 'this” said Will. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t talk nng;‘ mghlnc‘ etm' And sh; 8 Ing—just goes on an onQnd on. And about nothing on BY PAUL V. COLLINS, HERE are “footprints on the sands of Time,” but future geol- | ogists may wonder what they| record. e march of the “Ma- | donna of the Trails” is not| marked in sand; it is told in imperish-, able granite, reproducing the character | and soul of her who braved hardships | and dangers, turning her back courage- ously upon the comforts of civilization, that, mother of the Nation's generations | to come, she might nourish her young| amid the unmeasured and undeveloped | wealth of a continent’s great future. Since .a “nation without vision shall perish,” to what glories shall that yet unborn nation come whose birth is enshrouded in such a vision! Twelve replicas of Leilbach's granite reproduction of “The Madonna of the Trails” will mark for many generations the high spots of the historic routes followed by the forerunners of America's greatness. That path began at the mouth of Rock Creek as the stream flows into the Potomac River in Wash- ington City; it wound across the conti- nent until it reached its terminus in California. Already 11 replicas of the molded granite, more durahle than carved stone, have been uncovered in the States through which the historic “trails” crossed the continent. The twelfth will be unveiled in Bethesda, Md. (suburb of the Nation’s Capital), at 4 o'clock next Priday, April 19, the anniversary of the battle of Lexington, which marked the birth of the Nation. It is confidently expected that there will be an attendance exceeding 5,000, for all the 3,000 delegates and their alternates to the annual congress of the Daughters of the American Revolution will attend, in addition to the general public. The | event will be a feature of the program of that organization. * x kX IT is fitting that the honor of estab- lishing the Old Trails with the 12 heroic statues of this noble mother should largely fall to the Daughters of the American Revolution, for theirs is the responsibility, so readily assumed, of not only keeping patriotic ancestry alive in the minds of Americans but especially of so honoring pioneer wom- anhood. & circular forecasting this nization shows its Oidm'.lzrsl{:‘ xosdp:;-ns MRS. JOHN ' TRIGG MOSS, NA- TIONAL CHAIRMAN OF THE OLD TRAIL ROADS COMMIT- TEE, D. A. R. 3,000 miles, from Washington to Los Angeles, touching 400 large and small over the Rockies at an elevation of ? i § ugh' she's done that right along,” I | Effle. earth but her sickness and nobody com- ing to see her. You can't get her off the subject. Why, it isn’t healthy to be around with any one like that. You don’t understand.” I just stood there and stared at Will. ' And I understood better than I ever have in my life before why |, women _feel superior to men. re stood Will, telling me exactly what I'd been- telling him for months. Telling it to me as though it were something that he had just discovered! And, as a last straw, telling me that I didn't understand I never wanted to laugh so much 1 in my life, but, fortunately, I didn’t. He would have taken it as a sign of a callous nature that wasn't able even to comprehend his sufferings. Instead, I just stood still. And, in the silence, something came to me. They tall about the voice of inspiration, and now 1 believe it. Something certainly guidea me. I heard my own voice talking, as tthough it came from somebody else and I had no control over it. “It's too bad you feel that way about it,” my volce said, sympathetically, “be- cause Kathie's going to be at mother's for two or three weeks, on her way back from Elmer's, and I'll want to be over there all I possibly can. I don't like leaving you here with Cousin Effie, but if she drops in—" “Something,” said Will, “has got to be done to stop this dropping in.” “But we promised the folks we'd look out for her,” I heard the sympathetic voice going on. “It would kill your mother if we weren't nice to Cousin “We'll look out for her, and we'll be nice to her,” said Will; “but some- thing's go to be done to stop this drop- ping in. And then he said, as one voic! absglutely new idea for the first time: i | guess w] “She must be trying for you, at times.” Now I ask y:u!