The daily telegram. [volume] (Clarksburg, W. Va.) 1901-1926, 1907-01-03

i 49, - ~ 49, 4-A~AA 49, . N4AA
mer-when the spirit OF ripeness which
seems to have fed once more holds tn,
land with Its Intoxicating breath. TIL
fields were studded with tiny Michael
mas daisies. and the hedgerows wer,
brilliant with early goldenrod, bui
somehow you fancied you smelled tbs
scent of the roses and mignonette q,
well.
There was quite a group of peopl,
out on the small hotel veranda, and
most Of them were gossiplng. Spin
ming up the poplar shaded country road
was a smart little trap. Across the
tennis courts the occupants were plain
" visible. They were James Walsh
and Mrs. John Burgess.
81 say. girls" cried one OF the group
on the veranda, tits a crying shame tc
let that elderly person cut Us out with
the richest man we have up here
crying shame, that's what it is! And
don't think any of Us has an atom OF
grit or go or we'd take the wind out
of Mrs. Burgess sailsF'
why, she must be all OF a hundredP'
exclaimed another.
"They say that Mr.. Walsh knew her
years ago. Wonder where he picked
her up. In the ark, guess"
"oh, my dear, long before that. .
drawled another mockingly. Long
before Noah's time women had ceased
TO do their hair in that absurd fash.
lon"
Then the quiet girl with the en-
broidery on her lap spoke softly:
She has lot of hair. anyhow, and
it's beautiful, and the way she dresses
it suits her features. She reminds me
of Albert Durer's Madonna
who's that, Miss Tyson? inter.
rupted young fellow in tennis fan
nels, suddenly appearing In the door
way. who's like Durers Madonna
I'VE We're speaking of Mrs. Burgess, .
answered Miss Tyson without even
looking up from her embroidery.
Madonna? FolderolF' cried the 9th.
er girls in concert. "She's a plain
quiet poke of woman, and a design.
ing one at that. She's encouraging
him fearfully."
You see, Miss Tyson" observed
Billy. the young chap in fannels, 1--WE
get only one or two big matrimonial
catches season up here. It's waste
of time nowadays to listen to the i'm.
pecunious ardors of early youth. Con.
sequently"-
Billy's words were ambiguous
enough, but the comprehensive little
sweep which he made with his glance
and sun Drowned hand, including We.
randa, girls and all, was lnlmitably
droll. Miss Tyson's gray eyes laughed
appreclatiyely.
They were such nice understanding
gray eyes, thought Billy. Twas a
shame that embroidery should engross
SO much Of their attention. Even now
she showed signs OF taking It up
again, and to avoid such catastrophe
Billy proposed a game OF tennis.
"All right" said Miss Tyson cheer
fully, folding the bit OF linen about the
tiny hoop and slowing 1t away in a
tiny bag.
The fancled likeness between Mrs.
John Burgess and the Madonna of
Durer was not without some basis.
There was, indeed, similarity in the
weary features, moro interesting than
beautiful, and In the dolorous, some.
what constrained grace Of the stately
figure.
Mrs. Burgess was a woman of forty
five. Her manner, her aspect, was that
of one who had long since ceased
wishing to attract. In point of fact.
the wish had never been pronounced.
Since her husbands death, which had
occurred ten years previously, she had
never worn a color. It is to be sup
posed that Mr., Burgess had loved her.
His had been her first and only otfer
Of marriage, but in her girlhood her
heart had been given to another.
Most people who knew Mrs. John
Burgess thought Of her as the mother
Of her children. She had a son in the
west who was making great ventures
in cattle and horses. and she had
married daughter in Paris who was
writing her constantly OF her social tri.
umphs and prosperity. Yes, her chill.
dren were full OF their own plans and
projects, and once or twice lately Mrs.
Burgess had been bit surprised to
find herself feeling q little lonely and
forgotten-a chill presage Of the au-
tumn winds Of Life. Her summer, in
deed, had flown. n
Then, just at the correct psychologist
al moment he came-the man to whom,
as a girl, she had given her heart.
All, where were the chill autumn
winds now? 1t was st. Martins sum
mer instead!
James Walsh was a middle aged.
portly rich man and q widower. He
had married somewhat early in his Gu
reer a noted beauty. A fortnight Of
wedlock had convinced him that he and
his bride had not q single taste In cou
mon; but being businessllke man, OH
his return from his tour de noee he'd
sized the matter up in this practical
fashion:
Twas the pink chiffon dress at the
Van buyers ball which was responsi
BILE. Only. why wasn't IT, But the
why wasn't it, in this case hadn't
worn pink chiffon dress, nor had she
been at the Van buyers bah.
Mr.. Walsh had been wldower now