The Holbrook news., 1911-10-27
Rover's Match-Making
By FLORENCE MeALLYN


 black dog to make a fuss over," re examined with severely critical giances a rough-coated little terrier of uncertain pedigree.
 Well, he ain't much to look at" admitted Miss Lincoln. "but there's a power of comfort in Rover. It's awful lonesome in a house where there's nothing but one woman and a shadow for company"
 The visitor seated herself In a cane rocker and expressed her sentiments on the subject by a contemptuous gni6, while Rover's mistress, whose rosy cheeks and bright brown eyes bespoke the cheerful spirit within her, apologetically smoothed the folds In her blue and white gingham apron, and puckered her lips, as she had a habit of doing, when things perplexed her.
 You've always had a fancy for homely things" continued Mrs. Bryce. T never shall forget the time I came over here to ask how your mother was, and you and her both sat on the bed together. crying over that old yellow cat My landsI I can see 1t now as 1t lay dead on the floor"
 T know" murmured Deborah, mother thought a heap of Mary FL len She was a dreadful smart cat"
 ''Then there was old Billy" per B1sted Mrs. Bryce. Just look how you fused over that horse. time he took sick. And homely wasn't a strong enough name for him. A knock meed, raw-boned old creature"
 Poor old Billy" sighed Deborah. He'd been as faithful as any Chris tan in his work. Pulled father and mother to and from meeting, rain or Enow; plowed and helped reap. No wonder felt sorry for him. He knew more than a lot of humans"
 Mrs. Bryce pushed back, with quick, impatient jerk, her big shade hat, in which red and yellow corn peoples struggled for the mastery. Argument was to her like a fire spark tO powder.
 "The worst of all was that Hank Andrews," she cried. When I re- member what a pretty girl you were in your ways and think of him so ugly and with sandy hair It's a good thing you and him Quarreled. Deborah. and broke 1t on. You're saved a heap of trouble. He's. come back here now and I never saw a more miserable old man than he is this minute. You may be thankful the burden of tending to him is of your hands."
 Deborah said nothing for few mo ments. Then she turned the conver- cation adroitly into other channels. ~How's Johnny's sore throat?" she in- Quirsd sympathetically.
 Like a river whose waters have been guided into another course, the torrent of Mrs. Bryce's eloquence now flowed blandly into the welcome topic of Johnny's ailments. She in- formed Deborah. with conscientious minuteness of detail, how and under what circumstances her youngest boy was liable to attacks from cold, and in what respect he differed from Amy, whose speciality was recurrent fits of cramp.
 Deborah listened attentively to the recital of the His of the Bryce family and sighed in sympathy at intervals. This course of treatment had its ef- feet, and by the time Mrs. Bryce arose to go, she had talked herself into a good humor and actually patted Rover on the head
 You're real good, Deborah" she remarked, land I guess like enough I Tiled you about that dog. My tongues a bit sharp at times"
 The little brown-eyed woman leaned over to stroke Rover with a loving hand and her voice was full of tender cadence as she replied:
 "Oh, his feelings ain't hurt, or mine, either Rover knows as well as I do that we needn't look for compliments ct our age. What-you going, Mar thai Well. now. if you want some moro of that cough mixture for John ny. sent right over any time; you're moro than welcome"
 Mss Deborah stood on the front | porch watching the fast disappearing figure of her visitor as she made her way along the main road toward the village. She paused for . few mo- ments drinking in the sweetness of the summer flowers not knowing that | In her own heart there bloomed fairer nower-the flower of love
 Soon she entered the cheery little | kitchen and began to prepare her modest supper. Rover followed close | at the heels of his mistress every step | she took
 Poor Hank" murmured Deborah. | 'T guess he is miserable; getting too | old. It's awful lonesome for him. | Twenty years ago, and yet 1t don't | seem that long since he used to give | me pink roses every Saturday night. | Once I gave him a lock of my hair. | I wonder what he's done with It."
 Timidly, as if ashamed. Deborah | turned to an old-fashioned mahogany | desk that stood in one corner of the |