* S WENT to bed that night happler than I'd been since Mother and Father Horton had been away. Sudden- , Cousin Effie had become just a prob- lem for Will and me to solve. No longer something that, in a queer sort of way, came between us, that made me hurt and angry at him. Of course, it was really funny, the way it had happened; but, as every married woman knows, you don’t mind a husband being ‘They all are, in one way or another. It's queer how just knowing that I was free to do anything that seemed best about Cousin Effie kept her from seeming such a nightmare to me. I hat had made it seem so fright- fully important had been the feeling that Will didn’t understand. When- ever I'd think of it now I'd think of Will standing there and telling me that I didn’t understand, and, instead of feeling hurt and mad, I'd nearly double up with laughing. Why, days went on, gnd I never worried a minute. Of course I did hope that she wouldn't appear on Friday noon, bui, as I hadn't mentioned that I was going to have company, there was a sporting chance that she wouldn't. I was having a very fancy lunch on Friday. Some of the Harvester bunch. Betty Bartell and Mrs. Prentice, and Mrs. Jackson and her sister, and Mrs. Curtis, whose husband is the president of the J. C. Harvesier. They are the really swanky crowd of Montrose. Of course our own crowd is the good old families, and there’s nothing slow about us, but the Harvester crowd keeps maids and all that. There’s always a certain n | amount of mixing of crowds in Mont- rose, of course, and I'd been invited REPLICA OF THE LEILBACH “MADONNA OF THE TRAILS” IN MOLDED GRANITE, TO BE UNVEILED IN BETHESDA, MD., NEXT FRIDAY. march an army against the French in- vading Pennsylvania and Ohio. * kKK 'HE French at that time were not only coming down from Canada, but also from Louisiana and settling around forts which they were building in the wilderness to make a line of de- fense from north to south and hemming in the Engiish colonies east of the mountains. Gov. Dinwiddie of Virginia, hearing of the French invasion, sent a scout to ascertain the facts and report; this en- voy stopped 150 miles from any French settlement, frightened by the reports of massacres of Indians by the French. Gov. Dinwiddie then sought a more in- trepid investigator and sent a young man of 21 years of age, accompanied by one companion and some servants— o mldvlevn.mmt. young man was eorge 'as] n. with a few Indian scouls, but, when they met French settlers, the French plied the Indians with liquor and won them away from the young Virginian. The traitorous Indians even sought murder Washington and his party. Soon after his return from this scout ing expedition, Washington was made lieutenant colonel of a regiment, of which he became commander at the death of Col. Fry. He surprised and defeated a French force, but later he, with his “regiment” of 150 men, was at- tacked by 1,000 French and Indians, and forced to surrender Fort Necessity, “with full military honors.” Upon his return to Virginia, he re- ported to Gov. Dinwiddie the serious conditions he had encountered, and a council of governors of all the colonies was called to meet in Alexandria. Five of the governors so met and formulated a report to the King, no him o the ch n Valuable, rank of ot i 3 | £ i o He made friends | W: Washington protested to Gen. Braddock against the marching forward in closed rank, as if on parade; he urged that the men be- scattered out in skirmish order and hidden against surprise, but Braddock angrily rebuked his subor- dinate, and was taken by surprise when suddenly attacked by unseen enemies firing in ambush. Gen. Braddock was amongst the first .to fall, mortally wounded, and Washington, su 4 to the command, rallied the army and made a successful retreat. That defeat of Braddock gave a great blow to Eng- lish prestige on the frontier and added to_that of the wiser Virginian. In a book by Archer Butler Hulbert. entitled “Braddock’s Road” (volume 4 of “Historic Highways of America”) is found this interesting bit of history: ‘Where Gen. Braddock was buried under the -direct supervision of Col. Washington. has never been identified; ashington himself tried to find it in 1784 in the roadway where he had in- terred it after the battle, but not until years later when some workmen were repal the road was a body of a to | British officer discovered, identified as that of Braddock and reinterred beside the highway. * Kok ok Hulbert bok says: “Mr. King, editor of the Pitts- burgh Commercial-Gazette. in 1872 took an interest in Braddock’s grave, planted pines over it and inclosed them. A slip from a willow tree that grew beside Napoleon’s grave at St. Helena was planted here but did not grow. * * * The remains were reinterred on _the high ground beside the Cumberland road, on the opposite bank of Brad- dock’s Run. As you look westward along