Norwich bulletin., 1915-12-31

Clara Porter looked sadly and a trife wistfulIy at the young man be- side her.
 Its really no use, Richard-though of course, there's no one else. It's only that we're not in sympathy. In spite of having lived either in the city or at the seashore nearly every day of my life, I am always longing for the fields and woods. l could never marry man who did not love them, too-and you are city man. You are like my father in that; your business and your thoughts are here-your home would have to be here. I should not make you a good wife when I was hungering for the country, and longing to escape from the city street and stroll through safe, quiet, beautiful lanes. Why, I'm simply thrilled with delight this min ute because tomorrow l go to my sis ter Edith's summer place for one whole. restful day with her little boy while his mother shops here in town. So you see, Richard"
 Yes" Richard Burton answered slowly, 'T see. But Clara, if ever you should change your mind, if ever life here with me should seem more bear able, promise you'll let me know promise"
 He looked down into her face with such earnest entreaty that Clara was disarmed.
 "Oh, I'll promise Richard. Indeed will. And now, good night. 1 must get a very early start for DrafOrd in the morning."
 Nevertheless, the thought of his sad dened face haunted her throughout her sleep and her hasty breakfast and hur- ried rush for the SOS. which was the only early morning train to Draford. Her depression vanished before her sisters cordial greeting on the plat form, where she was awaiting the re- turn train.
 "Oh, Clara, you are a dear. And you will enjoy it. Did you bring some sew ing?"
 Dear me. no; when I rest, rest" Clara laughed. T want a day of per feet repose near the heart of nature. You say it's the second farmhouse up | that road?"
 Established comfortably on the white -columned porch, shaded by a screen of honeysuckle, where the bees hummed softly, she breathed a sigh of content. Who would accept forever a i city life when there was such beauty in the world? Her nephew, Clifford, had gone to the village with Mary, the ] maid. Clara sat drinking in the un- | accustomed peace.
 Then, breathless, the cook appeared | before her. Sure, Miss Porter, Racers l loose in the barn-amOngst the oats | He'll ate the stupid head off him. Ofm
 scarit or him. He kicks, if he's in g | temper"
 1 Clara looked at her aghast. 1 At the oats, Norah? He'll hurt him. self. Isn't there a man arOund?" l None but the two of us,' Norah an 1 swered, gloomiIy.
 Now, Clara really feared a horse a close range, as she feared few things but before this emergency her courage rose. Come" she directed wei manage him."
 l With Norah following unable to re sist her valiant example, she hurried tt
 the barn, an old-fashioned windOwles | building, with paddock double doors and a single door ajar. Clara ad
 vanced into the dim barn, planning vaguely, with Norah's help, to barri
 Cade the horse in his stall.
 Good horsie," she ventured, anC
 held out a cOnciliatory hand to tn
 dark bulk that loomed ahead.
 With a wicked chatter of hOofs, Race
 wheeled at the sound, Clara, startled
 shrank back against a harness rack an
 suddenly found herself in what scene, an inl1y darkness. Norah, faithles porter, had fled and shut the door, Witt a sick feeling of terror Clara crouchet | against the knobby harness. ''Norah," she walled, do open!" "Oi dursn't!" shrieked, Norah, besid
 herself with fright.
 Clara could hear the big animal nov ing Uneasily. He stamped and blew hC
 breath about her. Now he ha 5 wheeled again. Was he planning | kick? She had a vision of hersel lying battered there in the dark. Ho7 D sorry Richard Burton would be if h