Norwich Bulletin Newspaper, May 29, 1922, Page 10

Now that she was a young woman of gloomy disposition or pessimistic reflections, but her present difficulties were of a peculiar quality. She was alone, among d strangers, and almost penniless. distant relative had died and left her @ tiny house in the remote village of Mansfield, and she had come to take - possession of it, full of hope and cour; - age. It was now late in September, and from her window Bertha could see the trees already tinted with the shades that presaged decdy. She thought with a shudder of the bleak season to come. .- B “What shall I do? I must have some - oceupation, make some money. I don't ~know a soul and the worst of it is no- body seems to want to know me*Well, 11 hold out for & year, and if I can't succeed here, I'll go back to the city. Meanwhile—" She paced across the long, narrow room. It was furnished arith quaint, old- fashioned = furniture b and brightened with pictures and draperies which Bertha had brought “with her. At one end hung an old faded map with a stanch oak desk “ beneath. The new occupant of the cot- “ tage stood before these ancient belong- ings with a wistful smile on her lips. “I wonder it I could?” she asked “ herself. “I know I can teach—just the younger children. Of course it would Y [BERTHA BOYD was in despalr. \ " A, be easy to get a small ‘class together. There’s not a prlvale sckool in Mans- fleld.” Spurred by her new interest, Bertha procured some neat cards, announcing the “opening of Miss Boyd's Private School. in Mansfield. A black and white sign was placed on the front door of the cottage; and an attractive advertisement appeared in the weekly paper. September merged into October and the'school season was in full swing; but no applicants had-appeared at the Boyd Private School. Behind her buff net curtains, Bertha sat, gloomily watching the daily procession of chil- dren, none of whom turned his steps toward her door. - “I may as well take down my siga,’¥ sighed the would-be-teacher. “Mang- field folks will have none of me.” | As she so decided, a smart motorfcar stopped befors her gate. A mafure woman swept authoritatively intoj her neat rehabilitated sitting-room. “I am Mrs. Parsons, housekeepgr for Brentwoods,” she announced “Mr. ‘Brent wished me tovicall and - ‘mak Tangements: for you to téach his two children while heffs abroad. He went away suddenly. “Mr. Brenf!”) 1y impressed A mention ‘of the great- est person ansfield; and one who had alreadyfwon her unqualified ugi_- miration. ¢ “Yes, Tf. Eyre recommended you to ‘him, Mirg Boyd, I am to:pay you for a term ingadvance. And the children will ere Monday.” %, Misé Boyd's Private School opencd forrgally on the- bllovmg Monday mrknlns At the end of the first week, tiere were stiil but two pupils in at- #ndance and Bertha began to have se- frious misgivings. “If Mr. Brent knew the truth of af- fairs, he would remove his children at once,” she told herself one day. “But he is in England and I have accepted his money. I can only do my best un- til he returns.” Two weeks yolled by. ‘Bertha had grown very fond of her little scholars, who ~seemed to return her affection. - discussion had ended in the I usual way. Tommy had gone f out supremely angry, leaving the jar of a slammed door behind him and the echoes of his young voice brit- 2 { 3 - tle with passionate protest. Mrs, Colegrove sank into a corner of the davenport and covered her face . Wwithher hand. She felt spent, worst- ed, yet resolute as ever. She would not give up the fight until she had broken every weapon in her armory. . Mingled with the bitterness of this precipitate defeat’ was the realization that she had never really known her 5 own son before. It seemed incredible, » X when he had lain on her lap in long dresses and knelt at her side to say his first prayer, and when with her own . hands, she had cut off the long curls - and trinsformed him into a real boy. : ‘Widowed as she was, he had meant all + the world to her, and she thought she had looked into every crevice of his - ‘brain and soul until now. No, rot just now. It had, in fact, been going on for some time, ever since that unfortunate - visit to the Hubbards, when he had met the girl. - He had been confidential at first, had talked about her, and