The free press. (Poplarville, Miss.) 1890-19??, 1894-06-21

y
quarreled? And she had sent him
back his ring with few bitter words
expressive of her satisfaction at hav-
ing discovered her mistake in time.
She had been wrong--all wrong.
She had had other suitors after that
to-be-sure, but she had found herself
comparing them to Marion Potter, in
variably to their detriment, and had
discouraged all such attentions.
And now that her mother was dead,
and the boys were gone and married
and she lived alone in the cozy little
homestead with only the orphan
nephew she was bringing up, she found
it lonely at times-very lonely.
She walked across the kitchen, and
regarded her reflection in the little
walnut bound mirror that hung near
the window.
The face that looked back at her
was fresh, unwrinkled and pink
checked, despite her thirty-six years.
Her simple, active, kindly life had
kept her youthful in mind and body.
But she sighed as she turned away.
And at that hour Marion Potter,
stalwart, brown-b bearded, gallant of
beating, was riding his huge black
horse slowly homeward through the
mellow sunset light.
Many maiden had sent him shy
glances of admiration: many who
would have been honored by his hon.
age, since those old days when he was
known as the lover of Mora Minton.
But he was not man to give his
heart twice nor to do woman the in
Juice of offering her mere affection.
So, surrounded by his books and
dogs, he lived out his own life at his
beautiful home on the hill.
"Hallo Look out % he cried, sud
denly refining up. "By George, but 1
nearly rode over you!"
The old woman coming toward him,
who had SO unexpectedly darted for
ward almost under his horses hoofs,
lifted complacent countenance,
framed in by an antiquated poke bon
net.
"Don't you want to hire my sister
James Eliza, Mr.. Potter?" she de-
manded.
"No!" roared Marion Potter, who
was aware that she was little deafer
than the proverbial post. "Why
should I? 1 have three servants
now."
Mrs. Barry comprehended, for she
went on, persistently:
"But James Eliza can cook, Mr..
Potter. An if you'd take her, you
wouldn't t have to be havin' your Chill
sauce made out by Mora Minturn.
Mr.. Potter gave start.
"Eh?" Steady, Satan! What war
you talking about, Mrs. Barry?"
Mrs. Barry did not hear him. She
mumbled on, however, and he lis
tened.
"Says 1 to her when l happened in
there just now: BE you goin' to eat
all that Chill sauce yourself this win
ter?' An she lowed that she was
maxim some of it for you. Now, II
your help amt able to do that much
'ithout your givin' it out, 1 jist think
it 'ud pay you to have James Eliza do
your cookin'."
Mr.. Potter nodded leniently. He
sweryed Satan to one side, smiled back
at Mrs. Barry and rode on. Mora
Minturn making his favorite beefsteak
accompaniment for him!
OF course there was mistake some-
where. But Chill sauce! ne couio
not remember when he had tasted 1t.
To be sure his housekeeper was not an
adept at preparing table delicacles.
Why he turned his horses head out
of the road leading to the Hall ana
road down that which led to the MIN
turn homestead, he could not nave
told to save his life.
Indeed, he was unaware that ne had
done SO until the tempting odor OF
sliced tomatoes assailed his nostrlls.
and at the same second he caught slght
of Miss Minturn in her garden snip
ping away at some belated blooms OF
marigold, phlox and honeysuckie.
So familiar the scene! So sweet and
peaceful the place! So suggestive Oh
home the trim form moving among
the withering bushes! Gould IL DC