The Bridgeport evening farmer. [volume] (Bridgeport, Conn.) 1866-1917, 1911-01-02

far-away look in them. Her whole
attitude was one of preoccupation.
She, had been trying to straighten out
story in her mind, but the plot
would not come right, and she had
drifted into day-dreaming. She was
meantally wandering through old
scenes-scenes Of pleasure and pain
indiscriminately mixed up. She was
thinking of the man she had said
goodbye to, in that very ROOM. three
long. dreary years ago. 1t was more
than three years now, and she had
received no word or sign from him.
Staring in to the fire, she seemed
to see his face peering out at her
from amongst the glowing Goals, the
same cheerful, smiling face she had
always known. Every detail of it
was bright in her memory still, ev-
cry popularity of his manner, his
disposition, came back to her now
leaping from the back cells of MEM
DRY, hooking her haunting her. She
sighed. He was gone now, gone as
completely out of her life as though
he had never been part of it. The
three years had passed, dragged
themselves out to their miserable fin
ish, and she-she must count him as
dead.
At the other side of the fire her
mother, a little old dwoman with
white hair and bowed figure, was sit
ting in a chair drawn up as close to
the warming blaze as the fender
would permit. There could be no
doubt as to the relations between
these two. Mother and daughter pos
sessed eyes that were Identical in ev-
cry detail. Age had failed to dim
the older woman's. Rather had it
chastened their expression, reducing
it one of the softest, gentlest appeal.
There was the same refinement of
feature, the same irregularities. the
same down-drooping. Of the corners
Of the mouth.
Every now and then the mother
glanced in her daughters direction.
But for a long time she did not
speak As last furry of falling Gin
ders gave her the excuse she wanted.
"Can you reach the scuttle, dear?''
she said in a gentle voice. I'm sor-
~ to disturb you
The pucker left the girls brows as
her thoughts suddenly came back to
the present.
you aren't disturbing me, moth
err; was idling, dreaming" she smil
ed, as she stopped and replenished
the fire.
1T thought you were racking your
brains over that bothersome story of
yours. I think you work much too
hard, dear. Why don't you put it
away? Mr.. Elwood will be here
sooon, and you haven't changed your
dress yet"
Mary laughed quietly.
IT don't intend to chanage it.
don't think that sort of thing mat
tiers where Mr.. Elwood is concern
ed. He never knows what ones
dress is like. Besides"
Mrs. Gordon glanced at her in
quiringly as the girl paused.
Besides, his opinion doesn't matter
much, does it?''
"That depends" said the mother
vaguely.
But the girl shook her head smil-
ing.
cit doesn't The only thing that
matters to me Just now is this story.
You remember what Mr.. Hosten said
about the last one. 1t wasn't just
good enough for the magazine, so he
put it in House Chat, and I only got
three guineas for it. If this turns
out well he'll put in the mag and
give me six. Ethel and Alice both
want new frocks, and-well, I want
that six guineas very much. Il
would be better just now than the
good option of Mr.. Fermai e.
wood,
Her mother sighed ever so lightly.
"He's rich,'' she said in low voice,
as though ashamed of her own words.
The girl suddenly deposited he-
writing-pad on the floor. Dragging
her chair close up to her mothers,
she impulsively took possession of the
thin. delicate hand that was held out
towards the fire.
II know, mother dear, that's Just
it. He's rich, and wants to marry
me. L know; I'm not blind. And l
don't want to encourage him, because