The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1910-02-03

Sarah sat in her squeaky willow rock
er and looked out the window. The
calendar on the wall kept crying TO
her: "Springtime is here. Sarah;
springtime is here, tell you. Look
at me. Sarah. My figures show it.
You've got a neat figure yourself.
Sarah-a nice springtime figure. Why
do you look out the window so sadly?'
Sarah's room was at the back of the
house. Looking out the window she
could see the windowless rear brick
wall of the box factory on the next
street. But the wall was clearest crys-
tai, and Sarah was looking down a
grassy lane shaded with cherry trees
and elms and bordered with raspberry
bushes and Cherokee roses.
Springs real harbingers are too sub
tie for the eye and ear. Some must
have the Towering crocus, the wood
starring dogwood. the voice of blue
bird. even so gross reminder as the
farewell handshake of the retiring
buckwheat and oyster, before they can
welcome the lady in green to their dull
bosoms. But to old earth's choicest
kin there come straight. sweet mes
sageS from his newest bride. telling
them they shall be no stepchildren I'M
less they choose to be.
On the previous summer Sarah had
gone into the country and loved a
farmer
Qn writing your story never bark
back thus. 1t is bad art and cripples
interest. Let it march, march,
Sarah stayed two weeks at Sunny
brook farm. There she learned to love
old Farmer Franklins son Walter.
Farmers have been loved and welded
and turned out to grass in less time.
But young Walter Franklin was a
modern agriculturist. He had tele-
phone in his COW house, and he could
figure up exactly what effect next
years Canada wheat crop would have
on potatoes planted in the dark of the
moon.
1t was in this shaded and raspber-
ried lane that Walter had wooed and
won her And together they had sat
anu NON Cu ii OlON II VI udHutIlOuS lOI
her hair. He had immoderately prais-
ed the effect of the yellow blossoms
against her brown tresses, and she had
left the chaplet there and walked back
to the house swinging her straw sailor
in her hand.
They were to marry in the spring
at the very first sign of spring. Waiter
said. And Sarah came back to the
city to pound her typewriter.
A knock at the door dispelled Sarah's
visions of that happy day. A waiter
had brought the rough pencil draft of
the home restaurants next day fare
in old Schulenberg's angular hand.
Sarah sat down to her typewriter
and slipped a card between the rollers.
She was Il nimble worker Generally
in an hour and a half the twenty-one
menu cards were written and ready.
Today there We're more changes on
the bill of fare than usual. The soups
were lighter Pork was eliminated from
the entrees. figuring only with RUS
sian turnips among the roasts. The
gracious spirit of spring pervaded the
entire menu. Lamb that lately ca
pered Oh the greening hilIsides was
becomingly exploited with the sauce
that commemorated its gambols. The
song of the oyster, though not silenced,
was diminuendo con amore. The fry
ing pan seemed to be held inactive be
hind the beneticent bars of the broiler.
Tho r.iA S.yTaI1aI. hn -,
dings had vanished; the sausage, with
his drapery wrapped about him, bare
ly fingered in pleasant thanatopsiS
with the buckwheats and the sweet
but doomed maple.
Sarah's fingers danced like midgets
above summer stream. Down
through the courses she worked. Civ
ing each item its position according to
its length with an accurate eye.
Just above the desserts came the
list of egetables-carrots and peas
asparagus or toast. the perennial to-
matUes and corn and succotash, lima
beans, cabbage-and then
Sarah was crying over her bill of
fare. Tears from the depths of some
divine despair rose i'll her heart and
gathered to her eyes. Down went her
head on the little typewriter stand
and the keyboard ratified a dry accom-
paniment to her moist Sobs.
For she had received no letter from
Walter in two weeks. and the next
item on the bill Of fare was dandelions
-dandeliOns with some kind Of egg
But bother the egg! Dandeions, with
whose golden blooms Walter had
crowned her his queen of love and tu-
ture bride; dandelions. the harbingers
of spring. her sorrows crown of sOr-
row, reminder of her happiest daysl
Madam, | dare you to smile until
you suffer this test: Let the Marechal
Mel roses that Percy brought you on
the night you gave him your heart be
served as Il salad with French dressing
before your eyes at a Schulenberg
table d'hote. Had Juliet so seen her
love tokens dishonored the sooner
would she have sought the lethean
herbs Of the good apothecary.
But what a witch is spring! Into
the great cold city of stone and iron
a message had to be sent. There was
none to convey it but the little hardy
courier Of the fields with his rough
green coat and modest air. He is
true soldier Of fortune, this dent-de-liOn