the roadway toward the grave the ¢ | significant gorge to the right will attract your attention. It is the old pathway of Braddock’s road, the only monument or ficant token in the world of the man from whom it was named. Buried once in it—near the clsuter of gnarled apple beyond he is now buried, and. A no doubt, beside it. But its hundreds of great gorges and vacant swampy isles in the forests will last long after any monument that can be raised to his road broke the Braddock road did not follow the dings of the Potomac ‘River, blocked by Great Falls form being use- ful for transportation above Town. It ran in a more direct way northward to Frederick and Fort Cum- berland. There was also a road running from Frederick to Baltimore and on into New Jersey, over which supblies and men fi"é"m“&' mmwum‘nzwn surrend e to save ’s of Fort Necessity. 3 failed to arrive | W COUSIN EFFIE STAYED, AND TOLD ME ABOUT THE TIME SHE HAD APPENDICITIS. enough, with the Harvester bunch, so that it was up to me to entertain t] hem. ‘Will would not come home for dinner | raising his cane pointed out a certain pass, with the exclamation: “There’s | the only feasible route.” | Gen. Washington resented this in- | trusion of a stranger, and lifting his spectacles from his eyes, stared re- | bukingly at his critic, without saying a |word, The critic was Albert Gallatin, and he, feeling his rebuke, quickly left the room. Washington recalled him upon discovering his identity, and said: | _“Sir, you were right; that is the only place for a road,” and he offered to ,make him manager of his estate. The “Old Trails” continued west- ward from Fort Ducuesne, through what are now Columbus and Dayton, Ohio, thence through Indianapolis to | St. Louis, i * %ok % {"THE continuation of the Old Trails beyond St. Louis has to do wholly with the eighteenth century. Trade with Mexico (now New Mex- ico, U. 8. A) had developed by 1824 Government decided to open a regular road from Kansas City, on the Missouri River, to the boundary line of Mexico, on the Arkansas River; and thence, with sanction of the Mexican govern- ment, to Santa Fe, over Mexican ter- ritory—for that was before our Mexi- can War of 1845. The Mexican (i e., the New Spain) border was along the New Sabine River. In 1825 large caravans were as the Mexican border, and by Mexi- can troops the rest of the way to Santa Fe, for all of this Old Trail was in- fested by savages and bandits. ‘Wagons were introduced in 1828 along this route which were nicknamed “prairie schooners.” They were made in Pittsburgh at cost of $150, and were readily sold at the termination of the trail for $750 provided they got past the Indians and the white robbers. * ok ok K THE section of the Old Trail between Santa Fe and the Pacific Coast is known as the Kearny Route because it ;u nnt’ mt;;‘:md by GfllL Dennis earny in beginning of our war with Mexico in 1845. Gen. Kearny was then stationed at Fort Leavenworth, Kans, in command of the 1st Regiment of Dragoons. The administration at Washington, even before declaration of war, ordered Gen. Kearny to make an expedition for the | 1 | | 1 ! | | | MRS. ENOCH G. JOHNSON, NA- TIONAL VICE CHAIRMAN AND STATE CHAIRMAN OF THE NA- TIONAL OLD TRAIL COMMIT- TEE, D. A. R. capture of both New Mexico and Cali- fornia. The war opened while he was on his way with his dragoons. He did not follow the route now designated on the maps as the “Old Trail,” whieh is more direct, hence better suited to mod- ern purposes of the automobile tourists, but the K route ran hundreds of miles south of that line and reached the southern boundary of California at Yuma; its' terminus was at San Diego, not Los Angeles, as the moderr route indicates. There may have been Indian trails along what is now included as one part of the Old Trails, between Santa Fe and Los Angeles, but certainly that was not the or! route. There were Ty Trail routes which from Colo., and also westward from the same poin on the main Old Trail, reaching Pike’s Peak and Denver and what is now the National Park with its Mesa Verde. ‘These connect with the main transco! | tinental Old ‘Trail, but are not on main route from coast to coast. tal of the main Old h&%mm | of nearly 9,000 feet at La Junta, ‘The imptovement of the National Old Trails road in recent years has been inder the and cost of the Fed operation. The famfous Zero Stone, planted in back of the White House, 13 t for al statue of so extensively that the United States escorted by United States troops as far | w that day; Rosle was going to take the babies for me, and I was going to