The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1902-01-02
CINDERELLA
BY
SARH LINDSAY COLEMAN.
Copyright, 1901. by Author. syndie.t.1

NHcMASTER ran lightly up the
IVI steps and into the hall, Invested
himself of top coat and hat and en-
tered the library.
"Do you wish to see my father?"
asked the occupant, with pretense a
courage denied by frightened eyes.
"No;" his eyes rested on the fair
young face with its rich color that be-
longs only to first, sweet youth.
IF you do rot want to see my father,
whom would you like to see?" There
was a tinge of haughtiness in the girls
voice.
"And if 1 should tell you, my pretty
maid?''
She turned on the light; everything
was golden and bright and rich.
He wondered why frightened look
1urked in the gray depths of her eyes.
She was absurdly young, almost a
child, but there was no reason why
they should not sit down and talk
amiably until their friends put in an
appearance.
"Unless you state your business"
the girl spoke haughtily, Il must ask
you to leave"
"Leave Jack HOLSTERS house." in
dignantly.
"Oh, you are a friend of theirs?
Father ana have the house rented"
McMaster crossed the room to where
the girl stood, and said: MY train is
delayed for hours. Jack and his wife
are Old friends. You will pardon my
intrusion-good- might"
evil you not forgive me and take
tea with us?" the girl asked, with
charming hospitality.
The man who hesitates, stays. Nc
Masters, who had passed unscathed
his heart strings when the girl lifted
her gray eyes to his.
"Father isn't coming to tea; has gone
out of town, and won't be home until
midnight" the girl said, with dismay,
looking at a note that bad been given
her. He promised to take me to the
dance to-night-the best dance of the
season"
Lets CO." McMasters leaned to-
ward her; there was an eager note in
his voice.
81 would love it." In the girls voice
lingering regret.
81 will send your father the family
record. 1 will satisfy him as to my re-
spectability. Comets but an hour
out of our lives!"
"Have you seen a pumpkin lying
around?" she asked, demurely, land
have the little mice turned to milk
white steeds?"
That dance! The lights, the flowers,
the music, the glitter of jewels, the
flash of bright eyes, the CLEAN of white
shoulders. McMaster's arm encircled
the girlish form. They fioated down
the long room. The touch of her white,
cool fingers; the perfume of her hair!
Was it music, was it madness-this
sweet strenuous whirlwind of thought
that possessed him? She was but a
child he told himself. The music
throbbed in the hall. 1t made him
think of his old dreams; he seemed to
feel those dreams pressing with spec
trial softness against his side. How
red the lips behind the mask; how fair
the brow under the shadowy hair!
When the dance was done ii seemed
as though they had been friends
through long and happy years. And
afterwards came the dash home over
the snow to the accompaniment of
musical, jingling bells.
In the library the lights burned low,
but the freight leaped and sparkled
behind the fire dogs. The girl slipped
from her furs and stood, one foot on
the fender, looking down into the fires
heart. How sweet she was! Her soft,
girlish laughter cut the stiffness of the
room. One, two, three-the clock told
off the hours up to ~.
"Cinderella"-it was part of the en-
chantment-"I must 60" McMaster's
voice was full of regret.
The pretty smiling face took on a
look of CONSERVATION. "The front
door is being opened" she whispered,
''what will we do! FATHER will never
understand"
"Run," he said; l know the house."
She vanished like a wrath.
The library door led on to the