Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1910-04-02
THE EVENING STORY /,
ON couRTlNc NIGHT.
BY Edith Gray.
Copyright 1910 by Associated Literar!

Copyright 1910 by Associated Literary
Press.
Above, in the shadows, the author
was speaking softly to the other
boarder. The other boarder was An
artist, and the author and he seemed
always to have great deal to say 10
one another. They often came to the
little Miller farm to spend care-free
week ends, undisturbed by obtrusive
critics and condescendiEg art pa
irons. and tonight, as was their GUS
tom. they tipped their chair legs back
against the shingles, their rect
stretching out toward the piazza rail-,
their eyes searching the stars beyond.
Below, on the steps, sat the pretty
daughter of Farmer Miller, gorgeous
in the panoply Of counting evenings.
her soft hair, of mornings 80 allur-
ing In the careless disarray Of gold
brown strands caressing slender neck
and warm flushed cheeks. now
knotted in tight awkward wad; and
the soft house dress, which usually
chung so prettily about her shapely lit
tie figure, displaced by . horror OF stih
starched Bingham. It was counting
evening, and she sat primly upon the
steps, complacently conscious of the
Importance Of the occasion and OF her
own immaculate splendor. But the
eyes Of Elizabeth Miller were troubled.
and a frown puckered the usual
serenity of her sun-browned forehead.
Was it after all, she pondered, 50
wonderful thing to be loved and
wooed by young Dave Stetson? Or
course, he was handsome and rich. in
his own account, and richer still IN
anticipation of greater things, for some
day he would be the sole owner Of the
old Stetson place. with its wealth OF
barns and greenhouses. It's expanse OF
sun-kissed hills and rich brown
meadow land. 1t is true, however, that
he might have had Nellie Wharton, the
Justices daughter, or pretty MARY
Howard, for the asking. Nellie had
been away to school and Mary's father
part owner Of the big Howard mills,
was man whose wealth and innuence
were in no way to be sconed.
Yet, for all that. David had turned
to her, despite the greater attractions
of wealth and beauty. Tonight. within
ear shot OF the softly modulated voice
of the writer man and the answering
echo OF his friends sympathetic under
standing, the eyes of 'Lisbeth Miller,
we're troubled and the frown, deep
pickering, defied the calm tranquility
of the summer stars.
She could hear, plainly, every word
of the author, though he was sub
timely unconscious Of her presence,
hidden as she was behind the piazza
pillar. He was speaking strange, In
COMPREHENSIVE words, socialism,
anarchy, democracy and the tyranny
of the powers. But 1t was not the
words, or their import, 1t was the
voice with it's peculiar richness, It's
strange risings and falltngs Its mum.
erous subtle infections that held and
thrilled her inmost being. David might
say, II love you, love you. love
vow, a thousand times, but his pas.
sionate outpourings could not move
her one-half as much as the utterances
of this strange creature, cold and I'M
personal as he was. She thought, He
must see that am pretty! Perhaps IN
time" Her cheeks famed scarlet I'M
der their rich coat Of tan.
Well, she would wait. The writer
and his less prepossessing friend
would be returning from time to time,
during the long summer. So she
would have ample time to think It
over, and SUFFICIENT occasion to I'm.
press the writer with her unsurpassed
weekday dexterity and her wonderous
Sunday splendor.
There was the cerise silk that Aunt
Sabina had left her. She would wear
that one day-and grandmother Mil
ler's black Jet necklace and earrings
should be called upon in time Of nc
cessity. She knew that the women In
the great city were beautiful, but she
would show this man that she could
cone with any fair dansel Of the Tar
metropolis.
She patted her pink Bingham
thuoghtfully and lifted her hand APP
proyingly to the shapeless couture
above. Then her chin rose In proud
determination. Yes, she would tel
Dave at once. She would 60 ana meet
him when the front gate clicked ana
inform him Of the fact that there
could be no more counting, no more
strolling in forest pathways on sum-
mer afternoons, no. more winter con-
fldences over the open fire. The
thing should be ended at once and
for all time.
And yet, in spite " the fact that her
brain was dazzled with the thought OF
the tall, slender man, with his Keen,
weIi-chiseled features and farseeins
but frankly impersonal eyes, the Wis
ion of q broad-browed face, heavy but
regularly nodded Its dark eyes over
shadowed by shock Of way hair,
thrust itself persistent1y upon her.
Yes, David was handsome, and Dis
and kindly, and he knew how to turn
a pretty compliment. She recalled
the night OF the dance In Evans's
barn. It was two years ago that ne
had Offered and yet it seemed put
Yesterday, so pleasant had been the
time Of counting. There was sudden
throb OF fiddle in her ears, the scrape
of many feet upon bare, swept boards,
the sweet, pungent odor Of new-packed
hay. the lights OF lamps swinging high
from the rafters, and jack-o'- lanterns