The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1907-02-27
THE EVENING STORY
In Search of Simplicity.
(By Constance DARCY Macka

room, noted the blueness of the sky,
and the bright color of some autumn
leaves that drifted by on puff or
wind.
Below, in the street, a girl walked
briskly, her cheeks glowing from the
keen touch of the air. A newsboy
whistled blithely as he loitered on the
corner. An old woman passed, bas-
ket on her arm. 1t was filled with APP
pies, rosy and fresh-looking, as If they
had just been shaken from the tree or
gathered from the frost-starred grass
of an orchard. An orchard! Mrs: st.
Aubyn smiled. How long was it since
she had roamed in one? Twenty years
at least; for Mrs. st. Aubyn was thirty
seven.
Twenty years of dinners and teas and
dances, of summers passed at New
port, and winters spent in the Fittings
from Paris to London, and from Lon
don home again. LUXURY had smoothed
Mrs. st. Aubyn's path, and time had
touched her lightly. Her figure was
as slender and supple as a girPs, and
there were those of her acquaintance
caustic enough to say that during the
period of her mourning she mad pro-
longed the wearing of widows weeds
because black set off her amber-coi-
ored hair and dazzling complexion-a
clear rose and white that still def1ed
the aid of cosmetics.
tAn orchard!" repeated Mrs. St.
Aubyn, looking after the old apple
woman who had hobbled to the cross
ing. 81 wore my hair in a braid then,
1 remember, and big frilled sunbon-
net. How fresh and wonderful the
world seemed in those days! It's SO
long ago that I've almost forgotten
what rusticity is like. And yet
She paused. A sudden longing for
the country took possession of her
for the real country, where no smart,
high-seated traps met the incoming
train. where roads wound between
fields, not lawns; and where the air
was full of autumn scents and sounds,
the smell of earth and withered grass,
the rustic of dry leaves underfoot. She
turned abruptly from the window, and
with a swiftness that denoted decision
crossed the room and rang the bell.
Prompt as a trap-door fairy Antoi-
nette appeared.
81 am not going shopping after all"
said Mrs. st. Aubyn. "And you may
telephone to the dressmaker that 1
can't keep my appointment for this
Antoinette opened her brown eyes
wide in establishment. She would have
opened them still wider an hour later
had she seen Mrs. st. Aubyn seated in
car, whose general dinginess pro-
claimed its acquaintance with obscure
places off the general line of travel.
Instead of well-groomed commuters
and their wives there were men whose
clothes were a bit rusty and women
whose bulky satchels and bags bore
witness that they had been to spend q
week with daughter In the city. Wide
eyed children chung tenaciously to
dolls and bananas, crying babies were
vehemently urged to look out the
window at grandpa" and when the
said with an abandon which half
half-stirred Mrs. st. Aubyn.
In her world repression was the law of
life. 1t was long since she had been
in touch with the simple. homely
things of existence.
.'To think that this actually occurs
in New York" she murmured to her
self, and then laughed little guiltily,
for under her monogramed morocco
bag there reposed q neat brown paper
and a bottle of olives that she had
paused to buy at the station in the
breathlessness of her flight. Bought
at the stationi With what Mortified
would Antoinette have pro-
tested had she known, and with what
planned against the crowded STIFFNESS
of the train.
"Fairview," called the conductor.
Mrs. st. Aubyn looked at her time
table. Four stations more!
1t was noon when she stepped out at
Meadowbank. The narrow platform
was deserted save for a young tele-
graph operator, who looked apprecia-
lively at Mrs. St. Aubyn's tailor-made
costume of gray and violet, and in
CURED if she would like a team. She
shook her head. She would rather
walk! How we'll she knew the road!
And how little 1t had changed. She
it by a cluster of trim-fenced
houses, past the general store, and on
to where the fields widened and
stretched away to hills whose SUBMITS
were "A misty blue. Blackberry vines,
rust from fall. tangled at the road
side, and here and there asters glowed
ike a purple flame. At the far edge
Of the village outskirts she came to a
rambling white house. Grass grew
knee deep in it's yard; its windows were
suffered; its door bore a placard:
For Sale, over its porch the bare
.endrils of a honeysuckle vine stirred
with every passing wind. By a path
still family discernible through a net
work of weeds, Mrs. st. Aubyn took
her way to the orchard. There she
came upon a sight where held her
stock still with amazement.
Jimmy" cried Mrs. st. Aubyn,
what in the world are you doing
1ere?" I
Jimmy Vanringcourt forsook the ap-
pie for which he had been reaching, |
gray hair. Then he came forward.
INV dear Helene" he exclaimed !
who ever would have thought of see
ng you'll" Il
81 came by the noon train, sale |
Mrs. st. Aubyn-
"Ah! Aud I by the one before it.
Hasn't changed much, has it?" he con-
inued. nodding toward the old house, |
Except that the grass is ragged. 1t |
ooks Just the same as that summer |
you spent here with your aunt. Have |
-ou ever been back here since?"
Never" said Mrs. st. Aubyn, flush |
ng.
s'Nor L Strange, isn't it. that we |
hould meet? What prompted you to |
come today?''
ooh, I don't know think the So
,ial merry-g o-round has begun to pail. /
got so tired of people and things, and |
wanted to get away from them"
There was a moments silence. The