The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1907-10-03
A Second
ESmeralda.
BY Constance Darcy Mackay.
Copyright. 1907. by M. M. Cunningham.

When HOLSTER Fanshaw first caugh
sight of her she was standing at the
door of dairy, her hands clasped be
hind her head. Her gown of rose col
ored print aecentuated the lines of bel
supple figure. Her golden brown hail
was gathered In heavy coil at thu
nape of her neck. Beside her stood o
trimming milk pail, its sides cleaning
as the light struck them.
Fanshaw paused. The roads ovel
which he had ridden were dusty anu
parched under the heat of the July
sun, and suddenly this dairy, set in itS
cool expanse of fields, seemed mos,
desirable place. Near by was the farm
to which 1t belonged, a rambling olo
fashioned homestead. Fanshaw's eyes
swept 1t in one comprehensive glance
and returned to the girl at the dairy
door. He decided that nothing shor,
of glass of milk could quench his
thirst. Dismountlng, he tethered his
horse to the fence.
Gould you tell me the road to Berke
leyT" he inquired, for the truth was
he had lost his way twice that morn
ing, not so much from neglect of read
ing the signposts as from a dreamy In
attention to their pointing fingers, fol
the spell of the great outdoors was on
him, and he reveled In the air laden
with the mingled fragrances of wood
and field, the lure of the long white
road. Yet now that he had questioned
his dairy divinity he was once more
alert; his dreaminess had fallen from
him with astonishing quickness. But
before the girl could reply an Older
woman looked from the doorway, and
1t was her voice that answered him.
She was plump and kindly, with
face like q December apple, ruddy and
a bit withered. 1t was evident that
few visitors passed that way. and she
was urgently hospitable in her desire
that Fanshaw should not only refresh
himself with her buttermilk, but that
he should drink 1t In comfort, indicat'
Ing bench inside the dairy where the
air seemed like Il mountain spring com
pared to the drowsy blaze of noon
without. Fanshaw's horse was con.
tentedly cropping beneath the shade of
a giant oak, and Fanshaw himself
was equally contented and inclined to
linger. He learned that this pleasant
bit of rolling country was the Farley
farm, and In return he vouchsafed the
information that he had come from the
Hilbrook House, the chief hotel of
summer colony some eight miles away.
AS he talked he glanced from time to
time at the girl.
"a princess of curls and cream" he
thought to himself. II wonder how
such n jewel came to have a rustic
setting!'
81 suppose you live here with your
aunt, Mrs Farley?' he hazarded.
The girl smiled.
Mrs. Farley is not my aunt" she
answered In a soft, drawing voice.
I'm an orphan. | work here"
Mrs. Farley opened her mouth as II
to add something to this speech, then,
thinking better OF 1t. closed 1t again
and, rising. went to a shelf near by
and continued her skimmlng.
The girl regarded Fanshaw with
wide, childlike blue eyes.
81 calculate to go to the city some
day myself" she said. Tell me about
New York" And Fanshaw, glad of
such listener plunged In at once
with descriptions of Broadway and
Wall street, the rush. the clamor the
glitter, of 1t all The girl listened, en-