Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-12-09
IMAGERY wTLLrArzs

break the monotony. He slowed his bi- cycle down as he drew near, looking at the small square dwelling, with it's wHitewashed fence and green shutters and tiny unpainted barn at the back, and little, patch of cultivated ground in which, between rows of bean poles and cabbages, he could see the moving Aut- ter of a woman's s 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 earthy 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 too tightly from her thin face, giving her look of plainness. She wore pink cot ton blouse washed many times and fad- ed, and short cloth skirt that sagged ungracefnl1y 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 dipber 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 curi- ous restlessness in her face, a look at onceNeager and disappointed. It was the expression of those who have watched empty roads for a 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
 'T suppose it is very hot riding" she said, as he set the dipper down.
 9scotchingI" He looked about him at the tidy garden patch with its lines ot beans and tomatoes, 3 few summer an- nuals blooming uhobtrusively among the sober green and brown; garden es- sentially utilitarian.
 ''You have a nice place here" he said.
 s'Yes. 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 a moment, then said. Allen town is six miles from here. Won't you come into the. house and have some tea before you go on? was just going to make 1t"
 He looked at his dusty boots.
 T am alone just now,' she said, she said, land it's so quiet there no one ever comes, One is glad to see any,
 He murmured some vague thanks ase she turned abruptly. averting her head, and followed her up the little trodden path to the open door. It was a two- roomed cottage with a 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, clinking cups and saucers.
 Left to himself a moment he looked about him with swift, observant 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 a long shelf against the wall A mans straw hat lay on chair, frayed and shabby and burnt by the sun, and he seemed to see intui- lively the man who wore it. The room seemed to speak of him, it's ascetic bare ness, it's uncompromisingN utility.
 He moved to the book shelf, knowing in advance what books he. would ind 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 eIed along the titles, some familiar and some unfamiliar, and as he turned away again he caught sight of sTnall 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 a teapot and some cups.
 "There isn't any cake,'' she said. "I'm 80 sorry,ebut 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.
 T know it's queer, asking you in like this, but you don't mind, do you? And we're quite strangers, so it doesn't mat ter. One SO seldom sees guests here, one likes to make the most of them!" She laughed, but he could read the nervous restlessness in her voice, the hunger born of monotony. Won't you pull the chair up?-that's right. Do you take sugar? It's an age since poured out tea for anyone!"