The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1915-03-04
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BY OLIVE BARTON.

The great singer was spending her
short vacation in an unusual way.
II might be said also that 1t had been
none of her own choosing. What did
she know of baby food, or mending
holes in Johnnie's stockings as big as
buckwheat cakes? How did she know
how many days F1ossie should wear
the same %petticoat?
. The whole three we're In bed now,
and the great singer relaxed luxu.
riously. She knew no one in the
town, SO there was little danger OF
callers.
Her thoughts were as busy as the
fingers of the little maid of all work,
now doing dishes audibly in the
kitchen. She was thinking how odd
IL was for her to be there at all.
A telegram had been responsible.
Sister Jane and her husband William
had been called away by trouble in
Williams family. There had been no
n else to ask to look after the chill.
dren. She had never even seer the
baby!
a. Steps suddenly sounded on the
little front porch like so many bangs
on a bass drum. Title, out in the
kitchen, heard and was at the door
before her temporary mistress could
stop her.
rs this where Miss Farrell is stay.
ing?" asked a mans voice.
HT1otp o-nlnN.-a AF..- uS-.-u Il.
patiently, will he never learn that
there isn't a bit of use in chasing
after me, wherever I go?"
Joe stamped off the snow noisily
and came inside. He came in big,
glowing and clumsy, The little room
seemed full before he got farther than
the doorway. Peggy; in her chair be.
fore the fire, half ~turned-just enough
for him to see the top-loftical expires,
sion.
"Peggy| he exclaimed delightedly,
coming forward.
Good evening, joe" evenly. You
chose a nice night to come so far.
= Won't you sit DOWN."
Joe sat down on the other side of
the fireplace. "You look awfully
sweet, Peggy. Aren't you glad to see
me?"
MOI" deliberately.
Il wouldn't have come-only |
thought of something after-after
we'd been talking the other night"
She didn't answer.
You see," shifting ~uneasily, "f you
would marry me, you could go ahead
with your singing just the same as
ever. You could sing just as we'll as
Margaret Farrell St~urtevant, as you
car as Margaret Farrell. Now,
couldn't you? That wouldn't be in
:terferlng with your career, would it?
and, Peggy, you used to care a little
for mel"
She watched the fire a minute, re.
lenting. IT'S hard to be cross with
you, Joe. You just won't let people,
will you? I'm going to be extra nice
nov and explain.
You see, Joe, your plan won't work
for a hundred asons You love a
home. You're a regular home man
If there ever was one. l can't make
a home. 1t isn't in me. l hate every.
thing about a house. l love my music
better than anything on earth, and !
can't give It up"
What she really meant was that the
~intoxication of public homage was a
sensation she would not care to re-
nounce.
All right, my girl, you're the doc.
tori" Joe got up and looked at his
watch. Il didn't suppose 1t was much
use, but | thought I'd make one more
try. | won't bother you again, ever.
Goodnight, Peggy, I've just time for
my train"
He was gone! Peggy turned out
the light and sat watching the fire.
Il guess I'll get the baby her bottle
and go to bed" she yawned.
A week passed. Peggy was getting
expert on mending kneeless stockings,
sorting clothes and bathing babies. 1t
never seemed to be a bother any more.
Then n night the baby got sick, very
sick.
The doctor and trained nurse hast
lily summoned took 1t philosophically,
saying there was an equal chance of
life and death. But Peggy, a poor,
white, stricken thing, never leaving
the side of the little crib, thought the
world was ending.
> Morning brought a change for the
better. The baby would live! Peg.
gy slipped silently away to her room
and sat thinking in the cold, wintry
dawn.
Mr.. Joseph Sturtevant was just set
Ting himself for a nice winters morn
ing nap. The telephone rang. He was
awake in an instant.
"Is that you, Joe? This Is Peggy!
l have changed my mind. And that's
all I'm going to tell you until you
come out and hear for yourself!"