The evening world. Newspaper, September 16, 1922, Page 14

4 oe w po ors os , . \ ‘ AX noes } 4 Sail Lea tr tae nn a 2 . WHO’S WHO IN THE STORY. “OLD DAVY” BREWSTER of extreme piety and fixed standards, with little consideration for those who differ from him. CAP'N BILL HOWLAND, less observant of strict rules but full of charity and forgiveness. ~ AUNT SARAH, who presides over the Brewster household as “Old Davy” decrees. TED BREWSTER, the young son of “Old Davy,” inclined to liber- ality and very fond of ANN HOWLAND, pretty college-bred daughter of ‘Cap'n Bill/ Who isn’t content to leave things as they are. JOSIAH DRAKE, who figures unconsciously but importantly in the working out of the plot. UNT SARAH set the platter of fin- nan haddie before Old Davy Brew- ster’s place, went into the hall and called: ready, She was ons of those women whom even the most casual ac- quaintances like to call “Aunt.” But no one ever thought of calling her brother David “Uncle Dave,."" They called him “Old Davy" instead; and that is not the same thing at all. He was, when Aunt Sarah summoned him, in the sitting room; and he went to the window and rapped upon the pane to attract the eye of Ted Brewster, who ‘was leaning across the fence talking to pretty Ann Howland in the gar- den next door. Ted came into the house. They sat down at the table, with its smoothly darned covering hiding the mahogany, and Aunt Sarah bowed a humble head apd Ted dipped his eyes to the plate while Old Davy said grace before meat. That is to way, grace before finnan hhddle. Old Davy took a solid pleasure in prayer. He went to his knees bestdo his bed when he arose; when he had come downstairs he and Ted and Aunt Sarah gathered for family devotions in the sitting room; he pronounced a lengthy blessing upon each meal; ho conducted family prayers again in the evening; and he dropped to his bony knees before getting into bed at night. ed ceremony never lost its zest for m, 4 ,,,Old Davy lifted his head, tucked his napkin under ‘his chin and looked toward his sister. “You ‘will have a little finnan haddie, Sarah?’ he “No, thank you, David, Just a potato fof me. Tea asked cheerfully: “Why don't you have fresh fish more, Aunt Old Davy looked at his son severely; and Aunt Sarah came as near re- buking him as was possible to her, “Your father prefers smoked fish, Ted,"’ she replied. If Ted had any impulse to say more than he had said he stifled It. The dining room was in the rear of the it old house. The house in turn was one of a dozen or so which ined the deeply shaded street. Old Davy had been born in this house, and go had Sarah, and so had Ted. ‘Ted's grandfather, who had followed M eg sea, built it; but Ted's father had stayed ashore and prospered. His father, first pangs of hunger tisfied, eald to the young man: “You were talking again with Cap'n Mowland’s child.” His tone had accu- sation In it; bay Ted smiled pleas- y+ enough, es,” he assented, and added: "She's not such a child, either, father, She's twenty-two. Almost as old as I am. She says Josiah Drake is weak- er,” Ted went on, “Aye,” sald Old Davy. “And will be weaker still, The Lord's hand |s upon him for his in "n Howard also is a man lost in -his own sin.” + Ted laughed uncomfortably, “Well, you can't damn Ann for that,” he pro- tested. PS Old Davy's eyes flashed ire, “Mind your tongue, Theodore. It spoke an evil word.” The young man seemed puzzled, then, “Oh, ‘damn‘?"' he asked, and chuckled, “Yon ought to hear Cap'n Bill wnen he gets under way.” “Who touches pitch shall he de- filed,"” Cla Davy told him, “You have heen too much in the company of that guilty man.” “But he doesn't méan anything by 11," Ted insisted. ‘He's been @ skip- per 8o long, You've got to be able to scorch their hides, if you're going to handle sailors, father,"* “A profane and a dissolute man,” sai? Old Davy insistently. ‘And he will suffer for his sins.” “ptt he's not really profa: Ted urged. ‘That is, he uses strong languagé; but he doesn't actually swear—much!’ “You bear false witness, Theodore," Old Davy replied. ‘I, myself, have heard. f met the man upon the street this day. We had some small speech together, and his was thickly inter- larded with oaths. I reproached him; he madé a jest of it. And in the end I said to that man, in all charity: *You are in evil paths, Cap'n How- land. I shall pray for you.’ I repeat his very word, He replied to me: *Why, Davy, you can just pray and be damned! ‘Ted laughed before he could check s oa Dimself. Aunt Sarah looked at him, and then at his father, white with terror, But Old Davy only shook his head. ‘‘An ill moment for laughter, ‘Theodore,’’ he said. The young man still sought to make ‘a defense. ‘He's not. bad, really, though,”’ he told Old Davy. ‘‘He's got & good heart. I happen to know that he kept company with Josiah for an hour this afternoon, trying to cheer the ofd man, Cap'n Bill has as good ca to—hate Josiah as you have." “Josiah Drake is a man accursed, said his father sternly. ‘‘He betrayed his friends. He pilfered their savings. We trusted him, put our money into his traitorous enterprise and he stole It, guilefully keeping within the law. He bears the brand upon him forever- more." Aunt Sarah spoke, a faint warmth in her eyes that it was strange to seé hi sought all his life to she pleaded, ‘Oh, he has tried all these years to win his, honor back again.”” . . . He silenced her. “You had always a weakness for him, Sarah,’’ Tea spoke: ‘But Cap'n Bill lost his money too. I think it’s decent of the Captain to—try to do something for the old man. To forget his old grudge."" * His father eyed him shrewdly. "You have been blinded, my yon. Blinded by the bright eyes of nis child.” The young man flushed a little, stubbornly, “No, I haven't. Why, she talks to him like a Dutch uncle, father. About his swearing.” He chuckled at some memory, went on: “She's trying to cure hitn. Says he's got to forget the sea, remember he's ashore. She has a little coin vink, and every ‘time he swears she -nakes him put a dime into it for the mis-~ sions."" Ted was grinning. “It 1s a sin before God to make a Jest of holy things," said David Brew- ster, sternly. “It's not a jest. She—— Old Davy rose from the table, ‘I tell you, he {s a profane and a godless man," he cried. “And, mark you this, ‘Theodore, when you're tempte, to joy in the child's pretty face again—mark you this: ‘The way of the ungydly shall perish.’ That is God’s own Im- mutable law." Ted thrust back his words on his lips; but Aunt Sarah sald softly: “Ted! And his father was gone from the room. AP'N HOWLAND hi followed the sea for a good 'y years; he had his fill of it and it was @ matter of six months now since he had bought the house next door, and Seat for Ann, just out of college, to come and take care of him. She and Ted had played together ‘years ago; they picked up their old acquaintance where it had been dropped. They walked downtown together this eve- ning and went to the moving picture theatre, and had ice cream’afterward, and went homeward along the shad- owed street side by side. You know,” he explained gravely, “I was getting pretty tired of this little old town, a while ago, before you came back here to live. I thought J'd go to Boston und get a jobsbut I'm mighty glad I didn't now." She nodded, laughing at him, ‘1 know. You want me to ask why you'e glad, and then you'll say it’s because I'm here." chair, hot “But it is because you're hore, Ann," he interrupted, “It’s a dif- ferent place, somehow. Don't you feel that way at all?" He could see, even Ini the starlight, the quizzical light in her eyes, “You mean, don’t I think thé town's nice hecause I'm in it?” she asked. “Oh, you know what I meun,"” he told her, ‘I mean I like you, and what I asked Well! 3. 4 “You mean, do I like you, don't you?” “Yes."" “That's not such ask, Is it? “Well, I asked it, didn't 1?” She shook her head. ‘No. I asked you if you meant to ask it; and you said you did, but that's not asking it at all. “Oh’ He shook his head in miserable confusion. ‘There was a seat beside the lilac lump, and he sat down there and kicked with his heel upon the turf, She watched him for & moment, and then sat down beside him, He looked at her, a little su prised, ‘I thought you had to go in, he said. “I do, pretty soon." For awhile after that neither of them said anything at all. ‘Ted spoke at last, with an abrupt movement to- ward her. ‘I—think you're wonder- ful, Ann." Her head was bent a little now; he could not see her face till she turned toward him and laughed softly, and © hard question to E EVENIN By ae A Chronicle the path. hind; doors and she had lighted the lamp in the sitting room, she sald at once: “It's mighty warm, both some femonade.”