frankly showed 5 her picture. At the sight of the pic- ture Mrs. Colegrove had felt her heart sink, “Oh, my dear boy, you want noth- ing to do with this girl. your line entirely.” “What's the matter with her?” Tom- my had demanded, bristling. “She’s—she’s fancy and vulgar. I don't like. her looks at all.” “I like them,” said Tommy, “and$I like her.” After that confidence flagged. But Mrs, Colegrove knew that he kept on writing to her. She became much alarmed. When Tommy asserted that he wad going.to see the girl his mother nearly perished with anxiety. And so She's out off Oh, ,bhad come about the last and greatest discussion of all. She had fought a good fight and failed. As she sat there upon the davenport she thought desperately, futilely of many things. If Tommy ever went to see Evadne Farrar he would come back engaged,and after that it would be,too late. Evadne Farrar! She hated the name. It sounded cheap, spectacular, stagy. The girl, as she’had imagined from her picture and things Tomy had sald, fitted the name. She wn a cheap ‘actress who’could never be anything more She was looking for a husband with money and Tommy-would consti- tute a great capture for hér. “But she has reckoned without me.” Mrs. Cole- grove said. “Oh, what shall I do?” She got up and paced the room. She could not Jet Tommy go to the girl But he was deterinined to see her. She could not keep him at home unless— she brought the girl hither. Why, that was it! She had heard that propin- quity was often a sure cure for love. She would invite the girl to visit her. Before Tommy’s eyes she would place her in this exquisite setting of luxury and taste and she would reveal herself to him and disgust him. Tommy was no fool. Hastily she sat down at her desk and drew paper toward her. “My dear Miss Farrar,” she beglf to write. An answer came immediately. Mrs. Colegrove’s hand trembled as she tore open the coarse emvelope. The girl had accepted. Thank ~ God!” -she breathed. BIEN e 2 ARLY Saturday evening Dor- g - 2 othy Carlyle fairly danced up gled Dorothy. “Aw, you know I was jest foolin’,” parleyed the distressed James, " “Ob, I see; well, please help your- selt, but maybe yow'd better take only four pleces now, before supper,” hint- ed Dorothy. %' “Ooco, Dawwafy, I'se so glad you * come home,” lisped three-year-old Betty as she ran to greet her biggest sister. In a joyous mood the trio entered the house. A wan little woman was sit- ting by a window, waiting for them. She sighed contentedly and smiled lov- _ ingly up in her eldest daughter’s face as she bent to kiss her. “How is my motherkins this even- ing?” Dorothy asked cherrily, % _° “I'm feeling fine,” she answered; but a worrledNook crept into hersgentle face; “I'm afraid Anna is kind of done s z the little gravel path to her s ‘Yome. 3 g 3 = “'Lo, sis, what's up? Tryin’ to imi- - T4 tate onme of them movie queens?” PO ) 7. v » laughed a freckle-faced urchin reck- w; > .~ lessly riding the rail on the frons .- , porch. “. >e " “So Jimmy doesn't like candy,” giz- been dead mearly three years. Their memories of her were indistinct; but Bertha had heard of the handsome élped Bertha, proper- “mistress of Brentwoods, who had given more time to social affairs than to her home and family. And she realized that these little ones, with all the splendor that surrounded them, had lacked the tender carewf a true moth- er. One morning in December the gray car from Brentwoods halted at Miss Boyd’s house for the second time that day. It had come from the railroad station, and as the man who alighted opened the schoolroom door a most unusual pleture greeted-his sight. An animated young woman was seated on a rug before the cheerful fire. Little Parry Brent was stretched beside her and Miss Marjorie hung over her shoulder. The children were listening delightedly to a story. “And sly Mister Fox was never in- vited to a party in Chickenville again!” declared the story-teller dramatically. Then Miss Boyd, teacher, sprang to She told Tommy ‘when he came home to dinner. He looked surprised, them jpyous. “She's coming, is she? Glad to hear it.” ‘Mother, dear, before Vaddy's been in this house two days you're going to change your opinion of her. She's a ‘wonder. When you consider that she's never had any chance at all, that her parents