pull a really good party. I had white roses for the table in my black glass bowl and white candles in my black glass candlesticks, and had planned a mar- velous menu, if I do say it, myself. Hominy, baked crusty, with Parmesan cheese (which I don't believe anybody in Montrose had ever served, instead of potatoes), and ripe olives stuffed wm:i almonds, which are about the last word. 1 was so excited with my plans that I didn't even think about Cousin Effie. And then, jusi as I was slicing the veal loaf and putting bits of parsely around the platter, I glanced out the kitchen window. There, coming down the street, was.Cousin Effie. Some way, it didn't bother me at all. I figured that I could, if necessary, tell Cousin Effie that I'd just have to ask her to run along today and come some other time. This would be a good lesson to her, and might even stop her from dropping in another time. And Will wouldn’t mind my having done it. It's a great comfort to realize that your husband will really under- stand. I listened for that deprecating little tap at the door with perfect calm. In| a minute or two, of course, I heard it. and then Cousin Effie's plaintive little “Anybody home?” I came in from the kitchen, my big | rubber apron on over my new black chiffon-velvet afternoon dress. perfectly poised and calm, feeling able to deal | wich the situation. I said, “Hello, there,” in a brisk friendly voice. Then I met Cousin Effle’s eyes. Every bit of poise and calm and| briskness drained right out of me.| There was no mistaking the expression in Cousin Effi’'e eyes. Sbe knew I didn't want her. Queer I had never understood that look before, that slow gray, quiet way she always came along the street; that soft, deprecating tap at the door, the vay she always came sliding into the | house. She had always known I didn't want her. 1 simply can’t explain what recogniz- ing that look did to me. All the hours that Cousin Effie had spent talking to me about her sickness and her troubles, I had pretended to be sympathetic, while I had just been bored. This was | different. It was as though I was suddenly standing alone in the world, driven by the terrible emptiness and loneliness of my own life into going to see even some one who didn't care for me, tapping softly, apologetically, because I knew I wasn’t wanted. Maybe it was Cousin Effie’s own fault that she wasn't wanted anywhere. May- be most all of our troubles are our own fault, if we only had sense enough to see But suddendly that didn’t make any difference. I was sorry for her. For the first time I saw.that she was just a poor, old, lonely woma Honestly, I get disgusted with my- self—I'm so weak. There I had had cverything decided. I had made up my mind with perfect calm and poise just what I ought to do. And I couldn't do it. For several minutes I struggled with myself. I tried to hang on to my brisk, sensible suggestion. But it was hopeless. It was like trying to keep your balance when a rug is being pulled out from under you. Why, I couldn't even make that important luncheon seem important. And then Cousin Effie cinched it. She held out a pasteboard box to me. “I baked some rolls this morning,” | da: she said, They're wrapped they'll stay hot for dinner.” * % k X DO admire people with strong char- acters, but there's just no use pre- tending I've got one. I haven't. my wise, sensible decision went down with a crash. I was perfectly disgusted with myself, and I couldn't do a thing about it. My voice began to talk as though I had no control over it. I told Cousin Effie I was so glad she'd come; that it was the sweetest thing in the world for her to have brought those rolls; that I was having company for lunch, and didn't have a thing but bread. Those rolls would just make the luncheon, and that she was too dear for anything to have brought them. Desperately, unreasoningly, I heard my- self trying to make it up to her for the rotten deal she'd had in life, going on like a weak fool: “You're just in time, too, Cousin Effie. Nonsense! Of you'll stay and have lunch with us. Mercy, one more won't mdke any difference! I don’t care if I haven't a seventh goblet; I can use one of the ordinary gl nobody’ll notice the difference. No, it , | quite some time later that she one who was willing she couldn't learn to make anything fit to eat. I just gave up the ghost after that. My, these are like the rolls my mother used to make. She took her fourth. “Only better,” she added honestly. ‘“Mother never used cinnamon.” I don’t believe Cousin Effie had had a compliment in years. She got all red and