* deal THE EVENING WORLD, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1922, A said; “I like you, too.'* “Do you’" he eried,' She nodded vigorously. He could think of nothing more to say. ,He put his arm across the bench behind her; and dropped it awkwardly about her shoulders. She looked at him then, and quickly looked away; and he leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. She said: “Oh!" He was frightened by what he had done. She was very still beside him, Sut after long while they heard the gate click and she whispered ‘Dad's coming.” The emergency made him bold, and he put his hand against her cheek and turned her face toward him and kissed her again, this time on the lps. She laughed in a throaty little way, and then they got to their feet as Cap'n Bill came up the walk. When he saw them standing to- gether he cried: “Why, what the hell’*—— Ann said sternly: ‘Dad! “You, Ann?” he asked. “I didn't know It was you. Who's that? Ted Brewster? Hello, Ted, you young swipe!" “Where have you been, dad?" Ann demanded. . He sald easily: “Sitting with Jo- siah, He's low tn his mind.” And added: “Coming in, Ted?! t Ted looked at Ann, then he squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Yes, sir, I'd like to. For a minute.” Ii my Ween in ui Her father nodded and swung up Ann and Ted came be- but when they were within I'll make, you Ted looked at Cap'n Howland, and that big man was seating himself in an easy chair and laboriously pulling off his shoes. suff, to beat blazes. tallow on ‘em, either.” second one aside and looked across at “Damned things too “They fub my heels Ann won't let me use He tossed tho he said. Ted. “Sit down," he invited. There was Mirth in his eyes. ‘You're quite a stranger. Ain't seen you since be- fore supper."’ Ted laughed and took courage. “Cap'n Bill,"" he said hurriedly,. “I guess you saw there was something, when you found us out there just now."* “Something?” Cap'n Bill glared, then chuckled, ‘Don't beat around the bush, you young whelp. A good of a something, I should say. Like’ Ann, don’t you?"’ “Yes, sir." She like you?" “Yes, sir.'? ~ “What does that damned dad of yours think about it?’ Cap'n Bill de- manded, “My father doesn’t know," Ted re- phed, ‘But he's not a damned dad,’* Cap'n Bill threw back his head and laughed aloud, ‘All right, young hop- o'-my-thumb, he's not, then,” he agreed, ‘But if you don't call him worse names than that, you're too good to be abroad, How about you? Think you're a pretty good sort, ,do you?” “Ann Hikes me,"’ said Ted. The old man banged his knee. “Good talk, by God!" he erled, “I'll back her pickings. But your old— that father of yours will have some- thing to say. Mind my word," NN. came back then with a yp pitcher and glass on a tray. When she would have poured a glass for him, he pulled her down upon his knee and jerked a thumb toward Ted. ‘Going to take French leave o' me, Ann?" he asked. She shook her head. “You like him, don't you? you do?” He says ee RLD’S rn Ame Illustrated By WB or “Yes, I do," she told him. His arm tightened around | moment. he cried, She reached toward the table, picked up a little fron coin bank which stood there. ‘And on® out by the Iilacs,’ she reminded him. “And I heard at least one- while I wae in the kitchem by t's three,” ‘Damn tt," he protested. “I'm tell- she cried inexorably. He growled; but he surrendered, pulled a dollar bill from his pocket and thrust it into her hand. ‘‘Now let me talk the way I want to for a min- ute. That'll pay the freight. I mean to say, I'll be damned if I want you to go kiting off and leave me alone, just when I've got time to enjoy rt. She kissed him swiftly on the cheek. “I'm not going to kite off,”” she assured him. ‘Ted wouldn't want me to," . Ann ‘began at that, quite inexpli- cably, to cry. She buried her face in his great shoulders; and her nmther blinked at Ted and waved a hand at him. Go on home, young fellow,” he commanded. “Ann and me have got things to talk about." Ted nodded, moving toward the door. “Good night!’ he sald. “And —you've been pretty decent, str. Cap'n Bill pushed Ann from him. DW | | 1a itl ae “Go out in the hall and tell him good night,’ he bade her, ‘Then come back here and sit on my knee," While she was gone, the /old man sagged in his chair, deep, lonely lines were graven on his face, and there were shadows of sorrow in his eyes. But when Ann came back to him, her eyes dancing, there was no grief in his countenance to disturb his little girl. | for a word with Ann, Old Davy never came home at noon; he took a bit of junch to the ED found time at noon next day office. But Ted came, and saw AnD in her garden, and went to speat ‘vith her. She perceived at once the trouble In his eyes, and waited for him to tell her about it; but when he did not, she asked at last: “What is it; Ted? What's gone wreagt"’ He hesitated. ‘It’s father, Ann.” “Your father “Yea.” “You mean you told him about— us?” “Yes, I told him this morning, On the way to the olfice, When we walked down together.’ She nodded, “And he was angry? What did he say?" Ted could not tell her, His recol- lection was confused and uncertain and vaguely terrifying, “I never saw him so stern,’ he said, Old Davy had been like one of the prophets of Israel in his denunciations, almost cxalted in his wrath, “I know he's wrong," he told Ann, “But I couldn't make him see it, Hi Al- ways #0 sure he's right about every- thing.) “Even the—ways of God,” Ann murmured softly, and Ted nodded. “And he thinks we are outs'de the pale?" “He didn't say anything against you. Hercouldn’t, I wouldn't have let him, anyway. But it's your father He can't see. He just thinks Cap'n Howland is a sinner be- cause he swears 0." ?. Ann shook her head, “It isn't swearing. It's just dad's way of talk- ing.” Ted threw out his hands hopeless- ly. “I know. I know. “I suppose I ought to—resent very, a —_ bitterly your father's assuming the right to—condemn mine. But I don't. Because I know he's wrong. Dad's nowhere near so bad as your father thinks he is, His bark {s ever so much worse than his bite,'* ‘Ted held her hand tightly, told her she was an angel; she laughed under her breath. . “Besides, your father's not #o per- fect himself,” she declared. ‘‘He's— uncharitable in lote of ways, and that's lots worse than swearing a lit- tle bit. He's—I think he's presumptuous telling God thinks, all the time."” ‘He'll see in time,” Ted told her, “He's bound to some day." She looked at him, mischief tn her eyes. “Of course, if you just want to sit around and waitY—— T argued with him, Ann," he as- sured her, ‘Everything I could think of." She shook her head positively, “ don't know how to argue,” she told . “They're too reasonable, Doesn't Aunt Sarah ever get after him?" “No. Sometimes I think she's go- ing to, and I egg her on; but she's so used to giving in to him, For so many years.” There was faint indignation In him. ‘Why, in some ways, she’s just a slave to him.” “That's all very well,” she replied. “But I'm sure Aunt Sarah sees through him. Any woman would. She cried: ‘Ted, I'm going to talk with Aunt Sarah. Find out some things. Ammunition. Doesn't he come home early in the afternoon “This time of year, yes,’ he told her. " ‘To work in his-garden. Why? What are you’’—— She laughed excitedly and pushed him toward the gate. ‘‘When he goes into his garden this afternoon,’’ she declared, ‘‘he'll find me hidden be- hind a beanstalk with a gun in each hand. Run along to the office, Ted." Dine BREWSTER came home about’ 3 o'clock that afternoon and went upstairs to his room to get ready for work in the g&rden. After a few minutes he called from the upper hall: “Sarah! Sarah, where are my gar- den clothes?" Sarah's voice did not answer; but a younger voice did. ‘She's gone out,"’ this voice called to him from the sit- ting room. ‘She said when you asked to tell you they were in the closet undet the stairs where they always are."" Old Davy was surprisea, Sarah had mot, for years, failed to be at home when he-returned, and to answer hin whenever he called and from what- ever part of the house. The incident shocked him; he sald aloud: “Eh? Who's that?’ “It’s Ann Howland," said the voice. Davy shrank back out of sight. After a moment he asked uncer- tainly: “Where'd you say Sarah was?’’ “Out,” Ann repeated. “But she told me your clothes were in the closet under the stairs.”