The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1908-10-23

All the characters were great gentle
folk. The plot was an ingenious COM
pound of love and villainy, and pit
eously, direfully tragic in its out
come. Betty's voice fairly quavered
over the concluding lines.
Lizzie Wetherells face, as she list
ened, was lovely in its tenderness.
Oh, how foolish she had been to feel
hurt at Betty's Sights, any more
than she had resented it when Betty.
tiny baby, had tugged at her moth
er's hair! How young she was, this
tall Betty! Love and life! What
did she know of either, this child
with her red-heeled puppets and her
tags of borrowed phrases?
Betty looked up She saw the ten
der mist in her mothers eyes, but she
saw, too, behind the mist, a little
twinkle. Suddenly she felt young
and angry.
You don't like it," she flashed.
Il wish you would say what you don't
like"
II know so little of eighteenth CEN
tury manners" apologized Lizzie
Wetherell. "But-are you quite sure
a woman would behave like your
Chloris?"
Betty rose majestically.
L knew you wouldn't understand"
she said, and swept out of the room.
That night at dinner Betty was
not rude, but deadly civil to her
mother. 1t was one of the times
when the graduate student particu-
larly ached to lay hands on her. So
unbearably supercilious was Betty,
that at last, like the trodden worm,
Lizzie Wetherell turned.
She remembered that in the DAYS
long past she, too, had been a girl
writer, with ambitions like Betty's.
She remembered that all her life she
had remained famous in her own cir
Gle as teller of good stories. She
remembered that she still could write
letters that were a delight to her
friends.
why, even to-day I believe that l
poor, stupid I!-could write story
as good as For Love of Chloris!' Z"
concluded Lizzie Wetherell.
So much did she think of this last
slight that Betty had put upon her
that when she took up the pad that
evening to make out the next days
menus, she wrote, almost before she
rpa1izod whot che d;d +bo 4;t1o +ho4
was running in her head-"For Love
of Chloris.' AS she looked at the
words she began to fuse the frag-
ments of the story that had come to
her since she had heard the name
the true story of Nancy Towle and her
heifer Chloris. Bit by bit she shaped
it in her mind, and then, with a little
smile that was half ashamed, but
very resolute, she bent above the pad
and set to writing.
BY the time she had finished the
clock was striking 10, and a few mo-
ments later the graduate student
came down stairs. She always came
at that hour, pausing in her long eve
ning's work, and made little supper
of fruit and crackers by the bright
fire, and listened to the tales that
Lizzie eWetherell no longer ventured
to tell at the table.
Indeed Lizzie Wetherell and the
graduate student were good friends,
and knowing that, Lizzie Wetherell
took courage.
"Will you let me read you some
thing?" she asked.
And then she read aloud her "For
Love of Chloris.' 1t was only the
story of crotchety old woman and
the dumb creature that she loved, but
there were tears in it, and laughter,
and wholesome sea air, and at the
last CLEAN of watery sunshine.
When the reading was done the
graduate student sat for a moment
silent.
That's good" she said at last.
TITS true and human. What do you
mean to do with it?"
Lizzie Wetherell was as pleased as
girl. Of late she had not been
praised for anything but housekeep-
ing.
DO with it?" she repeated. "Why,
maybe I'll send it to Cousin Hattie
She'll remember old Nancy, and she
likes my scribbling."
More than your cousin would like
that story" said the graduate stu
dent. why don't you try for the
prize that Eversham's is offering?"
Lizzie Wetherell had not heard of
the prize, for Eversham's was one of
the new magazines that she, a stanch
conservative, never dreamed of buy
ing. But now she heard all about it.,
and she consented to the graduate
Students entering For Love of Chic
ris" in the competition, although, she
protested honestly, she was sure
nothing would come of it.
So the graduate student carried the
manuscript to her room, and on her
way she passed Betty's door.
Little prig." unused the graduate
student. with a mother so plucky
and sweet hearted and clever-oh, so
much more clever than ever the child
will be! And she dares to patronize
her! I wish Mrs. Wetherell might
win that prize. 1t would be lesson
to the girl, and she ought to learn it
before it's too late!"
The graduate student choked.
Over her own mothers grave the
SHOWS of the third winter now were
drifting.
In her~own room the graduate stu