Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-11-22

herself up as mistress of house like this,
and not make breaks to shame her husband
and his fine friends I've got to do my share
toward making the family bluff good.
We've got to be a credit to Jim. If 1t
hadn't been for Jim I'd
He broke off suddenly and walked to the
WINDOW. warm spring day was melting
all trace of a late furry of snow The gray-
! tsh water trickled from roof to window
| ledge and he watched it as one fascinated
The snow must be melting on the stubborn
north HELD The brook running through the
woods must be riotOus and yellowish brown
| today. The Plymouth Rocks and Ieghorns
| would be pluming themselves in the sun
! shine. The barn would fairly fiaunt it's new
| coat OF paint IN the face of late spring.
| For the barn had been painted and the
| cow sheds remodeled and a new fence built
| around the meadow land. There was a new
| bay window on the south side of the dining
| room and new cook stove in the kitchen
| Things must be looking very prosperous
| Emeline Amelia had written this and more
| Her letters reached him every Tuesday
morning. filled with details Of life so busy
| that ne had an odd sense of being utterly
| out of it. Not that he could blame Emeline
| Amelia for this. He had come to New York
| OF his own free will and accord He had
| given her the farm to do with as she WiIled
| and yet-here We're the crops being planted
| the stock being fed, the house being re-
modelled, Emeline Amelia being elected pres
tdent of the Sewing Circle and q member Of
| the New Idea Woman's Club-and all with
| out his aid.
| Moments like these he had had before
| and Jennie, with a rare tact In women OF
| her years, seemed to read his thoughts. Her
hand was slipped through his arm, her soft
| cheek pressed against his clean-shaven, I'M
| wrfnkled face, but no word passed her lips
| She seemed to realize, in spite of her own
happy home life. that her fathers was
| watching without complaint his own ma fri
monial tragedy.
| She and Jim often talked Of his strange
retlcence, and pondered over the contents
| OF those weekly letters, for something told
| them that Silas never wrote to Emeline
! Amelia the details of his daily life With
| summer they decided that surely he would
| take run up to the farm, but he informed
| them with quiet air of finalty that he
| was going up north with some of his bust
| ness acquaintance for fishing trip Their
| surprise. he passed over with a laughing
| remark that as he had always been pun
| ished for every fishing trip he had taken in
| his school days, he guessed he would lust
| make up for it now
And all the time his bank account grew.
| Whenever things came his way, as he
| quietly expressed it, he reinvested part of
his profits, bought Jim and Jennie a pres
| ent and banked the remainder. These fam
| lily gifts apparently gave him intense salts
facuon.but the two young people never
| heard OF his sending anything to the farm.
And so the summer came and went The
| leaves turned and the air became FROSTY
| Silas had been away from the farm over a
| year. Sometimes Jim wondered whether
I he had lost all interest in the old life,
| whether he had really learned to live with
| out the wife for whom he had labored all
| through his young manhood. Then came
| the evening which he and Jennie never
| forgot. There had been company for din
| ner, and Jennie sat in the freight, towing
| with her fathers latest gift, tiny gold
lorgnette. Jim. with his back against the
mantel, smiled down upon her, and Suas
| smiled upon them both, but there was a
| hint Of tears In his eyes as he watched
them. He cleared his throat, and the two
younger people swung round to look at
him.
I'm going home"
The relief the yearning, the happiness
| and the touch of sorrow which mingled in
that brief sentence held his listeners SPELL
| bound. Silas drew a long breath and gaZed
| round the room, with Its subdued hangings,
| its shaded lights and its dainty birc- a-bra C.
| You two have made me very happy
| There amt anything Jennie coud do for
| her old father that she's failed in but
just the same there amt been q day that
| my soul amt hungered for that old farm
| for every inch of dirt on it. for the mean
| est calf and the orneriest setting hen on
| the place, and now the time has come
| when can go back I don't know as you
! two, being so happy together, can under
| stand, but l was getting so near hell that
| l mad to break away-or-or-do something
| desperate. I'd been watching my manhood
! slip away from me and lie like a heap OF
! tattered old rags at Emeline Amelia's feet
| There was only one way to teach her that
| had some sense and some rights and
that was to give her her head. did it