Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1905-01-07
THE FORBIDDEN
PATH
BIZ IZOLA FORESTER
Copyright. 1905. bu lola Forester.

lawn! Cut right straight across from
the lilacs to the sidewalk, as if we kept
little chain gang of elephants trotting
over it. l won't have it, Nell! I'll turn
the hose on those boys!"
Don't jabber over it, Kit. You'll
only get all red and warm and fussy,
and some one may hear you"
Kit scowed defiantly at the broad
bay window of the house next door.
The shades were lowered and the
blinds half closed On one window
sill plump tortoise shell cat dozed
comfortably Peace evidently reigned
within, and it was the habitation of the
enemy.
II don't care who hears me- Who
ever hears Kit raised her voice
ever SO little, just enough to carry
over the tortoise shell cat "They
must know all about it anyway. How
would they like it if we trampled paths
all over their lawn day and night?"
There comes one of them" Nell
paused in her sweeping on the little
vine covered porch and waited anxious
ly. "Now, don't be huffy, SIS"
Kit sat immovable in the dandelion
starred grass and watched the coming
boy with disappearing menacing eyes,
He was rather nice boy to look at,
too, somewhere around fifteen, and he
whistled as he came along the side
walk in front of the Norton cottage.
There was a break in the low box
hedge, made by vandals, but this van
dial disdained it and added insult to
injury by jumping over the hedge and
boldly starting across the path.
How do, Miss Norton?" he called
cheerily. Pretty hot today, isn't it?"
"Say, Dick Mclean, we don't want
you three boys tramping over our
lawn" Kit spoke with dignity and
severity. ut makes regular beaten
path all the way to your lilacs, and
think you could use your own lawn if
you want to make a checkerboard on
the grass"
Dick halted midway on the forbid
den way and looked at it's undertaking
course of barrenness with interest.
ut does look queer" he said. I'm
awfully sorry we did it. When old
Mrs. Tisdale lived here she didn't give
a rap about it. 1t wasn't a lawn. then.
She just hung VI her wash here, and
she kept chickens too"
"Well, we don't retorted Kit most
ungraciously. ever since we moved
here I've been trying to coax real
croquet lawn out of wilderness Of
chickweed and plantain. We only had
the hedge put in as gentle hint to
our neighbours
"You mean us, don't YOU" Dick
smiled down on her good naturedly.
Eyes, do" granted Kit, because it
really was all the fault Of you boys,
and you don't care. You even jump
right over the hedge"
Dick got over on his own side hasti-
ly. "Well, I'm sorry jumped, Miss
Norton" he said contritely. "And I'll
tell the other boys to keep off too.
Goodby."
Kits curly head nodded an unwilling
response as she bent over the pansy
bed again.
"He heard every word" Nell sat
down on the top step and laughed.
'How do you known
'"The cat went indoors, and she never
does unless he is at the desk"
There was pause, and the pansies
suffered from too vigorous treatment.
''Well, l don't care if he did," said
Kit finally, but her tone was lower. eff
they don't stop it I'll put up barb
wire"
1t was not an idle threat, though it
needed provocation to carry it out.
Two days later, just at noon, a happy
leisurely procession passed over the
lawn. Even Dick, the traitor, was lead
ing and whistling in sweet forgetful-
ness, with a baseball bat over his
shoulder. Kit said nothing. The point
had arrived where mere wrath was fu-
tile. Early on Saturday morning she
superintendent the placing Of her out
posts of defense, and by the time that
the boys appeared neat array Of
barb wire strands were stretched along
beside the hedge.
Its all right for the boys" said Nell
critically. "But what if Mr.. Mclean
IF he can't make his little brothers
behave, then we will. It's bad enough
living next door to perfect old crank,
on your summer vacation anyway,
without being on intimate terms with
him. Even mother says he's eccentric,
and that means crank"
HE doesn't look like one"
well, he is, all the same All writer's
are cranks, and the more successful
they get the crankier they are, so Mr..
Kirke Ross Mclean must be terror
And he doesn't write books, either; not
real books. He only travels and writes;
doesn't make up thing out of his own
head"
Nell did not answer. She was look
ing over at the cool, darkened bay win
dow and thinking of the figure beyond
the tortoise shell cat, a figure that
sitting at the broad, fiat top desk near
the window, sometimes turned to gaze
over the hedge where the pansies grew