The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-08-16

FmEMM HE old clock in the library struck ten. lE SrS Simultaneously, Miss Eleanor Churchill laid down the book she was reading re- moved her glasses from her aristocratic IHR 2 NW nose, and leaned back n her chair with E G4h an air of quiet expectation.
 k@ S3N She knew that in exactly five min ERA&W utes Anne, her faithful servant, would I enter the room to push back the half ED4- burned logs in the open fireplace, and UlmzE4zB cover them with ashes, to restore to
 My2Ha its proper location and angle any piece
 &9 of furniture that had been moved ever so slightly during the day, and to turn off
 the electric light. She knew that Anne would finally approach her at the readngtabe with resolute and respectful mien If she so far forgot herself as to remain immersed in her book after the curfew stroke of ten Anne would remain rigid, with reproach so stern1y banished from her countenance as to make her voiceless censure loud enough to create echo. If she were not reading as 1n this instance, Anne would stretch her hand toward the readng-lamp signal that her mistress could make her exit before she turned off the light. This was the Routine in Miss Churchills home, and Routine there was impacab1y exigent.
 Tonight Miss Churchill arose alertly at the sig nal When she reacted the ethreshold sheSand the light went out together In the central hall, be- yond the library, there was dim illumination. This enabled her to reach without any disaster the chamber opposite, which was her bedroom She paused moment after opening the door to regard pensively its peaceful interior. She had 1t so many times before, yet tonight 1t seemed different Was it, perhaps, because she herself was different? She felt that 1t was s4iaH at 4i
 Her bed was invitation to repose with its upper sheet smoothly folded back and the pillows in position. All electric light adjusted above it, an angle to meet the needs of recumbent reader On the floor stood sher slippers awaiting her feet, They almost seemed to move toward her Jas she looked at theH assured and compelling was their mute invitation. Across the foot-board lay her wrapper-a luxurious thing of soft lavender silk. The silver the dressng-case seemed to throw out a glimmer of welcome. Beyond, through the open door of the bathroom, the large monogramed tow els hung in decorous readiness from the glass bars of, the racks. Everything radiated comfort and luxury, as we'll as exquisite orderliness. Yet Miss Churchill felt dissatisfied and restless. Even luxury and comfort spelled Routine, and III this unwonted moment of rebellion she experienced almost age revolt against Routine.
 With difference that part of Routine, Anne passed her and entered the room. There was one thing more to be done-the last: to draw down the geen shades the soft lace that covered the win dows Anne did 1t, like priceless automaton. Miss Churchill did not like to see these severe paraelo- gRms making unsynlpathetc panels in her dainty bedroom before her preparations for bed demanded tFMir presence This small Junction. too, was Rou- tine. Were she to awaken from stupor to behold Anne lowering these shades, clock could not have told her the time accurately.
 In this present instance Anne shut out, by the green shades a pretty picture of whirlng snow fakes athwart the ruddy gleam thrown the out er5darkness from the brightly illuminated windows of her neighbor Then Anne turned, her stolid Rou- tine face softening. This time, in which she pre- pared her beloved mistress for bed, the hour when she was allowed to talk over trivial events of the day with the freedom of privileged old servi- tor. She bent to Miss Churchilis shoes, as her mistress sank into chair, and rested her gray head comfortably against it's cushioned back. This, too, was Routine.
 "Anne," she asked, with an abruptness which was not Routine, "how old am I ?''
 Anne's response seemed of the veryNessence of her syMtematic and correct being
 Fifty-six, the eighteenth of last August, Miss E#anor"
 Miss Churchiffs gray eyes widened in surprise
 eFifty-sixP' she exclaimed. Really? Why Anne tf4t's oldl But do you know" she went on mus inRly "I don't feel as old as that. Do look it?"
 HYe do not, ma'am,' declared Anne. The dis claimer seemed almost passionate, for her. She rose toRget the wrapper, and then stood gazing down on tt* other woman with shrewd, affectionate eyes,
 AYe could call yourself forty, Miss Eleanor and nobody would doubt it. To be sure," she added, win simple sincerity, "yer hairs gray. But whose wculdn't be these days with the airships and auty nlpbiles fyn' about, ready to drop all to say rhin of the nervous strain of livn, that the doc tofs talk about"
 Miss Churchill laughed, little se1f-consciousy.
 FIm afraid can't claim to be victim of nervous strain, Anne" she said, demurey. 'Tm too easy gding I do nothing! I'm letting myself stagnate We're in the back water. The truth is'-she seemed tcbe making the confession to herself more than to Anne-"I'm getting horribly selfish"
 eSelfsh! Youl Listen to that! Anne seemed to invoke repudation from invisible defenders of truth