* His life had been routine for so long that this surprising situation startled the old man. He had a beleagured feeling. This girl making herself at home down there. - He got into his gardening clothes more or less automatically; and he went cau- tlously down the stairs, not quite sure what he would find waiting for him there, When Ann heard his step she came out into the hall and he stopped stil, watching her, faintly shaken and uncertain. a ° She said quietly, smiling at him: “T wanted to talk to you, Mr. Brewster. Ve i curr. Jon Pret Profanity and Love! COMPLETE NOVELET nstone. Just a few minutes. Do you mind?” “I got to hoe my garden,"’ he’ told her, ‘I always hoe my garden in the afternoon.” He was looking around the hall, as though expecting to see some one else. , She laughed softly: “Oh, let your garden gro’ she urged, “Come in and sit dow He shook his head, trying to reas- sure himself by being very stern. ‘‘It is not possible, Miss Howland,” he told her, “My time is full. I require the exercise and the garden requires my hoeing.” F But when he would have passed she found himself turned aside; he was in the sitting room before quite realis- ing how it had happened. When he had swung back toward the déor, she shook her head, ‘Don't take yourself end your little affairs so ously, Mr. Brewster,"’ she urged. @ really something quite important to talk about with you.” i He asked, groping for solid, ground: “Where is Sarah?" . “Gone across the street with some junket for Josiah Drake,"’ she told him. “She's going to sit with him awhile. He's sick, you know.”" The old man's eyes clouded; his brows frowned, ‘Into the house of that man on whom God has laid his stern hand?" he demanded, “‘It ts impossible !"* =. —=—= Cee “PERHAPS GOD YOU DECIDING HIM.” DOESN'T THINGS LIKE FOR “Why, he's just a sick old man,” Ann reminded him, “I <ion’t see any- thing impossible In her wanting to cheer and comfort him.” “He 1s suffering for his sins. Would ehf intervene bétween him and God?” The girl said quietly: “Sit down, sir. You pay so much attention to God's commands that I cannot under- stand why you haye overlooked the one which says you shall love your neighbor as yourself. Aunt Saréh has not forgotten it, you see.” | was shaking; nevertheless the zest for controversy, awakoned in him by the girl's word, took hold upon lim, He did’sit down, but when he spoke it was to ask: “What do you want of me? She took a chair that faced his, leaned a little forward, resting her el- bows on. the arms. “This,” she said steadily, ‘Ted told you this morning that he and I care for each other, and you warned him to have nothing to do with me. Because of my father, You said that my father was profane and a godless man."" He lifted one hand in a gesture of protest. ‘Did you not?” she asked. He said slowl perhaps more. for your ears.”” That doesn’t matter," she replied, T seemed to Old Davy his world “Tl sald that, and But it was not meant ‘It came to my ears, you se You must have known it would." You challenged him, ‘Tell me. Why do you call my father an ungodly man?’’ He hesitated, I have no mind to— enter into any controversy with you, child,” pe sald mildly. Ann smiled a little. would not hurt me. mind, Tell me. Why?" The old man said heavily: ‘Hi taketh the name of the Lord in vain. “And for that you condemn him?" fe condemns himself.’* But you say he is « sinner?’ she cried; ang he nodded slowly. Yes," he said. She asked: ‘Did you ever read that it 1s better to judge not, so that you may not be judged?” His face twisted with faint mirth. “Something of that nature, perhaps. Your words are new to me." ‘Ann shook her head impatiently. “T'm not sure of the words,’ she cried, “I've never paid much atten- tion to the words in the Bible, Sore people think the words are important, “I know. You But—I don't bat I don’t. It's what they mean It's not the words; it’s the spirit, the meaning. Don't you think so?" “Oh, aye,” he sald tolerantly. doubt you're right in that,"’ “Did you ever, think that it is the same way with what you call pro- fanity?” she asked. ‘Did you ever think that swearing is not sv much what a person says as what a person means?” He answered steadily: “A man should mind his tongue, and command +it, and say