The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1904-12-30

i'll the back yard, and cab ratified down
the street
Wake up. Madge," cried Raymond
impatientlv. "What shall it be-"
II will let you know Monday. l vii
write so you will get it at the office il
the afternoon. Don't come till you hear
Goodbv."
Good night, Madgc. Itsruthcr rough
ON fellow to keep him on tcnderhooks
four days, but I'm not afraid of the deci,
sion. You're too sensible n girl to throw
away I'LL the fun you'll have all winter for
a mere conycntionality. Good night"
Margaret Sturgis on her way out to
breakfast the next morning found two
letters for herself on the hat stand in the
hall. One was from Ray.
"I,EAR CnrM:
81 am sorry hurt your feelings last
night. | know did. There is no use in
your worrying, or in our having any
more discussion. We understand each
other perfectly, and that is all that is
necessary. Don't write. | shall come
around Monday night and bring the
latest Harper's. There is an article in it
on Some Recent Fiction want you to
read with me. L will bring some oysters.
Yours,
CRAY"
The other letter was from Aunt Kate
DEAR MARGARET:
"lourla last letter seemed rather SORROW
full. Hope you do not work all the time
If Raymond Burton calls upon you occa-
| SIonally, as he used to last winter, that
should keep you from being homesick. If
YOU do get homesck, come up some Sat
urday and stay over Sunday with your
old uncle and auntie. You know we are
always glad to see you here
The rest of the letter was full of homely
details of farm life and the farming COM
munity in which Aunt Kate lived. Oak
lands had been Margaret Sturgis's home
since hcr fathers death. Uncle Stephen
had been her fathers older brother, and
though her fathers life had been spent in
the city, the tie between them had been
strong.
Margaret sat bordering over her two
letters in much indecision, her untasted
breakfast cooling before her, until hereye
again caught few words on the open
sheet before her-"Come up some Satur-
day and stay over Sunday"
"lllgo up to Oaklands this afternoon"
| she, said to herself with determination.
| 'l'll climb up on the hay NOW in the big
| barn tomorrow afternoon, and think this
out, and choose once for all between be-
| ing a Bohemian and a Puritan. But, 0
dear. that isn't all it means 1t means
| RAYMOND Burton or winter alone"
Sunday afternoon found Margaret on
the haymow, as she had planned. The
cattle ill the stalls below munched their
hay with low, steady, contented grind;
a calf trisked in his pen with the awk-
ward gambUls at which she had often
laughed; and in Madge's breast a furious
conflict ragged. Mrs. Grimshawe's coarse
Responsibility" Aunt Rates prim pune
tiliousness; long, lonely evenings, with
only books for company; Rays sympa-
thetic companionship, with supper cook
ed over the gas heater, with one plate
and one saucer each, with pasteboard
box-covers to supplement them-they
would have an extra plate and saucer if
Helen did not come back; reading herself
to sleep alone, or studying with Ray, and
having a sing" together over the little
upright piano when the study was over;
a constant struggle to keep within the
conventional boundaries which were so
sharply defined at Oaklands, and beyond
which no one here seemed tempted to
stray; little more freedom; little more
pleasure; yielding to Raymond's judg-
ment-"he knows so much more of the
world than l, and am sure he is trust
worthv"-all these thoughts, and many
more, battled for supremacy; and, the
longer Margaret struggled with them,
the farther away a decision seemed. She
thought of the side streets and alleys of
the city, with their obvious license and
Righteousness; of girl who stood one
night on Craigie Bridge, with shawl
over her head, watching the dark water,
until, just as the car Madge and Helen
! were on passed her. policeman touched
her and told her to move on. They did
not hear her answer, but they saw her
face, q ycung face, but defiant, knocking,
reckless; why should that face come be-
fore her now? Madge shivercd, and mes.
tied deeper into the understanding hay.
She thought of the loud voiced woman
who had lived in the little ballroom, and
of the voices and songs she had heard be-
fore Mrs. Grimshawe had sent the woman
away. She thought of the two sweet
faced sisters in the front square room be-
low her own, nuns, they might be, if
they were dressed for it; | am no num-"
OF Raymond himself, with his curly
dark hair and eager smile and brothcrly
hcctoring,- has grown more manly
of latc'-shc tried not to think. This
decision is a matter of conscience" she
told herself, land must be made without
regard to personal preferences. 1t is a
question OF right and wrong; but what
is right: and what is wrong? and what
makes life worth living, anyway?'
Margaret" called Aunt Kate, I'm
goin' to take some o my late asters over
to the cemetery. Do you want to go,
too :"
Yes, auntic. Go right along, and I'll
oycrtake you
"You see. Margaret, when Uncle Ste
plcn cut the grass on our lot in the
spring, he cut down the little monthly
rose You planted last year, and I've tried
to kind of make up for it by carryin'
| flowers over every week." said Aunt
Kate, as they walked along the quiet
country road. They stopped on the little
bridge of planks, weighted on either end
| by huge stones, and watched the min
nows darling here and there i'll the brown
| waters Of the brook. How clear the
water was How still the air. Then
| they went into the little cemetery through
the gap between the stone wall and the
white painted picket gate. Margaret
shuddcred at the stiffness.
This new grave" said Aunt Kate, lis
Harriet Marshs. Doyou remember her
| She went to New York about five years
ago She came home last year all broke
| down-hard study, they say She hain't