pleased, like a girl that's just had a boy friend bring her her first box of candy. “My stars!” she said, actually flus- tered, “I can't see why any girl would mind baking a few rolls. Why, bread is ;he easiest thing in the world to make.” “That's just what mother always used to say,” said Mrs. Curtis. I got into a conversation then with Mrs. Jackson and her sister, and I didn't hear all that was going on be- tween Mrs. Curtis and Cousin Effie, but in the scraps I did hear—incredible as it_may seem—Cousin Effie was still talking about baking. I didn't hear so much as a preliminary symptom men- tioned! * kK % THAT night Will was pessimistic when I told him what I'd done. “But it really turned out all right,” I assured him. “Maybe it did this time” said Will. “But what about next time? And next? How'll you like it if she puts in an appearance next Thi y, or when- ever it is we're going to have the Kir- 5““7 and play off the five hundred score?” It actually $hocked me to hear Will talking so callously. I didn’t remember at the time that that was pretty much the way I had talked up to today. I tried to explain to him what had hap- pened that had made me feel different, but the trouble was that really n had happened. “Of course, I'm sorry. for_hes, too.” he said, “and we want fo do tie right thing by her. But that doesn’t mean that we want her dropping in on us all the time. It was very queer. Any one hearing us would have thought Cousin Effle was my relative. I didn’t blame Will, but I couldn't get away from the feeling that he didn't really understand. However, we dropped the subject, and to my re- lief Cousin Effie didn't appear the night we had the Kirsteds. She didn’t come the next Sunday, either. In fact, it was nearly two weeks before I saw Cousin Effie again. Then I ran into her in the bakery. ‘To my amazement she was ordering & hundred-pound sack of flour. “Merciful powers!” I exclaimed. “Whep do you ever expect to use h\i;n’dred pounds of flour all by your- Cousin Effie beamed. “I'm baking rolls to sell” she said. “Isn’'t that funny? ~You know, the day after your party I baked up a couple of dozen as a little surprise present for Mrs. Curtis. She was so pleased! And after a while she hemmed and hawed around, and finally asked me if I'd be insulted if she asked me to bake her some every week and let her pay me for them. Insulted! There's nothing in- sulting about honest work. I said I would. And then Mrs. Jackson said she would like to get some regularly, too, and Mrs. Jackson’s sister.” The funny thing, though, was the way that those few rolls grew. ‘Why, inside of six weeks Cousin Effie had so many regular customers that she had to hire two girls to help her Satur- VS, It suddenly dawned on me one day hadn't dropped in on us for such a long time that I felt conscience-smitten. I called up and invited her to come over to sup- per that very night. She seemed very pleased, and said she’d have been glad 1(to come, but that she’d had a special order for a luncheon the next day ana she'd got to say home and set her dough that night. Her voice sounded awfully apologetic, too. “I don't want you and Will to think I'm neglecting you, Dottie,” she “but I've been so busy. If I've said to myself once I've said a hundred times, ‘I must drop in on those children.’ But I'm never just ready to start that somgbody doesn't call up or drop in to order some rolls.” “How are you feeling?” I asked anx- fously. “You mustn't overdo and get sick, you know.” “Oh, I'm feeling fine,” she answered absently, as though she hadn’t time to be bothered by a little thing like dys- pepsia. _ “I'm branching out in dough- nuts. I want to talk to Will—he has such good business judgment—and see what he thinks about my taking in Mattie Whittaker to help me. I had a won't hurt the looks of the table one bit. And what do we care, anyway? They’re just some of the Harvester crowd.” ‘There I was, rushing around, upset- ting the table arrangement, completely ruining the effect, taking off Cousin % t and hat by main force. I of it was that those Effie’s did make th'; The ( They yesterday from_the Verblan Country Club to ask if I could make them six deep-dish apple pies for a special party they're having next week.” “Well, wouldn't that knock you for a goal!” Will exclaimed when I told him about it that night. “And she said,” I went on excitedly, “that she hopes not to have you send She went a few days later to see Will about ordering some tin boxes to send things out in. And when I saw her in at Nat'’s the end of the next week I ly didn’t know her at first. H sF FiH N