The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1912-03-30
THE EVENING STORY
DolIy's Lesson.
by M. J. Phillips.1

never wanted to marry. You can't love
me-"
Indeed I do. Frank" pretty Dolly
assured MIN. But we're both SO
young; let's enjoy ourselves for awhile
longer
I'VE ought to be making a home"
returned Bonnell, seriously. And mar
rage isn't a martyrdom. We will be
far happier married than we are DOW
dear"
There are a lot of ugly things il
married life, Frank. A man doesn't
realize that as keenly as a woman
He can get away from most of them.
There's cooking and sweeping ana
sewing and dishes to wash, and plan
ming and skimping and doing without.
Nearly all the married women 1 know
are putting last years feathers in this
years hats, and making over coats ana
dresses. That isn't any fun
There was a hurt look in Bonnell's
eyes. II haven't any too much sal
airy, Dolly" he admitted slowly. Be
ing poor is disagreeable, I know. But
1 thought love would make it sweet
Dolly looked away, nervously' but
she kept on Another thing L can't
help thinking about, Frank, is being
together day after day and year after
year. wouldn't we get terribly tired
Of each other?"
Dolly began Bonnell. but sh*
stopped him. desperately.
mo; let me finish. When 1 don't
feel like talking to people and being
agreeable in the mornings, now, 1 stay
in bed. If we were married, I'd have
to get up just the same, IN curl pa
pers and a wrapper, 1 suppose, an0
maybe with a headache. And you'd
be unshaven. and cross because The
coffee wasn't good, and would rea1
your newspaper, and go away W1tnoue
kissing mel couldn't stand it, Frank!
Oh IL wont Urge Won anV moro
BonnelIs face was white as he rose.
81 believe you're right, Dolly he said
quietly. eff that's the way you feel
I don't want to marry you until you
are ready. If were TO overpersuade
you now, it would only mean unhapp1-
ness and disaster. L won't urge you
again, Dolly. When you change your
mind. you must tell me-"
cit will kill Samuel" continued Mrs.
an old man now, and old people don't
like to change. Our habits rule US. And
everything's been just SO with us for
many years.
up there he'll miss his work. Here
there are errands to do and his wood to
saw and split. In summer there's the
garden to plant and tend. Last season
0roud1y) we raised enough cabbage
and potatoes for our own use. The
county has to spend four dollars week
on us, though, and they think that's
too much. I suppose it Isl
She sighed and went on: We've been
happy in this little house. We have
lived right here since eighteen sixty
five 1t seems too bad we have to leave
it. We're attached to it. Our children
We're born here"
Cant they-your children-help you
now?" ventured Dolly.
They're dead, all three of Them re-
piled Mrs. Harris, simply. We've no
relatives living any more. But we're
glad we have each other"
The silence hurt Dolly. She felt that
she had come to the defense of her
father and the other poor commission
ers. Really, Mrs. Harris, you will like
the country house after you have been
there a little while. It's very comfort
able-steam-he heated, and with good soft
beds. The food is splendid. And Mr..
Bose and his wife-they are the over
seer and the matron, you know-are
very good and kind. The old people out
there seem very contented."
Mrs. Harris nodded as if she had head
all these arguments before 1.-The food
is better than we can afford, and 1
know it's warmer; but, Miss Fairbanks, |
it would be too lonely for both of us. |
We couldn't be together
'Oh, but Mrs. Harris the girl cried. |
eagerly; you could, indeed! There is
no rule against that at ALL"
The old lady sighed. THE men and
women don't eat at the same tables
she said. Your father told me that |
And 1 must be by Samuel at mealtime,
or he wouldn't eat. I was sick last
summer for three days, and he nearly |
starved
Miss Fairbanks-you are Miss
Fairbanks, aren't your
Dolly stopped at the old woman's
question. Yes, I am Miss Fair
banks
And your father is the poor super
intendent?"
Eyes, papa's on the board"
I'm Mrs. Samuel Harris. Won't |
you please come into the house a |
minute? I'd like to speak to YOU"
She clasped her worn old hands
eagerly.
tentious. 1t was one stored, weather. |
beaten and implanted. Here and there
shingles were gone from the low roof. |
The faded chimney had dropped |
been broken, and was replaced with |
a piece of cardboard. But somehow |
the place had the air of a home. The |
uneven sidewalk leading to the street |
the hinges of the sagging gate had |
been reinforced with leather.
Within were evid of stark pow
erty. The tiny cook stove had been !
to the living room for the warmth it |
afforded. There was a little heap
of coal and wood in the basket be-
side it. Tattered blankets had been
tackled over the doors to keep out
the blasts of winter The pine table, |
clean, held but a dozen
thick, white dishes. The plates and
saucers showed yellow cracks, and 1
the handles had long since been brok-
en- off the cups.
Mrs. Harris. with anxious courtesy. :