The Sauk Centre herald. (Sauk Centre, Stearns County, Minn.) 1886-current, 1904-12-15
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The Simple Life
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MARoERY WILLIAMS

SEEMED the last house on the road,
! which had stretched fiat and feature
less for the five miles since he left
Birchville, edged by barren pasture
laad overgrown with brambles, and
with here and there a stunted tree to
break the monotony. He slowed his BIZ
cycle down as he drew near, looking at
the small square dwelling, with its
whitewashed fence and green shutters
and tiny implanted barn at the back. and
a little patch Of cultivated ground in
which, between rows of bean poles and
cabbages, he could see the moving fiut-
ter of a womans skirt. She had her
back towards him, STOPPING to gather
something. She turned as he stopped at
the gate, and he could see her hands full
Of green leaves and earthly roots.
Can you tell me-" he began, dis
mounting, and then he paused as he
saw her coming towards him. When
she moved, something about her struck
him instantly as incongruous; he could
not have told what 1t was. She was
young, and might have been pretty, but
that her hair was strained back 100
tightly from her thin face. giving her
look of plainness. She wore pink cot
ton blouse washed many times and fad
ed, and a short cloth skirt that sagged
ungracefully at the back.
I'm going to ask you," he said, as
she came near, Ito let me have drink
at your pump and then put me on the
right road to Allentown"
When she spoke, the incongruity re-
solved itself instantly. She had the
voice of his own native city, clear-cut,
educated.
"This is the Allentown road" she said
"And won't you come in, please? The
pump is just round at the side"
She held open the gate, and he leaned
his bicycle against the fence and fol-
lowed her in. There was tin dipper on
the pump; he filled it and drank. The
water tasted good after seven miles Of
dusty riding. While he was drinking he
observed her again. There was a curl
Gus restlessness in her face, look at
once eager and disappointed. It was the
expression Of those who have watched
empty roads for long time. He glanced
at her hands. They were earthstained,
and squared at the finger tips by out
door toll, and they too had the same
nervous lines. the same tired wistful-
ness.
81 suppose 1t is very hot riding" she
said, as he set the dipper down.
"Scorching!" He looked about him
at the tidy garden patch with it's lines of
beans and tomatoes, few summer an
nuals blooming unobtrusively among
the sober green and brown; garden es-
sentially utilitarian.
"You have a nice place here" he
said.
Eyes. It's very quiet" She dropped
the lettuce she was holding into half
filled bucket that stood near. Her eyes
met his, and there was something child
ish in her look, almost an appeal. She
hesitated moment, then said. ALLEN
town is six miles from here. Won't
you come into the house and have some
tea before you 60 on? I was just going
to make it."
he looked dI HIS UOOlS.
81 am alone just now," she said. she
said, 'and it's so quiet there-no one
ever comes. One is glad to see any
body"
He murmured some vague thanks as
she turned abruptly, averting her head,
and followed her up the little trodden
path to the open door. 1t was two
roomed cottage with tiny lean-to shed
at the back, built for kitchen. She
slipped past to it, and he could hear her
dragging the kettle across the stove,
blinking cups and saucers.
Left to himself a moment he looked
about him with swift, obserYant eyes.
Everything in the room was very plain,
very simple, spotlessly clean; white
washed walls and bare floor and the
scantiest of plain-made furniture.
There were one or two good pictures,
oil sketches; some marigolds in bowl
on the mantel-shelf, near an old pew
ter jug; a row of books on long shelf
against the wall. A mans straw hat lay
on a chair, frayed and shabby and burnt
~ the sun, and he seemed to see intui-
lively the man who wore it. The room
seemed to speak Of him, its ascetic bare
ness, its incorporating utility.
He moved to the bookshelf, knowing
in advance what books he would find
there. The whole house laid bare its
story to him frankly on entry, and the
story of the wistful, restless-faced wom-
an with the city voice. His gaze tray
eled along the titles, some familiar and
some unfamiliar, and as he turned away
again he caught sight Of small framed
portrait, an engraving, hung on the
wall. His mouth curved curiously as he
looked at it.
The girl came in from the kitchen,
carrying teapot and some cups.
There isn't any CAKE" she said. I'm
so sorry, but we don't have company
often. And you can eat bread and but
ter, can't you? And there's fruit"
She was making little journeys to and
from the kitchen while she talked.
,I,s o. a.