Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-08-11

Yes. my dear Anna, land so they were
married" like the prince and the princess
In the stories of our childhood Indeed,
the whole thing is so like one of those IA
miliar tales that 1 sometimes find myself
wondering what role 1 assumed
There was always the good fairy, you
remember and the wicked fairy and the
cruel stepmother, but who was 1t who en-
dured agonies of anxious days and sleepless
nights? Theirs is the part 1 played. l
know / am considered worldly woman.
know that Margaret's brilliant marriage is
supposed to be the result of ambitious
schemes: but If the truth were known, my
dear Anna. my role in this little drama was
rather that of the poor mother left behind
in the cottage in the woods.
But l must not anticipate.
You, better than any one know what my
weakness has been in considering posi-
BILE husband for Margaret. Not wealth.
for the fortune Margaret's father left us
ranks high even in these days of ample
fortuDes-but family. The man Margaret
married must be of irreproachable lineage.
Descended as we directly from the
Mayflower pilgrims (as you remember my
husband was a direct descendant of Will
lam Brewster, the elder, while / claim John
Rowland for an ancestor) nave perhaps
laid too great stress upon this matter or
good birth; at any rate l have always de-
manded it of my own and Margaret's as
sociates.
Imagine my annoyance, therefore when,
early in the winter, young fellow, good
enough in his way, but of absolutely no
family. persisted in throwing himself and
''all OF his worldly goods inherited, by
the way, from coarse, but successful,
father at Margarets feet. l disapproved,
at first silently then audibly; then finding
active measures necessary, l told Mar
garet that 1 wished the acquaintance to
cease.
Why" she demanded.
''You know perfectly WELL" I argued.
that he isn't our kind. He may be nice
enough, but he has no social connections
whatever, and as for his family
threw up my hands in despair.
81 wouldn't care a rap about his family
II l loved him. returned my young lady
decidedly. II don't see the good of family
and descent and ancestors any how. For
my part, I'm tired of living up to those
musty old Mayfower pilgrims. 1 think it
Is dreadfully stupid to depend upon your
ancestors and never amount to anything
on your own account.
was annoyed with her. You don't real
lie what you are saying" / returned. nor
how much this attitude which you are
pleased to take distresses me. At all events,
/ forbid you to accept any more of this
young mans attentions"
1 glanced at her. standing tall and grace
full by the window. There was a little mu-
tinous curve to her lips. The thing must
be stopped at once. l thought rapidly.
I'VE will accept your uncles invitation
to spend the winter on his ranch" / an
nounced, nerving myself to meet a storm
Of opposition.
But her face was unexpectedly radiant
"In Wyoming! oh, mother, how lovely!'
she cried swooping down upon me in an
affectionate embrace.
Since then l have realized that my fears
were groundess. but at the time / firmly
believed that Margaret had begun to care
for the boy, and that our only safety lay in
flight. In fact. my dear Anna, Fate for
reasons of her own decreed that we go to
Wyoming, and so to Wyoming we went.
There, having arranged the play to her
liking, with. an appropriate stage setting of
towering mountains and sweeping plains
Fate lost no time in ringing up the curtain.
The first scene dealt chiefly with the effect
i've entrance of the leading man.
81 wonder If you folks will want to ride
over to see the sports at South Pass City
tomorrow" drawled Dick. as he lighted his
pipe. 1t was the evening after our arrival
at Big Horn ranch and we sat on the porch
at one end of Dicks cabin.
"Of course we will. What sports2" de-
manded Margaret eagerly. Margaret has
formed the habit of steering always for a
good time If there is one in view.
Dick shifted his pipe. "A little celebra-