The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1907-10-03

tranced. Even Mrs. Farley hung on
every word.
81 often tell Josiah it's shame" she
burst out, that we live right here
from year to year and never get away.
Why, the biggest place we've ever
been to is Clifford Junction. And I
guess that, though the stores there
seem big enough for me, they wouldn't
be anything in New York"
ooh, | don't know" said Fanshaw
quickly, fearing that his enthusiasm
might have sown the first seeds of dis.
content. "Plenty of New Workers would
be glad to own such beautiful place
as this"
Mrs. Farley glowed with pleasure
"I'll tell that to Josiah" she exclaimed
"He thinks there's nothing like the
farm. And hope" she added, that
If you're passing by this way you'll
stop In and see us some time again"
Fanshaw promised that he would
All at once the chattering groups on
the hotel veranda seemed vapid and
embarrassing. He discovered that golf
and tennis bored him unutterably
Even the plans for the flower cotilon
to be held three weeks hence failed to
inspire him, though only the day be-
fore he had been one of the prime NOV
ers of the innovation. The sweets of
popularity had become suddenly taste
less, for the very reason perhaps that
Fanshaw had had more than his share
Every one liked the broad shoulder
ed, frank eyed young fellow, from the
senior partners of the law firm where
he was making conspicuous progress
to the freckled urchins that followed
him about the golf course. He had
won his own way up. His friends
were the friends of a man who had q
seemingly inexhaustible supply of ma.
tive energy and pluck. He worked
hard, and when time for recreation
came he played hard, throwing himself
into the enjoyment of his present va.
cation with all the zest and ardor of a
boy.
His plans now had but one focns
point-the Farley farm. Sometimes II
was in the morning he rode over. some
times late afternoon; but. whether late
or early, fate favored him. Esmeralds
was always there, now molding butter
with swift touches of her deft fingers,
now pulling up tiny marauding weeds
from the thrifty flower beds. And, as
always, her talk; beginning where IL
might, ended with the perpetually fas.
cinating topic of the city. Again and
again no was forced to describe it fol
her, while Esmeralda listened with un.
tagging attention, but when, to amuse
her, he talked lightly and cleverly of
the summer colony at Berkeley she
paid little heed till he mentioned the
flower cotillon, and then she was like
a child In her eagerness.
would you like to go?" asked Fan
shaw without waiting to consider the
wisdom of the impulse.
Esmeralda was radiant, though Mrs.
Farley was dubious concerning clothes.
Yet when Fanshaw rode over next
morning 1t appeared that the question
had been joyfully settled, and Esmer'
aida called to him from the upstairs
window that If he would only wait she
and Mrs. Farley would be down. Aft
err short pause they came, Mrs. Far
ley first in brown silk dress whose
sleeves and panniers had graced fash
ions that held sway some ten years
ago, while Esmeralda's pale blue cash
mere belonged to an even earlier
period.
They were so innocently pleased with
what Mrs. Farley termed their fix.
ings" that HOLSTER FanshHw had not
the heart to protest. He tactfully sug
gested that the road to the hotel was
long and dusty and would work havoc
with such finery and that the simple
sprigged muslins thnt Esmeralda wore
every day would do equally we'll.
whereat Mrs. Farley merely smiled
and produced two long black bolnba.
zine cloaks antedating even the brown
silk and blue cashmere. These she
said, would cover them from head to