Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-03-17

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"You are old, Father William" the young man
said,
"And YOUR hair has become very white,
And yet you necessarily stand on your head
Do you think at your age it is right!'
she quoted mirthfully. "That's exactly
what they're always saying to me, Merry;
though they are a trifle more tactful about
it."
Merry tossed her sleek head bit to show
that she was listening, and Miss Penelope
cantered on, her heart a little lighter already,
through the vivid spring sunshine. The new,
Young green of the trees was all about her.
the ground was lush and springy under
Merry's feet, and the country rolled away
nvitingly before her-hers for the taking
The road was almost articulate in its prom
bounds, perhaps to the "Never-Never Land"
AS she dwelt idly on the phrase, her mind
slipped back to the place where she had seen
it last, and single line of the same poem
came to stand out wildly against the back
ground of her memory;
Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost
and waiting for you. Go!
What an insistent ring the words held!
How they might prod one away from placid,
usual daily occupations, on to seek the un-
discovered, the unattained! How they must
push the seeker forward, holding him un-
sparingly to his task, cheering him with the
promise of treasure waiting for him alone!
Such field of thought was as unfamiliar to
Miss Penelope as was the April road before
her; but today she travelled it with the same
abandon that made her give free rein to the
mare. The habits of a lifetime were begin
ming to gall her and her heart to keep time
with the ripping undertone OF the spring
Il. hot h1d
upon her dropped from her spirit like the
dried calyx of flower, leaving only poig-
nant longing for someone to enjoy hfe with
her. But, though alone, she rode CALAMITY
on, light hand on Merrys neck and her
ewes searching the road ahead.
And suddenly that harmless country road
did a most astonishing thing. With one
wet splashy leap it cleared a tiny, brawling
stream and landed almost in the middle of a
miniature meadow, with miniature rocks
and little, straight, miniature pines scattered
all about it. But the miniature meadow be-
came unimportant in the eyes of Miss Pene-
lope when she saw that on the other side OF
it rose the hills that she had laughingly
threatened to cross. And, more, that
friendly, incomprehensible road was wend
ing it's way up through them as if it knew
quite confidently where it was going, but
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panion So Miss Penelope, who in all her
proper, conventional thirty-eight years had
never gone so far unattended, nor yielded to
one impulse that was not perfectly correct
and accountable lifted her bride and started
eagerly after the road.
1t led her by devious, winding ways
among the hillsides, lush green and starred
with late violets, with here and there the
CLINT of early buttercups; through little
groves of pines, spilled down the slanted
border of the road; past huge, unfamiliar
boulders that seemed to have paused there
to rest in some century long journey. And
still the road climbed and climbed and
twisted and turned, until just short of the
summit it seemed to consider that it had
reached an appropriate place to turn and
look back, and it accordingly did so. Miss
Penelope and Merry, little out of breath,
followed suit, and looked out over miles of
rolling meadow land, cut by the green fringe
of the road they had travelled And nearer
were the hills, falling away in terrace after
terrace of soft green below them, showing
clear before the faint sunlit haze that yelled
the distance. An Grant, frisky breeze fluffed
Miss Penelope's smooth hair, and bird in a
nest nearby stirred softly and lifted up its
voice in the tiniest tentative trill.
For many minutes Miss Penelope sat
looking into the distance, her breath coming
a little quickly and her ewes shining with