The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1908-10-23
FOR LOVE. Of CHI RIS'r'
BY BEULAH MARIE DIX.


4 Wetherell, but to the large circle of
their relatives they were Lizzie
Wetherell and Lizzie's daughter,
while to the girls of Ambrazon Col
iege they were Betty Wetherell of o.
and Betty's mother.
Lizzie Wetherell had pretty brown
hair, just touched with gray, and
brown eyes that crinkled when she
laughed. A tidy little body she had,
usually clad in a brown tailored suit,
and plump capable hands. She could
keep a house with marvellous nicely.
She could plan and make the dainti-
est of gowns. She could tell the fun
niest stories. For occupation she
took three girl students to board in
her coy, old fashioned house in
Brownlow street. And with all her
heart she admired and adored her
daughter Betty.
Betty Wetherell had pretty brown
hair, just touched with red, and
brown eyes that were grave and ear
nest. A supple young body she had,
clad in pretty gowns of her mothers
planning, and slim, restless hands.
She could write themes that won
commendation even from her English
instructors. She could plan novels
and plays that in time she meant to
write. For occupation she was a
student at Ambrazon College. And
being a well bred girl, she was toll
Grant of her mother, and rarely
showed how frivolous she thought
her mind and how trifing her pur-
suits.
The graduate student, who dug at
Gothic roots in the third story cham
Der of the house in Brownlow street,
held that Betty's worst fault was
youth. In time, no doubt, that would
amend itself. But meanwhile it was
not always pleasure to watch Betty
with her mother.
In her little girlhood Betty had
thought that there was no one in the
world so clever as her mother. She
had liked to hear about the days
when her mother had been young,
and, like her, had written stories and
planned great works for the future,
and had even begun to have things
printed in the papers, till on her
marriage, she had laid aside all
thought of career.
But as Betty grew older and
more critical, and found that her
mother preferred Scott to Stevenson
and Milton to Browning, and chung
to Macaulay as trustworthy histor-
ian, she began to feel that her moth
er, however worthy as a housekeeper,
was sadly deficient as a scholar, and,
no doubt, as writer.
So more and more Betty told her
aspirations and read her stories to
her own little coterie of college
friends, and less and less to her moth
er. And Lizzie Wetherell went on
keeping her house spick and span,
but she did not tell so many droll
stories. And sometimes, when she
had spoken, she glanced at clever
Betty as if she almost expected to be
snubbed for her frivolity.
At such times the graduate student
longed to take Betty by the shoulders
and bump that pretty, foolish little
head of hers against the nearest wall
Of course, feeling her mothers
lack of true appreciation of her work
and aims, Betty did not confide IN
her when she decided, at the begin
ming of her junior year, to compete
for the $500 prize that Eversham's
Magazine was offering for the best
short story submitted before Deem
Der /. Instead, she consulted her
friends and classmates, and with their
aid picked out the manuscript that
she meant to submit. 1t was theme
that her instructor had declared quite
perfect in its literary form, and she
felt it no extravaganza to pay to have
1t neatly typewriter.
How pretty her own words looked
seen for the firsttime in clear, printed
letters When Betty carried the
manuscript home, in the frosty No
vember twilight, she had only one re-
greet, namely, that there was no one
left among her friends who had not
heard the story. She would so much
nave liked to read it aloud from the
typewriter manuscript.
So thinking, Betty entered the
house, and there, in the living room,
she saw her mother sitting. The lamp
was lighted, and in the open crate the
nre was kindled. At her mothers
elbow, on her desk, were the pad on
which the days menus were written,
and couple Of cook books. On her
mothers lap were darning Basket
and Betty's silk stockings. And on
the table was silver dish of crystal
iized ginger, sweet of which Betty
was fond.
After the cold outdoors the living
room looked warm and cozy, and Bet
" wanted nearer for her story. So,
contrary to custom, she went into the
hVing room instead of passing on to
ner own chamber, which was also her
study She sat down in the deep
cnalr by the hearth, and for an in
slant she had half mind to tell her
mother all about the Eversham's
: prize offer. But then, as she looked
\ at her pretty manuscript, she felt so
sure OF its success that she thought it
better to wait and astonish her moth
er when she had actually won the
prize So for the present she told her
only that she had there typewriter
copy OF one of her newest stories.
Perhaps you would like to hear
It,, Betty ended yrao;o,,s, a.,