The Press., 1909-07-21
The Lover Laid His Pride at His
 SWeetheart's Feet.
By MARIE MoNTRosE.

 gently. Her eyes were soft and gray and expressive of past but unforgot- ten time. Her optimistic fatalism was not wanting in this hour of trouble.
 "T don't see how you managed to save so many things" she said to her friends, each of whom at this encour- agement began to point out what he had snatched from the flames.
 ''See, Miss Barton" cried a lad, tri- umphantly thrusting a tin can into her hand, 'T hearn you say as how this 'ere was yer bank, so grabbed 1t fust thing"
 "Oh, Jim, there is $50 in itF' Her father, Seth Barton, now arriv- ed upon the scene. His heart was full of memories which were smothered in the philosophical remark, Never could have saved her in this windP'
 "You and Doxy Il come right homo with us and stay" cordially invited the nearest neighbor.
 The others followed suit in this prof fer of hospitality, rendering wide open doors
 ''You are so kind, but we'll stay
 
 each invitation. "Our upstairs is fitted up snug as fireside, you know"
 Her fathers stoical face frightened. He had a catlike clinging to home not from love of every heart beat for 1t, as in Doxy's case, but because he could not bear the thought of uprOot- ing and transplanting.
 The neishhors carried the goods and chattels to the barn and helped Doxy arrange a temporary home. While the men were aiding in the evening work their wives prepared supper. Any event, joyful CT calamitous, in the dis trict was deemed an "Occasion" wor- thy of a general repast. After supper they departed for their homes. Seth settled down to his evening pipe and weekly paper as if nothing had hap pened.
 Then DOxy in the soft shadows of the dusk stole out and went through the garden to the blackened ruins of tottering walls and crumbled mortar All the voices of long ago called to her, most consistently the voice of the youth who ten years before had wooed her.
 There had been the lovers quarrel, and Jed Knox in a moment of hot headed anger had sworn he would never again cross the Barton thresh- old.
 Time and events showed him that he was entirely in the wrong and that the quarrel had been of his own mak. ing, but he held stubbornly to his oath. With quiet and firm dignity Doxy had refused to see him else where than in her own home.
 As Jed's stubbornness increased he grew bitter and morose, avoiding all mention of Doxy.
 She started at sight of a man com ing from out the ruins, but in an in- stant she recognized Sol Opper, the village carpenter, early in line for a contract.
 "Sol," said Doxy briskly, 'I want you to build me a house as near like this as you can."
 "Waal, Miss Barton, tell me how much you can put into house."
 There's the $50 Jim saved, the bank account, little insurance, some that Hobbs owes us'-
 After a mental accounting she gave the total of her capital. Sol shook his head discouragingly.
 "You can't do it noways for that money"
 "Knock out the cellar" commanded Doxy, land take off the blinds. In the fall will use the turkeys for blinds" '"The turkeys!' repeated Sol wonder ingly.
 ''The money get for selling them, mean"
 When the blinds were of, the bay window deducted. the gables torn off, the back porch taken away, the stairs removed and general clearing of fire place, attic, paint, plaster, lath and par titions had been effected, the amount of cash available was triumphantly reached.
 The architecture appealed to Sol as easy to build, but was not in accord ance with his ideas of what a dwelling should be.
 "Your house won't have no insides, Miss Barton, but I'll be on hand to- morrow to begin," said he disapprov- ingly.
 When he had gone she again resum- ed her twilight reveries.
 Miss Doxy!'
 She started and, turning, saw the figure of lad so like the youth of the long ago that there was momentary stirring in her heart like pain.
  Knox?''
 He was Jed's young nephew. who had been used as child to spend his summer vacations with his uncle. Little Laurie! A man"
 'I hope so." he replied, taking her hand. "I came today for a visit after all these years. We just heard of the fire, and Uncle Jed asked me to come and see you and ask if there was any thing we could do to help you. Won't you and your father come over to Un- cle Jed's and stay, just for night any, way?"
 Had it been so long, tn n, his strug- gles? She pondered sadly. It hurt her that he could not come himself, but must send another. She thanked the boy kindly, but declined the invi- tation. After talking a few moments of old times she bade him go to the barn and see her father.
 You had better come, toO," he plead ed. q don't believe it's just good for gou to stay here."
 She smiled at his boyish wisdom. "Just a few moments more, Laurie, and then I'll join you and father"
 It was very quiet. A lone bird called. She felt solitary and outlawed. A third time she was interrupted.