Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1911-10-17
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II Rover's
4 Match Making h
] By FLORENCE McALLYN
By FLORENCE McALLYN

glances rough-coated little terrier of
uncertain pedigree.
"Well, he amt 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 shadow
for company"
The visitor seated herself IN cane
rocker and expressed her sentiments
on the subject by contemptuous
sniff, 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 Bingham apron,
and puckered her lips, as she had a
habit of doing, when things perplexed
her.
you've always had fancy for
homely things" continued Mrs. Bryce.
Il never shall forget the time | 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 lands! can see it
now as 1t lay dead on the floor"
II know" murmured Deborah,
mother thought heap of Mary FL
len. She was dreadful smart cat ;"
Then there was old Billy" per-
sisted Mrs. Bryce Just look how
you fused over that horse, time he
took sick. And homely wasn't a
ofropo apovob MAMA For hin, A knock-
kneed, 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
snow; plowed and helped reap. No
wonder felt sorry for him. He knew
more than 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 fire spark
to powder
"The worst of sail was that Hank
Andrews" she cried. when l re-
member what pretty girl you were
in your ways and think of him SO ugly
and with sandy hair. It's good thing
you and him quarreled, Deborah, and
broke it off. You're saved heap of
trouble. He's come back here now
and | never saw more miserable old
man than he is this minute. You may
be thankful the burden of tending to
him is off your hands"
Deborah said nothing for few mo-
nents. Then she turned the CONVEX
;atlon adroitly into other channels.
'How's Johnny's sore throat?" she in
luired alphabetically.
Like a river whose waters have
been guided into another course, the
,orrent of Mrs. Bryce's eloquence
now flowed blandly into the welcome
topic of Johnny's ailments. She in
formed Deborah, with conscientious
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 specially was recurrent
Ats of cramp.
Deborah listened attentively to the
recital of the Ills 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 l guess like enough
riled you about that dog. My
tongues 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 amt hurt. or mine,
either. Rover knows as we'll as | do
that we needn't look for compliments
at our age. What-ycu going, Mar
tia? Wen, now, II you want some
more of that cough mixture for John
ny. sent right over any time; you're
more than welcome"
Miss 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 a
fairer flower-the flower of love.
Soon she entered the CHEEKY 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.
81 guess he is miserable: getting too
old. It's awful lonesome fer him.
Twenty years ago, and yet 1t don't
seem that long since he used to give
me pink roses every Saturday night.
Once | gave him lock of my hair.
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
room, and, opening an upper drawer,
drew from 1t little green pasteboard
box in which. half hidden by faded
leaves. lay two withered roses.
81 Just wonder IL he's angry at me