The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1907-11-26
PeneIOpe'S
Problem.
By Constance DARCY Mackay.
Copyrighted, 1907, by G. H. Sutcliffe.

= copyrighted, lSUf, Dy y. ID. SutcHte.
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1t was nearing the first week of
July. The sun blazed down on the
noisy, unshaded street where Penelope
Compton lived, and the air was rife
with the smell of heat parched brick
and pavement. Penelope's sister,
Ruth, pale, gaunt young girl, spoke
from the sofa, where she lay propped
up with pillows.
Don't you think there's any way,
Penelope?
None so far. DEAR" said Penelope
cheerfully. But one never knows
what may turn up
For at least a month Penelope had
been hunting place in the country
that should shelter her widowed moth
er, her sister and herself and be with
in the compass of her slender purse.
With two invalids boarding was out
OF the question, and a summer cot
tage, no matter how small, had so far
been beyond the means of Penelope,
the breadwinner of the family,
frafl but determined girl, the idol of
the crowded city schoolroom in which
she taught. Day after day since
school closed she had answered adj
vertisements, only to be disappointed.
And it was imperative that the two
invalids should have country air. Ruth
grew paler week by week, and Mrs.
Compton-but Penelope never dared
to think Of that, for she needed all
the courage at her command. On this
particular afternoon the pathetic pa
tience of Ruth's question nerved Pencil
ope to further effort. Something must
be foundl 1t was matter Of life and
death!
Rising suddenly from her seat by
the window, Penelope caught up her
hat that lay on chair near by and
began to pin it on with swift, nerv-
GUS gestures.
"Are you going to try again?" said
Ruth, the quickening Of hope In her
voice
Il am going to take a street car-any
car-and go out to the end Of the line
and then ask from door to door till I
find what / want" said Penelope We
hemently. do you feel strong enough,
dear, to be left alone with motherr
ooh, yes" responded Ruth, brighten
ing, as she always did at the expecta-
ton that their Ell Dorado might yet be
reached.
Penelope stumbled blindly upon the
first car that came. Beneath her brave
exterior she was weary and sick at
heart, but the keen rush of the air past
her as the car left the crowded streets
and took downward grade in a more
sparsely populated district was tonic
and refreshing. She began to feel less
tired, less hopeless. The car whizzed
on through suburbs with trim, fenced
In houses and green fields that stretch
ed away in pleasant fluctuations. The
leaves of the trees rustled, silver green
in the afternoon light. When the end
Of the line was reached Penelope got
out, her spirits rising. Surely among
the cottages dotted here and there
would be one that answered her re-
quirements. But Penelope soon discov-
cred that they were all rented. It was
a thriving community, and there were
no vacancies. Tears welled in Pencil |
ope's eyes, and she was forced to stop
and wipe away the trimming drops. |
Il must find something" she said al
most savagely. IT must! l willw
A shady road opened before her |
She had not dreamed that so truly |
rural scene could be within easy dis
lance of the city. Elms grew on either
hand; a bird song foated down to her,
drowsy with the heat; wild roses sent
up a sweet briery perfume from the
roadside. Cottages became fewer and
fewer Finally there were none at all. |
1t became very still. Now and then |
twig dropped or tree toad chirred. |
The peace of it was balm to Penelope's |
tired nerves. She delighted in the flick
ering, leafy shadows, the warm es-
sences of the earth. She paused to |
lean on fence rails and look at bits of |
views framed by swaying branches.
She fingered to gaze at the ruins Of |
what had once been q fine brick man |
sion and which now stood fire charred |
and desolate. A little way farther on |
Penelope came upon the barn belong
ing to 1t. 1t was large, spacious
structure, its red paint storm worn |
and peeling. its weathercock still twirl- |
ing merrily as If in defiance to sun and |
rain.
Moved by an impulse she could
scarcely define. Penelope tiptoed up to
1t and looked in its window. The inte-
rior was clean and airy. A few wisps
of straw showed at the edge of the
NOW; the stalls were dimly hospitabie.
But 1t was the great width down the
center of the barn that made Penelope
thrill with sudden resolve. If only her
idea were feasible! She wrenched at
the door. 1t was bolted and did not
yield. She looked in the window again
and then, fired with the rapture of her
find, went back along the road whence
she had first come, her feet seeming
hardly to touch the earth. By diligent
eNAAOA9 tAC NObIdSC COlOu1 EAS
learned that the barn belonged to PEG
pie by the name of Mason, but they
had been abroad for years, and Mr
Frederick Carey was in charge of the
property. Back to the city went Pc
nelope, hunted up a directory and aft
erward Mr.. Carey To him she breath
lessly preached her plan. Would he
rent her the barn for the season?
Mr.. Carey's lips twitched. Penelope
was so pretty, SO desperately IN ear
nesti Then as her words tumbled over
each other in her eagerness he caught
a feeting glimpse of her life. grim
with struggle against desperate odds.
he took Off his glasses and smoothed
MS iron gray hal. If his own daugh-
ter had lived she would have been
about the age Of Penelope. He cleared
his throat.
my dear Miss Compton" said he. 81
have always considered an empty barn
a menace TO the public. Sooner or LAT
ar 1t draws tramps or firebugs. SO let
there be no talk of rent. 1t will be =
fayor-a positive favor to the Maso.
estate If you and your family will o.
cupy it during the summer months
When can you move in?"
"The end of the weekly Saturday"
said Penelope joyfully.
Good! I shouldn't wonder if my
wife and l were out that same after
noon to look things over before my
summer vacation. And, by the way,
wonder if you'd do us the kindness