were actors and that she was carried on the stage as a baby and that she’s kept at it because she had'to do something and knew nothing else—I say, when you consider all this she’s to be admired for what she is. In spite of all she’s been rough, she's the cleanest, whitest uled girl I ever knew. And she wouldn't tell a lie to save her life.” “Oh, Tommy,"” said his mother wear- ily, “won’t you let me judge for my- self? If you are really defermined to have her I should like to form my own opinion of my future daughter-in-law.” Secretly she promised herself, “I'll show him. I trust to being able to.” Evadne came. Tommy went to’ the \They talked of their mother, who had her feet in overwbelming confusion. “The children will come as um;l to- “Mr. Brent!” Morgan Bremtfturned his stern gaze on Miss Bowd's crimsoning face. “T fancied I had,mvadg a mistake,” he sai with an airsof dignified bewilderment. “I stopped on my way home from tae station because I was anxious to see the children. Where are the other scholars, Miss Boyd ” - Poor Bertha faced him bravely, but her limbs were trembling. Her voice was not quite steady as she answered him. “Mr. Brent, I expected to be able to establish 2 school in Mansfield; but you h&ve been my only patron. If you had not gone so-far away—at least I bave taught your children and—and cared for them. Doctor Eyre will tell S “Doctor Eyne sang your praises long ago. The speaker’s glance dwelt earn- estly on the girl's sweet, fine features. “I have no fault to find, Miss Boyd.” The tones were kindly and rippled with something like laughter; but Morgan Bren! appeared quite’ serious. morrow.” “Ne. I have no school. We can not comtinue.” Bertha spoke desperately. “I bave made up my mind to ln’e Mansfleld. T was only waiting for you to return.” Bertha watched the departure of the Brent motor car; then she went out- side ‘and t6ok down her black and ‘white sign. “That’s the end of Miss JBoyd’s Private School!” she declared. JBut the dark, virile face of Morgan Brent floated before her in tantalizing vision. What bad been behind that slow, friendly smile? Bertha recalled the lingering gaze of her departing vis- itor; the way he had beamed on her as she returned the children’s - caresses; the warmth of his handclasp at the door. Then she flung aside her dream- ing mood. “Nonsense! I am going -_away.” Again the gray car from Brentwoods and a servant at Miss Boyd's door with a letter. Master Parry and Miss Mar- jorie had refused to give up their be- loved teacher, their father wrote. From faded map stretched before her, Miss Boyd, teachef, wrote to the master of Brentwoods, agreeing- to recelve Master Parry and Miss Marjorie for another term. Then, with a gay song on her lips and her heart beating hap- pliy, she went outside and tacked tbe sign upon her front door again. R W A Des Moines professor # philosephy has it doped out that in future genera~ tions human beings will have hoofs in stead of feet. Experience leads us to believe that many in the present gen- eration are so equipped—with the cloven variety. el “She is great on the subject of “germs, and sterilizes or filters everys thing in the house.” “How does she get along with her family?” “I don't know, but even her relations are strained.” station to meet her, driving the himself. He broiight her into the room where his mother was waiting. Mrs. Colegrove, beautiful, white crowned. imperial in her black had a curious feeling of disappointment in what she had planned as she looked into Evadne Farrar’s face. It was on a level with her own, and lovely as the picture had not shown it to be, for it was all color —violet eyes, bloomy cheeks, fresh lips and brown hair that glistened with gold. The plain black suit and hat projected all this colorful beauty upon one’s consciousngss. Mrs. Colegrove was astonished. B “Not a trace of make-up,” she ad- mitted to herself when Evadne had been taken to her room. “Just pure health. Not actressy at all. I won- der why she gave Tommy that absurd photograph.” Evadne came down to dinner in a black gown, new and simple. She was quiet and shy. Mrs. Colegrove could not draw her out in the least. “She's resolved to say nothing,” she thought, By Elsi 'Endicotf ar That night she lay long awake think- ing. When finally she went to sleep