The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1913-07-10
The EVENING STORY
Nocturnal Nancy.
CRy Polly MONASTERY

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her delighted eyes caught sight OF the
tiny vine-claA cottage that was to he
her haven for three months. In the
distance it looked like a white watel
lily capped by a flaming red poppy, sc
white were the walls and so red the
tiled roof. A soft mass of vines hung
over the veranda and chimney, and the
whole was surrounded by a high prlVet
hedge.
Nancy sighed happily and quicken.
ed her steps toward the cottage sac
had no right to take. That is, she ha1
no financial right to pay $500 for three
months by the seashOre when she might
have studied one of the many arts she
had talent for. Yet Nancy felt that
she would rather live in that tiny, vine
clad cottage for a limited time than
to exist in a city room Tor an indeh-
mite period. Having spent her meaScI
bank account she would go to Worf
and try to live on memory.
Perhaps had Nancy's head been less
filled with romance and poetic imagii-
ingS she might not have taken tie
cottage, but would have used practical
sanse and paid her board regularly to
some boarding house keeper.
But Nancy was far from practical
and she journeyed happily toward her
new home. She shifted IN great brearhs
of sea air and wondered not that the
colony of theatrical and musical peo-
pie slipped quickly out Of the hot city
to enjoy it. Their cottages were dotted
about like a display of floral baskets,
and her own lay in the very heart or
them. She wondered vaguely whether
or not she would become acquainted
with that interesting colony and decid-
ed she would make no effort.
IT will be only a working girl
later on" She smiled whimsically at
her uncertain position in the world.
and made up her mind to remain
mystery to her neighbors. Il will just
enjoy my own garden" she told her
self.
But even on the first night of her
arrival Nancy felt the sting of Ioneli-
ness. Out there in the moonlit world
voices were chattering in all of the
gardens. Deep masculine tones vibra-
ted through the night and were Joined
nv the cusical faminine. Nancy step
ned out and into her garden, but all
was still there. She roamed aimlessly
about, and her mind jumped quickly to
an idea that had formed in her re-
mantle brain
Why should she not entertain those
pee pie out there in the moonlight?
Why could she not express some of
her loneliness in song? Who knows j:
There might be one among that colony
of prominent persons who would hear
her and in some way help her into the
musical world.
Not knowing exactly what her de-
sires were, but only aware that she
must in some way attract attention
from those happy chattering friends
Nancy flew into her tiny sitting room
and sat down at the piano.
And out there in the moonlight tie
laughter ceased. Nancy's voice, Won
derfully appealing and vibrant, hac
flung itself swiftly into appreciatiVe
ears. She was singing an evening song,
and the very beauty of the night SEEM
ed enhanced by her song. The hour,
the surroundings and the voice form
ed a bit of real harmony seldom en-
joyed by theatrical people. For nearly
an hour Nancy sang.
1t seemed quite natural that when
she had finished they said good night
and went within their various cottages.
Nancy had given them most Pleas
ant hour, and many were curious as
to who the songbird might be. The
bright morning would surely show her
to them.
But in the sunny hours of the next
day and the next all they could see
was a slim figure in a pink gown and
the outlines of a great pink sunbon-
net. Curiosity and interest grew and
lowered around and about Nancy's
cottage. And always there was her
evening song TO ne IOOkeQ u.
It was John Dillon, famous in two
continents, whose heart beat the
loudest at sight of Nancy in her garden
or upon hearing the tones of her voice,
and it was he who brought down his
vocal instructor as a visitor one balmy
night in August.
With some trepidation John Dillon
waited until the hour when Nancy
would sing. He had not mentioned the
girl to the great instructor, nor had
he wondered as to the outcome of the
visit. He only knew that in some in
tangible way his life was completely.
entwined with that of the unknown girl
who sang in the twilight.
The last night warbler of the trees
had f1uttered off to her nest and the
waves rolled rhythmically over the
sands beneath slim crescent of moon
when Nancy's voice vibrated through
the air.
John Dillon smiled. He had of course,
known that this great trainer of voices
who was his guest, would thrill at the
first notes of Nancy's song. He did not
say anything, but he knew from
Guidio's expression that he would arise