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

mer-When the spirit OF rlpeness 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. bu
somehow you faneied you smelled thu
scent of the roses and mignonette a,
well.
There was quite group of peopI,
out on the small hotel veranda, anC
most OF them were gossiping. Spin
ming up the poplar shaded country road
was smart little trap. Across the
tennis courts the occupants were plain
" visible They were James Walsh
and Mrs. John Burgess.
II say, girls" cried one of the group
on the veranda, ''it's 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
l don't think any of US has an atom OF
grit or go or we'd take the wind out
of Mrs. Burgess sails!"
why, she must be all Of hundredl''
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 Noal'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 Durer's Madonna
1--WE were speaking of Mrs. Burgess, .
answered Miss Tyson without even
looking up from her embroidery.
{ Madonna? Folderolw cried the 9th
err girls In concert. She's a plain,
quiet poke of a woman, and a design
ing one at that. She's encouraging
MIN fearfully."
You see, Miss Tyson" observed
Billy. the young chap in fiannels, '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 ardcrs 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 inImitably
droll. Miss Tyson's gray eyes laughed
appreciatively.
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 a catastrophe
Billy proposed 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 fancied likeness between Mrs.
John Burgess and the Madonna of
Durer was not without some basis.
There was, indeed, similarity in the
! weary features, more interesting than
beautiful, and In the dolorous, some
what constrained grace of the stately
figure.
Mrs. Burgess was 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 offer
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 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
fnd herself feeling little lonely and
forgotten-a chill presage Of the au-
tumn winds Of life. Her summer, In
deed, had flown.
Then, just at the correct psychologist
oil moment, he came-the man to whom,
as girl, she had given her heart.
All, where were the chill autumn
winds now? It was st. Martins sum
mer instead!
James Walsh was q middle aged.
portly rich man and a widower. He
had married somewhat early in his ca
reer noted beauty. A fortnight Of
wedlock had convinced him that he and
his bride had not a single taste In con
mon; but, being q businessIike man, on
his return from his tour de noce he'd
sized the matter up in this practical
fashion:
Twas the pink chiffon dress at the
Van buyers ball which was RESPONSE
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 bali.
Mr.. Walsh had been a wldower now
for three years. and he stiIl sighed with