The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1907-09-19
with her washing and hurried down


stairs.
when she read them In the privacy of
her room. Then, the loss of her hand
kerchief dawning suddenly upon her
she pronounced "P. L."<not only a
bold. bad poet, but a sneak thief, and
Tor days stunned the roof religiously
Finally, however. curiosity got the
better Of her. and she yentured to go
up just once more and see what would
happen. The prospect wasn't promis-
Ing. The only person in sight was
trained nurse hanging out blankets.
II hope no one is very ILL.," remarked
Sylvia.
"Well, he's pretty Sick" replied the
nurse. HE took cold staying up here
on the roof too long after getting over
the grip. We're fearful of pneumonia"
Sylyia's heart thumped violently.
I'm so sorry" she said sympathetic
ally. us he deurlous?"
The nurse looked at her curiously
mo, not exactly. He talks In his sleep
sometimes. Are you friend OF Mr..
Laurlson'sT
81 know him slightly" stammered
Sylvia. Then. after a moment, she
added dmldly, rs Mr.. Laurison con.
sciousr
"Oh, yes; he's conscious"
Then please give him this" begged
Sylvia, extracting little crumpled pa
per from a mysterious hiding place.
Don't let him read II till he's better.
He'll know who sent It," Then Sylvia
made one OF her Enthusiastically dra-
matte exits.
The days that followed stretched SOL
emHiy on into weeks. Occasionally Syl-
via inquired of the elevator boy how
Mr.. Laurison was getting on. 1t seem
ed an eternity before his lugubrious
about the same, MISS" changed to
the cheerful They say he's much bet
ter, miss"
No more counsellngs now with Dame
Grundy as to the propriety of trips to
the roof Sylvia went every day-twice
a day. She knew that some time she
would and him there When at length
she did she almost ran to him for Joy.
but remembered suddenly that they
had met only once before. So she call
ed to him from the distance.
"How do you do, Mr.. Laurison"
Paul started up In his steamer chair
and gazed at her In glad surprise.
"Why. how do you do again." he
called cheerily. won't you come over
and shake handsT'
Sylvia came toward him quickly and
extended her little white hand.
az suppose this Is Miss s. Il. l have
the pleasure of greeting" said Paul,
with cordial informally.
"Yes-Sylvia Randall" she answered.
at like the queens name" Paul COM
mented, land wish could ask her to
stay awhile, but have no throne to
offer her."
Without further ceremony Sylvia sat
down on the roof and declared herself
comfortable.
81 want to thank you, Miss Sylvia"
began Paul slowly, "for your message
while | was Ill. It did me a world of
good"
Sylvia looked up at him to see II he
was making fun OF her, but Paul lay
back against the cushions, his eyes ap-
parently closed. From beneath those
closed lids, however, he was reveling
In the glory of Sylvia's hair and In the
color that came and went In her
cheeks.
81 wrote It," explained Sylvia hum
bly,, "before 1 knew you were Ill and
before | found out that you are a real
author"
"And how did you discover that?" In
quired Paul.
an a magazine" answered Sylvia
tersely. at was a good story-much
better than your rhymes"
"Well, you see, writing poetry isn't
exactly In nay line" said Paul, laugh.
Ing. 81 never did 1t till | met you.
But like 1t just the same. My two
fayorite lines are these:
up. L. was a poet; p L. was a thief
p. L. came to my house and stole hand
kerchief."
Sylvia hung her head, whether from
modesty or amusement Paul couldn't
tell.
1.-The paper they were written on
was suspiciously watermarked," he OBJ
served. "You didn't really cry, did
your
"Rain vets things" answered Sylvia
laconically. Besides, what good would
1t have done to cry? You had my
handkerchief"
After this suspicious beginning the
chimney postoffice was wonderfully
busy institution, and the old roof woke
up all of sudden to its many roman
tic possibilities.
Its truly garden, isn't it?" whis-
pered Sylvia one night, stealing about
In the moonlight with Paul beside her.
1.-THE queens garden" answered
Paul, and Sylvia didn't dispute him.