Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1910-02-15

with level, direct eyes.
mo-" she returned quietly. 81 did
not intend to go home. I-well, it
doesn't matter; I am going home
now"
A woman in a calico dress, with
two children, each an exact duplicate
Of the other. had come quickly down
the road She took in the situation at
glance, and was explosively hospit-
able.
"You poor things" she said. IT
you'll take the first road to the left
over there, and turn in at the second
pigsty, you will find breakfast on the
table and coffee pot on the stove.
And there's plenty of soap and water.
too. Don't say one word. There isn't
soul there to see you"
We accepted the invitation and she
hurried on toward the excitement and
the railroad. I got UP carefully and
helped Miss West to her feet
cat the second pigsty to the left" 1
repeated, I'VE will find the breakfast
| promised you seven eternitles ago.
Forward to the pigsty!"
We said very little for the remand
err of that walk. I had almost reached
the limit of endurance; with every
step the broken ends of the bone
grated together We found the farm
house without difficulty, and | remem-
Der wondering if l could hold out to
the end of the old stone walk that led
between hedges to the door.
i oil
the voice l could muster. Behold the
coffee pot!' And then l put down the
cup and folded up like a jack-knife on
the porch floor.
When / came around something hot
was trickling down my neck, and a
despairing voice was saying, ooh, l
don't seem to be able to pour it into
your mouth Please open your eyes"
But don't want it in my eyes,"
replied dreamily Il haven't any idea
what came over me. 1t was the shoes,
I think; the left one is a red-hot tor
ture" 1 was sitting by that time and
looking across into her face.
Never before or since have l faint
ed, but would do it joyfully, dozen
times a day, if could waken again
to the blissful touch of soft fingers on
my face, the hot ecstasy of coffee
spilled by those fingers down my neck.
There was thrill in every tone of
her voice that morning. Before long
my loyalty to Mcknight would step
between me and the girl he loved;
life would develop new complexities.
In these early I.ours after the wreck,
full of pain rs they were, there was
nothing of the suspicion and distrust
that came later. Shorn Of our gauds and
baubles, we were primitive man and
woman, together; our world for the
hour was the deserted farmhouse, the
slope of wheatfield that led to the
road the woodland lot, the pasture.
We breakfasted together across the
homely table. Our cheerfulness, at
first sheer reaction, became less forced
as we ate great slices of bread from
the granny oven back of the house,
and drank hot fluid that smelled like
coffee and tasted like nothing that I
have ever swallowed. We found cream
in stone jars, sunk deep in the chill
water of the springhouse. And there
were eggs, great yellow-brown ones
basket of them.
So, like two children awakened from
nightmare, we chatted over our food;
we hunted mutual friends, we laughed
together at my feeble witticisms, but
we put the horror behind us resolute-
ly. After all, it was the hat with
the green ribbons that brought back
the strangeness Of the situation.
All along I had had the impression
that Alison West was deliberately put
ting out of her mind something that
obtruded now and then. It brought
with it a return of the puzzled express
sion that had surprised early in the
day, before the wreck. caught Il
once, when, breakfast over, she was
the sling that held the
broken arm. I had prolonged the