Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1899-06-28

nigh to bursting and was ready to over
flow at the first kind word from SYM
pathetic soul, at the first touch of
kind hand, at the first glance of pair
of magnetic eyes.
In Alan Stacey, Mary found not an
employer, but an idol. From the first
day she worshiped him. know that it
is not commonly accepted idea that
a woman should love man at first
sight. In a sense she did not do so, and
yet she idolized him. The possibility
that one day she might be something
more to Alan Stacey than his interpreter
never for moment entered her head.
But she loved him with dim, faroff,
almost religious, feeling. He was so
brilliantly clever both in his work-for
where were such vivid, brilliant, haunt
ing human books to be found as those
which bore his name land in himself.
There were times when he worked at
fever heat untiringly, restlessly, almost
passionately; times, when the fit was on
him, when he almost wore her out call
ing on her to come early and to stay
late; times when they snatched their
meals and when she went home to her
bed dog tired and brain weary.
Yet always with the same charm and
sweetness of way: "Mrs. Conway,
must get on with this while the idea is
alive in me You'll help me through
it, won't youf" or "Need you go? 1
know it's time, but cannot we take a
little holiday when it's done2 Surely
it's best to make hay while the sun
Shines"
At such times Mary Conway would
willingly rather have died than have
failed him. At others he would laze
through the days. letting his work slip
into brilliant, easy gossip, telling her
his ideas, his hopes, his aspirations,
making her look over his great collec-
tion of stamps, help to arrange his au-
tographs, discussing furniture or the
next smart little tea party that he
meant to give. and apparently wholly
unconscious that she took any more in
terest in him than the man who waited
had done.
"What was your father2" he asked
her suddenly between the pauses of his
work one day when Christmas was
drawing near.
ga clergyman. He was curate Of
Elphinstowe, she replied.
"Ah, you were young when he diedf"
eyes, quite child"
"And your mother?'
"She died after was married"
II see. Forgive me for asking. But
were you long married. Well, of course
you couldn't have been, you are still SO
young. But did you lose"-
II lost my husband only a few
months after our marriage" Mary said,
rising suddenly from her place at the
little table where she worked and going
to the fire. where she stood nervously
holding her hand out to the warmth and
keeping her face half turned away from
him.
HE was-he was-I mean was he
was he''-
"He was sailor, captain of one Of
the Red River line Of steamers, said
Mary almost CURLY. Gle was drowned. +"
| Thens was moments silence. SIT
must have been great shock to you, "
he said at last. He was busily occupied
with paper knife and a slip of note
paper and spoke in studiously indiffer-
emit tone as if they were discussing some
question absolutely impersonal to both
| Of them.
sit killed my mother. " said Mary.
still warming her hands.
"And you'" He raped out the ques-
ton in strange, breathless fashion.
Mary looked aside at him. "Why dc
you ask me this. Mr.. Staceyf" she