she had a feeling that so far she had found nothing wrong with the girk 1t was midway of the next afternoon that Mrs. Colegrove, coming down- stairs too quickly, turned an ankle and fell headlong. Evadne was wajting in the hall for her. Tommy was already in the car, for they were apout to start on a ride. So it was Evadne who reached her first. Before Mrs. Cole- grove fainted she had a sight of the girl's face, and she felt somehow that Evadne would prove herself equal to the occasion. The fall proved less serious than the turned ankle. Mrs, Colegrove was put to bed and the doctor came. — “You're going to need a few days’ nursing, dear lady,” he said. “Shall I not send for Miss McCann?” “Oh, please!” Evadne’s voice was softly eager. “I'd love to take care ot her myself. I know how, really.” She paused, flushing. “Just try me a day, and if I don't suit you can then send for the regular nurse,” But Evadne did suit. "The fourth day Mrs. Colegrove said to her: “Where did you ever learn to be what you are, child?” Evadne smiled. “Why, I've had lots of experience. And then— You know, almost anything attracted me mo than acting. I never liked acting. Rut one must live. And after mother died I had nobody except Mrs. Hubbard. She’s been very kind to me. And she's taught me a lot. I can cook a littie and sew and nurse. - I liké to do such things. e i s A conscientious objector who had been & w. o. L. from Leavenworth pen- itentlary for about 4 year objected to being taken back when rearrested in Chicago recently on the ground that a. c. 0. hasn't a chance in the world in Leavenworth; “he gets beat up for every move he makes.” No one doubts the absolute conscientiousness of this latest objection. Dauber—While on my holidays ia France I witnessed a duel. Biffin—+Anyone hurt? Dauber—Yes; one of the principals spralned his wrist embracing the other bt s after the combat was over. The Wonderful Times By Parke_ Whitney out. Perhaps you had better—.” Dor- othy was already on the way to her next oldest sister. She found her sitting discansolate in the kitchen chair beside the table. An- na was weakly wiping a very moist pair of eyes which persisted in gazing sorrowfully on a very burnt cake. Dor- othy twined a loving arm lbou( the shaking shoulders. “I know just how it was” she soothed. “You thought you would would make something extra nice for me. Then just the minute it ought to have been taken out of the oven Jim- my cut himself or Betty fell down- stairs or mamma had a cuughmg spell,” “I'm going to scrape the cake and dish up supper. And, Anna, I've got something great to tell you tonight,” and with a sisterly hug Dorothy sent her upstairs to bathe her face and to put on a cool dress. Then enveloped in a spacious apron she made the burnt cake fly so that soon there appeared beneath the sooty coat of black & tempting expanse of-brown, gingerbread. After supper the dishes were waghed and Betty was put to bed. Then it was that Dorothy and “Anna went for a walk. As soon as they were out of hearing from the house Dorothy began to talk. “Mr. flark told me. tonight that a week from Monday I could have a whole week for a vacation.” “Dorothy, is it true, really?” éjacu- lated Anna. - “Um-mbm; but this s what I'm go- ing to do,” continuéd Dorothy. “You know mother ought'to go to & higher altitude, the doctor-said so, and her cousin lives up in Vermont. She Wrote a long while ago that she would like mamma to come and visit her, but of course, mamma couldn’t afford it.” “I'had it all thought out long ago, 50 Spongy I wrote and told cousin Matilda that, maybe, mamma would be able to go this Summer. I got a letter from her, and she said she would be glad to see her, it was 50 lonesome up there. Well, I've saved up enough money for mamMa’s fare there and back, and a ‘little extra so she can go there when I have my vacation.” “But,"What are you going to do?” broke in Anna. “I'm going to have the time of my life staying home picnicking with you and Betty and Jim, and you're not go- ing to do one bit of werk.” “Don’t you think I won’t have fun,” she continued as Anna was about to interrupt again. “I've got it all planned and it’s going to’ be one grand vacation.” She little dreamed how grand. > So it was that mother was sent to cousin Matilda’. She had feebly