Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-12-22

her side. AS she turned to the right
and swung up Hill Rise, she was mental
ly comparing her escort with Jack-the
new Jack, not the old Jack. Once Jack
| had resembled this gergeously attired
| loafer. 1t was a wonderful t-ansforma-
ton to the alert. thin. working Jack Of
the present time; and yet in the past
| she had admired Jack because of all
| these things that filled her with con-
| tempt for Mr.. Charles Padfeld. 1t had
! seemed admirable to be rich in fopperies,
careless of toll as a creature of some
lofty ruling race. splendid idler, for
whom life is all holidays. Now 1t SEEM
ed as If fate had sent blown-out, vacuous,
| insipid Mr.. Charles 1ounging across her
path to let her discriminate once again
very plainly between what is sham and
| what is solid.
You walk too fast."-They were half
out of breath.-"Well. I rlust be going.
Walk a little way with you some other
time, Miss Crunden-what? Oh,
l say. tell your father I'm a Mason now.
He don't come to lodge now-nor old
Jack. Too busy rakifl' in the dollars
what?' And Lizzie was free to con-
tinue her walk without escort.
The empty houses of Hill Rise were
dreadful to see. Glass in windows had
been broken by wanton boys; states had
fallen from roofs and lay in fragments
upon the moss-grown steps of porches,
or the weed-covered gravel of the car
rage drives; splintered gates hung upon
rusty hinges; the bare hawthorns were
making thickets. and the untrimmed lau-
rels were growing into forest trees. From
house to house silence and desolation
reigned where. once there had been
friendly intercourse, chatter and frivolity
really at home or visiting; calling to
each other by name over garden walls
or across the broad road, running in upon
each other as members of one large.
highly distinguished family. Now. with
the family uprooted. banished. scattered
wide, Hill Rise was fast sinking into
the dilapidated and ruinous state of Mr..
Selby's River View
Beyond these deserted houses, when
one came to the property of the London
and Suburban Trust, it required the
strongest effort of memory to summon
up the picture of Hill House. Truly not
the slightest vestige of it was left. One
looked down smooth, well-finished roads
houses. The sunlight shone on plate
glass, brass knockers, emerald green
shutters: the cloud shadows fitted
across white woodwork. rough-cast up
new life, activity. joyfulness set going
as II by magic. TradesmeRs carts rat
tied round the corners of the new roads;
tradesmen's boys leaned their bicycles
against the new railings; young men
and women came laughing and talking
| out Of the new front doors; a man with
a bell was selling mullins as quickly as
| he could hand them to the waiting. maids
of all these new households. Trade was
so brisk that the muffin man had no
time to ring his bell. This was new
Medford. self-suffcient. self-contained,
self-satisfed, knowing nothing Of and
caring nothing for. the ancient traditions
Of the aristocratic Hill.
Lizzie with difficulty reconstructed the
vanished scene. All along here were the
| high walls; and behind them the stately
trees. Here, Just here. must have been
the gates: ans. pausing here. in the
| down the drive--grass on each side, and
noble conifers. banks Of rhododendron
beautiful Towering shrubs making spots
of bright color in front Of the dark
foliage. Well-ordered peace. well-main-
| tanned dignity, well-sheltered magnif-
'cence held one mute respectful, SPELL
| bound. as. in the old days, one took ones
peep through the white gates that guard
| ed the home Of the great Sir John.
And behind her, on her fathers land.
| Who could now believe that these once
were secluded meadows, a smiling park
| land. walled. fenced, secure from prying
eyes and wandering feet? It was all open
| Crundens roads as far as the roads went.
and thence onward over the wet grass.
Any one might roam at will. with the chill
dren from the lower cottages shouting and
| iduSHlHS III tneiE play, where once the
| ground was sacred to the use of Lady
Haddenham's cattle and the members and
| guests of an extraordinarily select tennis
club. Close to the site of the old club pa
vilion. the last and innermost of papa s
decoy houses stood still unfinished; for the
day abandoned by the workmen. and look
| ing as If it had been abandoned forever.
| The roof ttmbers were in position, but no
| tiles had yet arrived; 1t was an ugly car
cass very slowly turning itself into a hab-
| In or 70
| IT.: the nearest granite blocks for road
| curbing lay afar of almost hidden by the
| long grass. weather-stained. dull without
the least glitter from them; scaffo!d poles,
piled boards, Clipped bricks lay untidily
all about it.: trenches that had been dug
for drains had filled with water while
waiting for drain pipes. Beyond it stretch
| ed the wide area of still open ground,
spotted here and there with completed
houses, and on the fringe the cottages
smoke rising slowly from the chimneys of
the first two rows, no smoke at all from
the other rows-and the backs of the mon-
| strous hoardings set up for advertise
ments. The view was Of park destroyed.
a building estate not yet developed No
one could take comfort from this great
change. for an undeveloped building estate
Is perhaps the ugliest prospect in the uni
! verse.
AS Lizzie turned her back on it and
walked swiftly toward the common. the
sense OF guilt oppressed her. Suddenly she
had thought of the first cause of all these
vast changes-herselft Her folly-her in
| fantile and idiotic folly-had set In motion
the whole chaotic upheava1 of hill and
| valley If she had not been such little
fool all might now be unchanged. II she
could have held her tongue when papa
sternly questioned her, perhaps no sod
| would have been cut. no brick laid, no sin
gle goldpiece buried on the peaceful hill
side. But for her the great Sir John might
be now sitting in Hill House. Lady VIM
cent picking dead leaves off an azalea in
the conservatory, Mr.. Jack riding out
| through the gates on prancing horse;
Miss Annendale, Miss Granville and all
the rest of them might be safe and happy
| in Hill Rise: her father might be placid y
! doing In his armchair at home: from the
Flagstaff on the links to the bridge above
the slowly gliding river. all might have
| been unchanged. She herself had started
all the change-with a few foolish words
| She walked far across the common
down the long hill nearly to Redmarsh viii
lage, and then came tramping bravely
home again: and all the way she was
earnestly thinking, disentangling the
things that are solid from the things
tina. are empty and vain, tracing out
the infinitely small causes that lead to
infinitely big results, making good resolu-
| lions for the fulfillment of homely duties
| vowing to be stout and strong in the face
Of all difficulties and distresses. If trouble
| were coming to her father in his old age
| she must strive to be his prop and sup
port She must comfort him and console
him for the loss of his grandiose hopes.
| II was dreamer and now am awake
That was what Mr.. Vincent said of him.