The Montgomery advertiser., 1906-11-25

ought to wear 1t all the time. How I would like to have seen you in your wedding-dress
 Not while have to do it up myself" l said Mrs. Temple, with smile. quite as If she had not heard the last sen- tence. Her smile was really charming; and Mary must have thought so. "oh what a pity" she said. that there is no one But then I don't suppose you'd marry again if there was,'
 Mrs. Temple suddenly grew grave. She opened her lips as if about to re- ply, but did not. Instead, she bent her head to look at an invisible spot on her gown which she rubbed with her finger, and her face grew scarlet. Why don't you wear white your self. Marry" she asked in a moment. But there. the young girls are so pes culiar. We weren't so in onr day. We liked to see our mothers and aunts in white. Helen whitcomb thinks 1t such an affectation of youth In me to wear white We're not so very old, Nary"
 Why do you care, dear? I wouldn't. if I were married. We'll, put myself in mind of these girls who seem to think woman of our age fs something thrown out, waste good for nothing, as if marriage were all there is in the wor1d!
 q don't know but it is." said Mrs. Temple.
 'Louisaw
 "I mean 1t is so good, Mary. to be protected. and cared for, and admired and praised. ."
 ''wen, you ought to know. You've been married"
 Mrs, Temple rose suddenly.
 There's the 9 o'clock bell. must be going" she said.
 sOh," said Mary. going to the door with her. 'Tt's dark as midnight. I'll go part way"
 Its only soft summer dusk. I'm not afraid" She turned and kissed Mary. Its a great thing to have a friend
 "Even if yoA haven't husband" said Mary.
 .Friendshiup Is strange thing" said the other. "Do you suppose you'd be my friend if you found out was wicked personT
 "Yop could be so awfully wicked" laughed Mary.
 mitted some great crime. or was liv- ing lie or
 "You! Suppose the stars feili Go aIongi"
 Mrs. Temple should have been glad of such faith as her friend showed in her; but she cried all the way home. But then one cries for joy almost as often as for sorrow.
 Her slender wardrobe, of course, took up a great deal of Mrs. Temples time. There was her black silk gown; 1t had been in process of reconstruction almost ever since she came home. It had been turned, and then sponged and turned again, and then turned upside down. And although in splits and cracks it was generously court-plastered, 1t was still as dress for occasionsi and when she was arrayed fin it, with the pretty lace accessories kept in lavender, and, the pearl pin holding the braid of her fathers hair, she-well, at any rate, she pitied those that had no black silki
 She had put on this precious garment to make call on the new clergyman's wife, one bright day. There had been swift summer shower in the morn- ing and everything was fresh and sF arlling still, and she had walked leisuFely along the grassy path beside the highway. feeling it good to be alive in the balmy summer weather, with clouds floating on the deep azure above and beyond, seeming always to suggest a brighter and a finer world to which they journeyed.
 Suddenly she was called back to earth Dy Lkl6 near EGAlOBAnS OL 6 AOASEt anu then, through the pool of water that the rain had left in the road, horse and rider sped and threw the mud up and about in a dark shower, and it fell in broad splashes upon the precious silk.
 Startled and indignant, she stumbled and lost her balance. Uttering an excla- nation of fright before she knew it. In moment the horseman had turned about and was out of the saddle and hal GTnnnrfinpr haF and at the same time trying to wipe off the mud with his handkerchief.
 "Oh, beg your pardon! beg your pardon" he said. What a shame! The beautiful silk-''
 That he should speak so of her old gown! Then, after alh it's shining ness, it's age, were not apparent. Though, to be .ure, he was a man, and no one expected a man to see-Mrs. Temple would almost have welcomed as much more mud for the sake of hearing those pleasant Wor IL. She looked up. and saw a man. indeed, perhaps middle aged, but with iron gray hair whose wave fell over his forshead in a boyish way The forehead was wrinkled now with his concern, but the dark eyes be- meath 1t were cordial and kind and brill liGSt, the whole face sweet and strong anG bright and wholesome as a sum beam.
 "I am afraid you are hurt" he said.
 "oh, no-that is-no, not in tue leastw
 Are you sure2 You must let me help you. Are you far from home?" 'Only a few steps-the white house under the two elms."
 That charming place! I have ale ways wondered who lived there.''
 Tt was the parsonage, some years ago." she said; if unnecessarily, yet with rather a grand air.
 "oh, see that you have sprained something! Here, lad" and he called to 6 boy in the road, hold my horse. will you%" And he led her along gem tly. You must lean on me-" he said, and he lifted her up the steps and through the door, for which she pro- dueed key, quite as If a footman had answered a knockeF.
 Can I call some one to help you?" than said the stranger.
 'No, oh, no thank you. I shall be all right presently. It is only-I have just turned my ankle. It was very awk- ward in me. May ask to whose kind ness am indebted?" as the gentleman still remained.
 q am MT. Thorndyke of the Mills village"
 There was an almost imperceptible stiffening of Mrs. Temples manner.
 Gan be of any further service?"
 Not any, thank you" The tone was very clear and cold and$conelusive. One of the mill people! Thank you very much" And the stranger bowed and left her. replacing his hat and toss ing some change to the boy who had led his horse to the gate.