re- monstrated &t first, but whe n she learned that grandma Taylor was com- ing to stay while she was gonershe gave up to a feeling of great expecta- tion for her trip. The first two days of Dorothy’s va- cation passed like lightning, for all of them were having one continuous frol- ic. They were having all their meals of food that didn't have to be cooked out of doors. They were now having supper, and were talking gayly about the next day’s trip, when grandma Tay- lor looked up with a question. “I know a young man who is here visiting his sister, and he is having a ‘wretched time with all her fashion- able notions. Would you mind if he came, to0? Dorothy! had missgivings as to the restraint that might be felt, but as ‘grandma Taylor wished it, she gladly consented to help anybody have a good times The next day they were all ready to § Barbara inserted the key in the lock, her heart sank with A the assurance of what await- ed her.' All the way up the three _ flights o stairs to her room her spirits - tell lower and lower, until they finally “ reached the zero point, and when she 4 she could not enter. Her fears were realized. The room was cold for the sixth time that week. She'lighted the gas and then went over to the ther- mometer, which hung on the wall by the window. It registered exactly 48 : degrees. This was too much for Bar- - bara, and she dropped into a chair, on . the verge of tears. . “I'm so discouraged,” € “for every night when I come home it's ¥ < cold enough to freezo anyonme. Mrs. ~ of a furnace, anyway.” Suddenly she ~ gtarted up. “I'm going to tell her just what I think of it,” she told herself . indignantly, and she ran down the . Stairs and knocked on the sitting room 4 door. It was opened by a young man, E who Barbara decided must be Mrs. " ‘Wilson's son. She had expected to see . the landlady, and she was somewhat . disconcerted. Somehéw she did not sshe moaned,* claimed. opened the door it seemed as though know how to frame a complaint to this to think of him,” she told herself. “sie young man. . “I—I came d-down,” she faltered, “to " see if-“1 haye any mail.” The young man crossed to the opposite side of the room and began looking over some let- ters on a stand. Barbara was quite sure che detected a glint of amusement in his eyes. “What name?” he asked. “Oh, how stupid of me she ex- “Barbara Littlefield.” “No, there are no letters for you,” he said at last. e 4 « Wilson doesn't know how to take care' “Thank you for looking,” she said as shé'turned to go upstairs, Although Barbara's room was cold- er than it had been before that Win- ter, she did not mind it so much ag usual, for. her thoughts were else- where, She picked up a book and tried to concentrate her mind upon it, but ‘n spite of herself a boyish face with ;wrry blue eves would come between her and the pages. “How foolish T dm _can’t be very nice, for if he were he ‘would be looking after the furnace, and we wouldn't be freezing niogt of the time.” E In the days that followed several things occurred ‘which puzzled Bar- bara not a little. Her first. surprize had come in the morning after she had met the young man.: She always had her breakfast in a little café on the corner, and this particular:-morning after she had given her order, she chanced to look up from her paper and saw-him gazing at her intently from the opposite side of the table. With a blush she returned = his cheery. good morning, and then resumed her read- ing. “Why didn’t he get his brllkll!! at home?” she asked herself. needn’t think she would' notice him for there had been mno introduction, and lhpn—why didn’t he tfig.wc of !.he turnu:e i.nlg.d inbtfiufll noul' mother do it? But when he began to talk to her in a pleasing voice she found- herself questions. That evening as Barbara came fnto the hall the young man was just going out, and she heard him address the landlady as “Mrs. Wilson.” Then was Barbara puzzled again. At last she came to the conclusion in her own room that Mrs. Wilson must be his stepmother. “And that's why he never looks out for the furnace,” he thought, “because she isn’t his own mother. He isn’t a bit nice.” » The next night it was bitter cold and Barbara found that the thermometer had dropped to 46 degrees. With war shyly answering his He-Taging in her heart she