The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1917-03-16

| mothers bed and getting it ready;
opened windows, brought order and
quiet. And then, with death in her
eyes, she took up her position beside
her mother. This was no time for
weeping; that would come later. Once
she turned to K, standing watchfully
beside her.
II think you have known this for
a long time" she said. And, when he
did not answer: "Why did you let me
stay away from her? 1t would have
been such little time!"
'We were trying to do our best for
both of you," he replied.
| Anna was unconscious and sinking
fast. One thought obsessed Sidney.
She repeated it over and over. 1t came
as cry from the depths Of the girls
new experience.
"She has had so little of life," she
said, over and over. $50 little! Just
this Street. She never knew anything
else"
And finally K. took it up.
"After all, Sidney" he said, 'the
Street is life; the world is only many
streets. She had great deal. She
had love and content, and she had
YOU"
Anna died little after midnight. a
quiet passing, so that only Sidney and
the two men knew when she went
away. 1t was Harriet who collapsed.
During all that long evening she had
sat looking back over years of small
unkindnesses. The thorn of Annals in
efficiency had always ranked in her
flesh. She had been hard, uncompro-
missing, thwarted. And now it was for
ever too late.
X. had watched Sidney carefully.
Once he thought she was fainting, and
went to her. But she shook her head.
81 am all right. Do you think you
could get them all out of the room
and let me have her alone for just a
few minutes"
He cleared the room and took his
vigil outside the door. And, as he
stood there, he thought of what he had
said to Sidney about the Street. 1t was
a world of it's own. Here in this very
house were death and separation; Har-
riets starved life; Christine and
Palmer beginning long and doubtful
future together; himself, failure, and
an impostor.
When he opened the door again, Sid
ney was standing by her mothers bed.
He went to her, and she turned and
put her head against his shoulder like
tired child.
"Take me away, H." she said pitt.
fully.
And, with his arm around her, he led
her out of the room.
Outside of her small immediate
circle Annals death was hardly felt
The little house went on much as be
fore. Harriet carried back to her bust.
ness heaviness of spirit that made il
difficult to bear with the small irrita.
lions of her day. On Sidney-and in
less measure, of course, on K.-fel the
real brunt of the disaster. Sidney kept
up well until after the funeral, but
went down the next day with a low
fever.
"Overwork and grief" Doctor &c
said, and sternly forbade the hospital
again until Christmas. Morning anC
evening X. stopped at her door and
inquired for her, and morning and eve
ming came Sidney's reply:
; much better. I'll surely be up to
morrow"
But the days dragged on and she die
not get about.
Downstairs, Christine and Palmer
had entered on the round of midwintel
gayeties. Palmer's 'crowd" was {
: lively one. There were dinners anC
!. dances, weekend excursions to coun
try houses. The Street grew accus
: toned to seeing automobiles stop be
!, fore the little house at all hours of the
t night. Johnny RosGnfeld, driving
e Palmer's car, took to falling asleep a
the wheel in broad daylight, and voiced
y his discomfort to his mother.
D "You never know where you are Will
[ them guys" he said briefly. ave star
out for half an hours run in the eve
n ming, and get home with the milk wag
!. ons. And the more some of them hav'
1 had to drink, the more they want t.
f drive the machine. If get chance
/, I'm going to beat it while the wind
my way"
But, talk as he might, in john,
e Rosenfelds' loyal heart there was NJ
d thought of desertion. Palmer had Civ
e en- him mans job, and he would sticl
i by 1t, no matter what came.
r One such night Christine put II