Newport weekly independent., 1903-11-20
 THE REVENGE OF BELINDA.
BY MARY CLARKE HUNTINGTON.

Celinda Angeline and her mother were not friends any more
 cause: Rummaging of forbid den drawer, followed by the ap- &plication of the rod. And Celinda Angeline, sitting in the kitchen doorway, was darkly plotting re. yenge. Her mother was so uncon- scious of this plotting that she &hummed blithe air to the time #of her rolling pin, as she stood at. Nfhe table between the two win dows, and the sound added to the grievance. Usually Ce- Kinda Angeline delighted to hear her mother sing with a voice as #soft as the voice of the thrush which nestled among the alders by the mill brook, and often as she listened she thought how pink were her mothers cheeks, how blue her eyes, how pretty the Wisps of brown hair curling be meath the neat coil, how white the arms barred to the elbow. Then she wasn't fat like Louise Greens mother, or fiat like Minnie Ran dall's mother. CeIinda Angeline had rejoiced with affectionate pride that her mother was neither flat nor fat-but now fat mother or a fiat mother seemed better in her eyes than this shapely mother.
 Some one was coming up the meadow lane with scythe over shoulder, and Celinda Angeline's sulky face frightened. She would appeal to her father against maternal tyranny. She waited until he had reached the grindstone, which stood in the shade of the great maple by the back door, stole up to him under cover of the "sz-sz-sz" of sharpen ing steel, and when he took his foot from the grindstone treadle said confidentially:
 "Pa, I want you to get me new motherw
 Her father pressed hard brown thumb against the scythe to test it's edge. There was droll pull about the corners of his mouth; his eyes twinkled. Couldn't you get along with your old mother until I've finished haying?"
 Celinda Angeline felt that she was being laughed at. She went
 nd sat again in the doorway, re entfully kicking the toes of her worn shoes together. By the time her father turned down the lane she had decided upon her revenge. If she couldn't have a new mother she would run away fromthis old mother, and live all by herself like the little boy of nursery jingle fame!
 Had she glanced out of the win dow a few moments later the worker in the kitchen might have seen figure in Shaker bonnet and trailing plaid shawl stubbing through the hot dust to the turn of the road. It was none other than Celinda Angeline running away from her old mother-but arrayed in raiment which was that mothers own; running away to live all by herself in the cum ningest place in the world, where fathers who laughed and mothers who whipped would never think of looking for lost little girl.
 At the turn of the road was a large lichen patched rock, beside which grew a pussy willow bush and blackberry vine. A stout stick pushed into the ground at the base of the rock helped sup port theNl of bridge, built to preven0 iiness from, a small brook. summer dried out of sis5sss4,. n there was no wa terss5a z sSsss, hgeline had crawled ip %SsssagHsssf ss5,ysssf lthe bridge, which al lSs 4 standing upright. But las not in play now, as she juff.r red from the road onto the bank beside the lichened rock. She meant to live here all her life.
 How cool it was in the pleas, antly dim retreat. Sunshine fell in two long narrow lines between the bridge blanks upon the hard kearth, where only refreshing 2 lpness suggested the brook
 every spring trickled along
 sluiceway. Celinda Angelinc
 off her Shaker bonnet to
 herself feel quite at home,