descended at once into the sitting room. Mrs. Wil- son was not there, but the young man was siiting by the open fire reading. start when the young man came in # roaring, big touring car. As soon as Dorothy was introduced to him she knew he was the nicest man she had ever seen. She continued to think so when he had them all jump in his auto and whirled them away off through the country to the shore of a beautiful lake, where they had lunch. Here grandma Taylor smoothed out the awkwardness of new acqualntance- ship until Dorothy and the nicest man she had ever seen were too deeply in- terested in each-other’s conversation to hardly care to interrupt it by ths cruel necessity of eating. There was another long ride home, and another ride the next day and the next day. Every day Dorothy thought he was nicer than before. Well, T suppose you've guessed it by this time, but T 'will just have to say that now there is a wonderful bunga- low farmhouse, with wonderful 7 grounds around it, that Dorothy s the wonderful wife of the wonderful man who owns it, and always there is a welcome there for a lady called grande ma Taylor. A little further down the road, in another wonderful cottage, mother and Anna and Betty and Jim are still having a wonderful time. 2 e b Fit for Job. “Women should be given a chance of filling the high appointments,” nrgued cne. “'Twouldn’t do!”" sald a youthful and newly married firebrand. “Just think of a woman as a Secretary of the Treasury. What do they kmow abou’ finance, anyway?" His effective pause was spoiled by an older man, who said, solemnl “You just go home to the missus next Friday night $5 short in your pass and you'll soon find out” Ty The Snort Column. wants to know what has become of the old fashioned love potion. A number that were used as such were abolished by the Eigh.h\ {‘ eenth Amendment. > B Gas Coming Down—Headline, Pressure or price? By Phil Moore manded, irritated by the sight of his apparent comfort. “My w-what?’ he stammered, very much surprised. “Your mother—Mrs. returned. The young man burst out laughing. “But Mrs. Wilson isn't my mother. What made yow think she was?” It was Barbara's turn to be discon- certed. “I'm sure I don’t know,” she confessed. “I thought ‘you = were her son the first time I saw you, and I've thought so ever since, Mrs. Wilson has a son, for she told me so,” she added, with a laugh. * “Certainly she has & son,” he re- turned, “but he’s never around here evenings. I believe he's a night h{m in some cigar factory down- ‘town‘ There was still & puzzled look in her brown eyes which were raised to his; ‘Wilson,” she "Wh-n is your mother?” ;Iu de- but he seemed to :nm-pm the lmk. coming up fim uu register,” she for he said: “You're wondering if I'm not her son why I am taking so much comfort while the rest of the lodgers are freezing. Well, I'll tell you, I came down here tonight and the even- ing you first saw me for the same pur- pose you did, to find fault about ths cold, and as Mrs. Wilson was obliged to go out each time she left me in charge. Sit up by-the fire and enjoy it with me. “But I don't know your name,” she protested, “I've always called you Mrs. ‘Wilson’s son in my mind, but as you're not, I don't know as I ought—" “Ot course_ you ought to sit here and enjoy the fire,” he interposed. “I'll introduce myself. My name is Richard Adams. Now, won't you stay a little ‘while?” he pleaded. “Just think how _much better an open fire is than a “register.” “Especially 'when there’s mothing laughed, as shé accepted the chair he drew up for her. ‘When Winter came ’again Barbara had a home of her own; and then Mr, f Adams proved that he could take care’ ‘- of a furnace fire after all. A7 AL TR | Squaring Himself, The constable of a little country vile lage was a man of exceeding good ture. One day, however, hedound it necessary to lock up three tramps whe had strayed into his jurisdiction. Shortly after the arrest he was mef by the Mayor of the village, who,_ob- ‘serving the constable hurrying dows the main street, asked: . “Where are you going, constable?” “Oh,” explained P. C, 49, “the three ' tramps I've just locked up ‘want te play a game of whist, and I'm out hunts ing for a fourth.” e ey “Yes,” sald the prince who Cinderella, “my wife has the -flh‘ foot in the kingdom.”