The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-01-17
THE FARMER: JANUARY IT, 1911


a moment he stood coldly regarding her.
 Mary" he said, and paused. Mary" he began again, ''you don't know what you are condemning me to-" He made a theatrical gesture with his hand at his collar. 'T-I feel as though I were stifling." Then his mocking laugh rang out again. "No," he said, "you don't know what you are condemning me to-"
 He walked off without another glance in her direction, and, woman like, she was sorry for him. She remained without moving until she heard the sound of his horses hoofs die away in the distance. Then she rose abruptly from her seat and stood erect, her body vibrant with emo tion. There was something in her that told her of a new life just be- ginning, and it warned her that it was born too late.
 The scene that her eyes gazed out
 
 of colour, but there was an ugly storm-cloud hanging over it all. She loved; Guy had shown her that she loved, and the man she loved was her husband. And never, she told her. self in an agony of realization, was a love more hopeless, impossible. If it had only come to her earlier, lit tie earlier-before-be she had made it too late. Suddenly she held out her arms as though about to em- brace an imaginary figure. She brought them together, and her face fell into her open palms. She held it there, and her fingers pressed her beating temples, and the mocking words rang through her brain, ''Too late, too late!''
 At last she flung her hands from her face and ran into the house. And some moments later she was hurry ing down towards the location. She could no longer endure inaction. She must go to Emily Verricker. She needed the. strong support of the mis. sionary's wife.
 Emily was baking bread. Her grey hair was streaming under her kapje. and the precipitation was pour ing down her lean features. Arms and bodice were besmeared with flour and dough, which the furnace heat of the kitchen was rapidly bak- ing.
 She, was at the door trying to get breath of air when Mary appear ed through the trees. She saw hur- ried, uneven gait. as the girl half ran and half-walked towards her, and, as she came, she saw something of the trouble in her wan face.
 What is it, dearie?" the old wom- an exclaimed as the distraught girl came up.
 "Oh, I don't know, I don't know! I know he hates me, and-and love him-and oh"
 Mary burst into a flood of tears on the flour-besprinkled bosom, while the strong, motherly arms enveloped her in close, sympathetic embrace.
 Nor had she made a mistake. Her woman's instinct had told her where to go with her trouble. The woman who could be mother to the women and children of the location possessed a heart large enough to hold sym pathy for all her sex. Rough of speech, and rugged of exterior, yet her heart was only the more tender. She nursed the younger woman as she might have nursed a child, smoothing her head with her doughy fingers. as hundreds of times she had smoothed the tufted heads of the children of her husbands flock.
 Then she led her to the sitting room, and made her lie down upon the homemade sofa. And present ly when the first rush of tears had passed, she elicited the story of the trouble.
 Gro Be Continued.j