Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-09-09
THE EVENING STORY.
:, DandeIiOn Greens.
Copyright, 1913, by W. Werner

Pamela Carr came out into her yard
holding small shawl together about her
shoulders. The morning was still fresh
and there was brisk little breeze which
| made a shawl a necessity to an old
woman of something more than three
score years. Pamela had come out to
look at the dandelions. They had blown
over night, and the short, damp grass
was sprinkled with them. If some pie
thOric purse had burst and scattered IFS
golden contents throughout Pamela s
yard there could not have been a drawer
showing. Pamela sighed as she gazed
about her.
If they was gold pieces now I'd soon
then-and then" she shook her head,
sadly. But they amt gold pieces.
They're just dandelions..'
She bent her stiff old back and picked
TWO or three OF the perky blossoms. With
gently. They felt like velvet faint
smile grew upon her face. She had
something of the same pleasure in the
flower that she had experienced in her
far-away childhood, when every dande-
lion was prize and a handful OF them
a precious hoard
Pretty little thing" she mur1nured
Il don't know but it's worth while being
hungry just to have you std of yallel
metal that men fight over. I guess you
amt ever brought anything but pleasure
into the world. That's something to live
for. even If you amt more'n a common
dandelion."
A movement, the CLINT of a tin pan
and the sound Of an old voice quavering
out stave from an old song interrupted
her contemplation OF the dandelion. Be
You'd the fence, with its rank overgrowth
OF blackberry vines, was another yard
the size OF her own, sown just as plenti-
fully with yellow disks. And there an
old woman had appeared with knife and
pan.
Pamela thought We'll now! Dande-
lion greens! They'd taste mighty good
with bit Of pork in 'em. Trouble is /
haven't got the pork. And then l don't
know as l could eat 'em after all my
bothertng. | don't seem to have no APP
petite lately. When your heart is too
full your stomach is apt to go empty, l
notice. Well, well, wellv'
She watched the other old woman fur
lively. 1t would not do to let Araminta
Peck see her watching. Araminta ap-
parently did not notice her, though there
was scarce stones throw between
them. They had not spoken in forty
years. Yet all that time they had lived
side by side on the same street The
enmity which had sprung up from one
violent, youthful quarrel had lasted we'll.
1t seemed likely to outlast the old wom-
en- themselves. Pamela was proud, but
years had worn down her resentment
AID she no longer regarded Araminta as
the woman she had quarTeled with and
hated, but as the one thing left that
had accompanied her out of the past.
She had lost all that she had started out
with-friends, relatives, husband, daugh-
ter-and she was now alone in the world
She had outlived all her contemporaries
save Araminta. And yet because they
had once vowed never to speak again
they did not speak.
And we never WILL Pamela thought.
Sometimes l feel just like giving in. but
dassen't, not knowing how she'd take it.
I'm pretty old for grudges now-pretty
old. And pretty lonesome"
Signing again. she turned and entered
her house.
It was a tiny house which had grown
decrepit from neglect. Pamela had come
to it as q bride and had never lived else
where. All her joys. sorrows, hopes, had
been experienced within these four. hum
BILE walls. Her child had been born there
had been married there; her husband &
body had been borne to it's grave over the
low threshold. She had seen youth pass
and old age flower as the lilacs outside
the window. And now she was waiting
the last event Of all.
The room she entered was poor and