The Birmingham age-herald., 1912-02-17
Mary symon in soribner's Magazine.

"A down on the roofs of the log A shacks of Residency No. S. All day the Frederick House river had surged in leaden listlessness un Inc futile bullets of the muske riag clouds. Sodden. silent and steI tas Bush compassed the clearing, n ng the dull ocher ribbon of the ri or way of the Transcontinental in k own oppressive grimness of universal gray So infinitely dreary with the iiamai fnality of the fiat forests of the north country was the picture of six and river and wood that Kenyon gazeo from the window of the residency l that he sighed with utter wearin e spirit. o'Hara, the only other occa tuI of the dim room looked up in 4a ea surprise at his chief.
 Five days of rain?" Kenyon's reiee stretched tense in spite of his drav feel as if it had been raining fore ! and this were the only place left il ns world. No outside. you know"
 "This is the sabbath,' explaa O'Hara.
 "Six days in the week the Transean- tinental is as good service as I've ger been in. But Sunday! No wonder Se f- homesick for that terrible town on the Thames"
 T fancy" Kenyon unused. that we've all much the same feeling for whatever place was home to us; but, somehow, I feel that longing for London is the most homesick longing in the world"
 For me own part" said o'Hara, from behind the shield of his paper, when the black flies drive me crazy, I get thinking of Montmartre. That's tidy spot for an anchorless man. Ken. And when I'm perishing with the cold and the loneliness while I keep bridge guard on your timorous trestles, I've a mem ory of Moscow that's worth dozen of your grimy Londons. I'd a beautiful time in Moscow when l wasN In me prime"
 q never knew you were iii Moscow" Kenyon moved ssway from the window and seated himself across from O'Hara on the other side of the stove.
 "Didn't ye, now?" OHara had retired to the depths of the paper. Kenyon res cued tattered magazine from the coal
  moment he had flung 1t back inpatient Ily. Rot he announced. Did you know any people in Moscow" he in quired.
 .Didn't I say had a golden timer OHara retorted.
 "Russians?" Mostly"
 "I<now any of the musical crowd there?"
 some of them. There was queer little man who used to tell me that he'd insnired Tsehaikowsky. One day he
 .Did you ever happen to meet Stem | owa?@
 "The singer? I didn't though heard her. By the way he remarked, T sec in this relic of dear, dead days-and isn't it enough to drive man mad when he reads tomorrow night with the knowledge that the same tomorrow was three weeks last Monday ?-that Stenowa-"
 what about her9" Kenyons drawl snapped in eagerness
 ". Is to sing in 'Thais.' Sumptuous pagan sugar cake. isn't it? All the stu ueHiS III tlldl huSSoN h'"SS used to be playing that Meditation till | I longed to slaughter the man who wrote it-what was his name? And so she has come.' said Kenyon l OHara looked over the rim of the paper "Ye knew hera'' ''Very we'll"
 | Moscow"
 "Gretz. On the Siberian survey"
 Was she playing one night stands?'
 She wasn't playing at all" Ken yon's gaze was bent on the fire that glowed dully through the open door of the drum stove. Her father was a minor official of the government. She came up there to visit him the summer she had finished her study. She was going back to Paris to start in the opera"
 Faith, it must have been a treat in Siberia"
 siberia isn't so bad
 "I never appreciated its beauties, said the Irishman. 'I suppose you and she were the English speaking popula- tion?' "I taught her English" Kenyon said. You see l was the only musfc-mad man in that part of the woorld just'then.' "I sec said O'Hara Kenyon went back to the window, where he resumed. xt-s, .ro1I la con