The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1912-01-17
THE EVENING STORY


"Oh, but aren't we fine?" cried
father
Father might make us take EN-
Off, rejoined practical Grace; hes
feeling sad anyway"
I 'spose the house bothers him
cause its so kind of mussy since Mrs.
| Mott left, but l tried to scrub that kitch-
en- just last Saturday, and father
washes the dishes himself whenever
we leave EN- long enough" And
Mamie sighed over a housekeeper's
trials.
Poor Jim Bomar was used to cold
meals and a general lack of cheer.
Even before his wife's death, the
/ mousse had borne a dOWn-at-the-heel !
aspect and Jim had been wont to
escape to the harness room in the
barn, where he could find order and
peace.
As a refuge the harness room was
exceptional. Besides being clean, it.
was warmed in winter by a small
wood stove, and made airy in summer
| by two enormous windows. The west
window had the advantage of looking
| toward the homestead where Mary
Andrews had lived alone since the
! death of her mother Mary's younger
sister Jennie was Jim S wife. He had
never understood just how it happen
| ed that she had Supplanted Mary, if
not in his heart, still to all intents and
purposes in his life. He and Mary had
| been sweethearts for years, and at last
where he might see her for a most
particular talk He knew that Mary
would understand, and he had laugh !
/ ed, when he gave her the note at his |
little subterfuge, when he might so |
easily have told Mary he loved her |
then and there But Mary craved ro- |
| nance, and Jim was doing his hum |
Bile best in arranging this dark plot |
for her entertainment.
Mary ran up the steps with his note |
in her hand, waved her hand at him
in goodby-and he had not seen her !
again in months. She did not answer |
the note, and gave Jim no chance to |
ask an explanation of her strange con- |
duct Deeply hurt, he learned the next
day that she had gone for a long visit |
to her aunt in the city.
Jim took his dismissal hard, and |
Jennie was full of sympathy when he |
came, night after night, for news Of |
Mary She did not tell him outright, |
but limited delicately that Mary had |
been counting only in fun and had /
taken this way of letting him down /
easy And after time Jennie's sweet
ness won Jim to believe that her heart |
was pure gold, and it was mis- fault
if he could not appreciate her as he
should. So on the night she told him
that Mary was TO wed a man in the
city whom she had known for several
years, Jim asked Jennie if she would
care for what was left of his life, and
Jennie admitted that She would.
Mary did not return for Jennie's
wedding nor did she make any prepara-
lions for her own; and when she had
lived quietly with her mother for a
number of months doubts assatled Jim
concerning the truth of his wifes
story of her engagement.
During the ten years of Jims mar
ried life Mary went in and out of his
home and his children took their griefs
to her more readily than to their moth
er. But Jim had seldom seen her and
for several years he had not crossed the
threshold of the Andrews home
IL
with sprouting grain and saw the ap-
pie orchard at the homestead in bloom,
he imagined that he could see Mary
herself walking among the trees in the
sun that had just come out and was
coaxing the earth to bloom and laugh
ter He new that her brown head
would be barred in the breeze and her
ewes ned with love for all growing
and blooming things. He recalled the
last time he had walked along the or
chard path, when, after Mother And
rew's death, he had gone to Mary in
an impulse of sympathy, but had I'M
fortunately managed to convey some
expression of his -represed love.
Then did Mary's brown eyes flash and
her gentle mouth stiffen to rebuke.
elm Bomar never let me hear such
between you and me after what has
passed. And I cannot bear the sight
of your deceitful face"
Jim sOrely wounded, was reused to
reply in anger. Very well, Mary,
will never enter your door until you
send for me-
While jim was dreaming in the har-
ness ROOM Mamie and Grace, dispOrt-
ing in their attic finery, had grown
tired of adn1iring themselves alone
Lets go over to Aunt Mary's.
Mamie was adventurous. Let's wear
'em over.
II don't believe father'd want us to" ]
Grace
Huh. fathers in the harness room,
and it's no harm If he didn't tell US
not to. Besides, he don't care very
much what we do, so long as we don't
bother him. reGsSured Mamie
So the girls trailed up the road and | |
surprised Aunt Mary in the orchard
telling secrets to the trees as Mamie
called it
Ten or Il years ago the silk gown
which Grace wore had been familiar |
to Mary, for Jennie had worn 1t that
fatal summer when she won Jim s love
Even now, with the gray in her hair, | I
Mary felt the old pain fresh at the
sight of the hated raiment Jennie
mad worn that very dress the night
she delivered Nary's note asking Jim
to meet her at the foot of the orchard
under their particular tree, where Jim ,
had constructed a bench and where
they often sat on summer evenings.
on that summer evening Mary had | Z
gone to the trysting place and waitee
But Jim did not come and when, deep
IN hurt Mary returned to the house,
he was leaning over the front gate talk
ing earnestly to Jennie Later Jennie | I
told her that Jim had sent her a mes
sage saying that he had decided he
had nothing particular to say to her
See. Aunt Mary. isn't my dress full?
It's lots wider'ii Grace's-'
Maybe It's. but my dress has got a :
pocket" rejoined Grace. "a real deep
one. You can't get to the bottom ,
Auntie, you feel and see if it has a bot +
TOM
a hsentIv Mary nut her hand into the !,