Hopkinsville Kentuckian., 1910-03-08
AN ANSW Erred
QUESTION
BY Rose Churchill.

Shall we ever know, / wonder
In the days that are to be,
What has kept our lives asunder,
Tho our hearts as one agree.
Tho our lips would faln caress,
Tho our eyes still mutely bless?
Shall we gladly read llfe's story.
In the quiet rest of age,
Waiting till heavens final glory
Shines upon each darkened page
TIL we see in fullest light
All now hidden from our sight?
or shall we apart still drifting.
AS the shadows round lie
Cease to wait for their uplifting,
Cease for broken toys" to cry:
Forcing back each vain regret,
Praying only to forget?
That's a pretty thing they arc
playing, dear. What is it called?" Mr..
Blanchard asks us, with a sign OF sat
isfaction. He settles himself more
comfortably in his cushioned rocker
and prepares himself to he sung to
sleep by his daughter Blanche, as is
his usual custom directly after supper
He is a busy man, headmaster OF
high school and coach to two or
three private pupils besides, and this
is the only recreation he allows him.
self. One hour of rest and sleep be-
tween supper and the time for the ar
rival of Clinton Drysdale, his most i'm
portant pupil.
Drysdale is reading for Latin exam.
ination, on which language Mr.
Blanchard is an authority of high re-
pute.
The song is called Questions, "
Blanche replied, in an absent-minded
way, hurriedly wiping the tears which
have gathered in her eyes, and hiding
the piece in question at the back of
the music she had arranged in the
rack in front of her.
She plays beautifully, but can sing
well only in the presence of those she
loves and whom she feels love her
Once she was conscious of singing
her best when Clinton Drysdale was
present, but now strange con
straint had sprung up between them,
and she feels shy and awkward in his
company. She bushes hotly as she
thinks of the way she has allowed her
self to drift, as it were, into an atti.
tude of appropriation of him, which
she has no right TO assume; and de
termines to be stiffness itself in heI
| future demeanor toward him.
Blanche is a veritable child of ma
ture," as most clever women are, and
Blanche is a clever woman, beyond
| question, having taken a science de
| gree at the London university
spending two years in Europe for that
purpose.
When she hears her father make a
little noise in his throat she knows
he has gone to the Land of Nod,
and takes out Questions from its
hiding place and gives vent to hel
souls emotion in singing it again anC
. again. She does not hear the from
door slam behind Clinton Drysdale
who swiftly ascends the stairs to The
drawing-room and stands on the ma
outside the slightly open door. HI
knows II is mean to listen, but he can
not resist the temptation.
Thes Blanche finds him, as, wit
swift movement, she reaches tn
door without making a sound, whic
may awaken her father from his mucl
needed slumber. Those ridicuou
songs always make me cry" she says
with a vain attempt to laugh. IS
they do me" Clinton said, gravely
''but l call them lovely, not ridicl
1ous," and then by a common impuls
they sit down on the stairs (Which ar
conveniently neaD and Blanche lii
/ tens entrnnced to ~the sweet oil
! story"
4 81 thought you did not love me,
Blanche says, presently, shyly glaI
cling up at the impassioned face abov
her. Your manner was so altered,
was afraid to speak to you. | though
you must either have cared for m
or seen some one you liked better
These are your only rivals CliI
ton says, gently drawing from hi
pocket cards and a brandy flask.
knew, as oil and water cannot mingl,
that you and these things could neve
share my devotion. 1t must be on
or the other, and l could not MAX
up my mind.
Il am ashamed to say 1t, but il 1
the truth. know now that / an
only throwing away the husks an,
keeping the kernel, that l have
sreasue that is above rubies.'
"How do you know that | am /
ruby?" says Blanch. 81 may b.
merely a piece of glass for all yol
know"
Yes, you may, says Clinton, enc
then they both laugh.
Speed of Flight of Pigeons.
OF our game birds the most gre