no more than he means. The light use of God's holy name is sin.” She leaned back a Iittle in her chair, watching him. ‘The light use of God's name,” she repeated softly. “Mr. Brewster, you use His name a great deal. How can you always be sure you do not use It lightly; how can you always be so sure that you and He agree?” He said, not #rrogantly, but with a decent humility in his eyes: “I have lived a godly life; I believe that He. is with His children,”’ She moved one hand in a gesture of appeal. ‘Forgive me, but—was it not He who took your wife from you? Ted's mother!” He did not answer for a momen’ then said: ‘Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth."’ She caught at that. “But that isn’t at all the same thing as ‘Whom the Lord chasteneth, He loveth.’ Aren't you arguing backward, sir?’ He moved an Tmpatient hand. ‘You trifle,” He would have risen. ‘I’ve no time for trifling.’* Ann's eyes flamed. cried. ‘‘Anger is not an answer to me. Listen, You say my father is profane. Yet all your life you have prayed that God would punish Josiah Drake. You see in his illness now an answer to your prayer, You have asked God to curse him, and asked it in bitterness. ‘Oh, God, I beseech you, damn Josiah Drake," has been your prayer. Is that not worse than my father’s careless word, now and then?” His anger was quickening; he seemed to tower Above her. ‘/Child, you blaspheme,"’ he exclaimed. “What right have you to say so?" she challenged. “It is God's right to judge blasphemy? I tell you, His name {s too much in your mouth, Mr. Brewster. You do use it lightly. When you say ‘God bless you,’ it is as truly profane as any word my father says. To take His name in vain is to use it lightly, thoughtless- ly, meaninglessly; to use it as a mere manner of speech. And that ts what you do, Mr. Brewster.”” HH old man looked down at her aah for a moment,,and his eyes were -very hard and cold. After an instant he turned away, moved to- ward the door. And at first Ann's heart gave way; she thought that she had lost. Then something like fury seized her, swept her across the room. She blocked his way with outspread arms. “You shall listen!" she cried. He stared at her, and words came to her lips in a rushing flood, “You have no right to say my father Is a godless man," she told him hatly. “It is true that he is pyofane. When he ‘s astonished he does say: ‘What the hell?" And when he is surprised ne does say: ‘I'll be damned!’ Aud when he is provoked he does say: heli?’ And when he ts surprised he ed he does say, ‘Oh, hell!’ And when “No “Be still," she he is determined he does say: ‘By God!' I'm not defending him, He doesn’t need defending. His words are light, but inside he is clean, and gentle, and friendly, and he does not hate, and he ts kind. Why, he has gone to see old Josiah Drake every day for weeks, and cheered him and comforted him; and yet he had as much right to hate Josiah as you. You call him godless and you call yourself godly. Are you sure you're as godly as you think you are?"" He liftea his hand as though to break in upon her; but she would not be still. “You're terribly selfish,” she ac- cused, “You've made your sister a slave. She doesn't dare have fresh fish because you don't like it; rhe nas to cook your food in the particular Way you choose; she must sugar your coffee and your tea just so; she must yield to you in the smallest matters, tending you dike a child, giving vp her Ife and everything she wisuts to do, Is that a godly manner of life? “Fou hate Josiah Drake, You say God's hand ts upon him, You take a certain pleasure in that fact. Before he was taken sick you prayed that God would punish him because, long ago, he took a little money from you. You will not comfort him now, will not forgive him. Yet there is a com- mandment about loving our neighbors, and there ts another about forgiving our enemies, and there is another about turning the other cheek. Have you not forgotten them, Mr, Brew- ster? “You're a prayerful man!"' The words were rushing from her; and the ‘ old-man pad moved a little backward, and had‘sat down again in his stiff chair, and his eyes were lowered, “You pray five or six times a day. But your prayers are not good prayers. You pray for your own ma- terial good; you ask God to make your business succeed. You ask Him to punish your enemies; you give Hig a free hand to punish every pn else, but you beg Him not to let’suffering or unhappiness come upon you. Is TE You Are is the un That's what ts’in your mind. I you, Mr, Brewster, you'd be a.gi deal better playing erlbbage wil@g father than sitting here at home’ that a godly prayer? just and my father calling him a sinner. Suppose hi a sinner; shouldn't you labor him? Give him at least the of such an example of godliny you think youare.” . . . She was still for a moment. made no move to speak. Her had been scorching;* she said more gently: ‘I’m not—trying| condemk you, sir. I know you to do right. I know you D live as you should live. You're —Pharisee, not « hypocrite. You Neve you are right... . please see that you may be Perhaps God doesn’t like you ing things for Him. “You use His name so con You sometimes say ‘God bless when you simply mean ‘Good You say ‘Thank God for that’ you simply mean ‘I'm glad to it'? May it not be that God thi your using His name so is as p: as when my father pays: ‘By @ or ‘Oh, hell,’ or anything?” Silence again. Old Davy Brew sat very still, She laughed in a ple ing little fashion. ‘‘Isn’t it as wr in you to pray for the punishmen Josiah Drake as for my father w. his feet hurt to say ‘Oh, damn | shoe’ ?"" * He did not lift his eyes. “Pid think about it a little, Mr. Bi she begged. S But Old Davy seemed not to her at all; and Ann, her cour’ swiftly ebbing now, slipped qui away. Her eyes were wet, and she ~ trembling, and as she crossed ove? her own shome she whispered: “He didn't see. He's fust—ang couldn't make him see it at all,’ ED had gone to Ann after su: T In the evening; he saldg Old Davy had been very‘. at the table, speaking little; tl had retired afterward to hts room “Did he seem—angry?” Ann asl and Ted shook his head. 4 “No. No, he seemed—dazed. Soy how unsure of himself." ‘The be eyes clouded unhappily. ‘‘He's uall¥ so sure, It hurt me to see + that way.” She touched his hand. “I'm 20} Ted," she whispered. 1 They were in the sitting room; Cap'n Howland came in just from the side porch where he been smoking. Ted‘rose at his trance; Ann said: ‘‘Through v your pipe, dad?" He left the door open behind ms he crossed to the table. “Y: And he grinned affectionately 4 at her. “Now I suppose youl too busy entertaining this ‘ } swab to play cribbage with your dad, eh?” She shook her head, emiling soft eyes. ‘‘Never too busy. I'll the board. eee As sho laid it, with the cards, the table, Tef asked difiden “Can't we-—play a three- game?” Then they heard steps upon porch and a knock upon the sore and they saw Old Davy standin side in the lamplight that 1 through the ddor, Cap'n Hoyland cried out: ‘Why, Dave, old man! Come tm) set.’ And he crossed to throw \*- the screen. Mi Old Davy came in, faintly hur and uncertain, What he said * only: “Let's you and I play this gam oe cribbage, Cap’n Howland, And the children have their hour.** ED and Ann came back from bench by the Iilacs an } , later and found the two men finishing their third game, w), Cap'n Howland won triumphar “Three in a row, Daye,” he o ‘You've lost your cunning, man “I'll get it back again,” T. father promised; and they saw all was wll between him and q.: Bill, Ann's arm slid around father's neck, and Cap'n Bill re. up and caught her hand, “A da——' A fine thing, Dave see your boy and my girl takin ' each other. I'm mighty say.” David Brewster nodded sobe “T've called down God's bfessing theny both this night," he replied They were all very sober for a Ment; and then Ann laughed, gay little way, quickly fetche tron bank from* the mantel, stopped by Old Davy's chair. ‘ have a penalty in this house, she told him mischievously, taking that Name in vain. ¥} find it hard to break the hi though. I'll let you start by pa only a penny for each time," They thought he would rise stalk away, so black his eyes becs But his countenance softened, mustered something like a § fished a few coins from the po of his vest, chose a penny, dropped it in the slot. Ann abru hugged him, stooped to kiss the of his gray ‘head. And Old Da arm slid around her waist, . . Copyright. Printed by arrangement with Metrope rite Newspaper Service, New York. é af “ | All rights reserved. -