The daily morning oasis., 1918-01-13

her nor sign Of recognition to any OF the
village people who might be there. She
heard people exchange uncompllmentary
opinions concerning him; she heard him
sneered at, denounced, slandered.
Naturally, being young and lonely
and quite free from malice towards any
body, she had time to construct romance
around Helm-a very innocent romance
of well-worn pattern and on most un-
original lines. Into this romance she
sometimes conducted her elf, blushing
secretly at her mental indiscretiOn, which
indiscretion so worried her that she dared
not even look at Helm that evening when
he came for his mail. She was a grave
gentle little thing-a child still whose
childhood had been tragedy and whose
womanhood promised only that shadow OF
happiness called contentment which comes
from a blameless life and a nature which
accepts sorrow without resentment.
Thinking of Helm as she sat there by
the window, she heard the office clock
striking five. Five was Helms usual
hour, so she hid her crutch. 1t was her
one vanity-that he should not know that
she was lame.
She rose and lifted the two volumes of
agricultural reports from the blotters
where Helms letter lay, then she care
fully raised one blotter. To her dismay
half of the envelope stuck to the blotting-
paper, leaving the contents of the letter
open to her view
On the half-envelope lay an object
apparently so peculiarly terrifying that
the little postmistress caught her breath
and turned quite white at sight OF it.
And yet it was only a square bit of paper,
perfectly blank save for half dozen
thread-h like lines scattered through its
texture.
For long while the postmistress
stood staring at the half envelope and the
bit of blal paper Then with trembling
fingers she lighted lamp and held the
little piece of paper over the chimney
carefully. When the paper was warm
she raised it up to the light and read the
scrawl that the sympathetic ink revealed:
Il send you sample of the latest
style fibre. Look out for the new post
master at Nauvoo He's secret-service
spy, and he's been sent to see what you
are doing. This is the last letter | dare
send you by mail"
There was no signs yure to the message,
but signature was not necessary to tell
the postmistress who had written the
letter. With set lips and fearless eyes
she watched the writing fade slowly on
the paper; and when again the paper was
blank she sank down by the window,
laying her head in her arms.
A few moments later Helm came in
wrapped in a shining wet macintosh.
He glanced at his box, saw it was empty,
wheeled squarely on his heels, and walked
out.
Towards sunset the rain dissolved to
mist; trail of vapor which marked the
course of an unseen brook floated high
among the hemlocks. There was no wind;
the feathery tips of the pines, powdered
with rain-spray, rose motionless in the
still air. Suddenly the suns red search
light played through the forest; long,
warm rays fell across wet moss, rain
drenched ferns dripped, the swamp steam
ed In the east the thunder still doomed,
and faint lightning flashed under the
smother of sombre clouds; but the storm
had rolled off among the mountains, and
already a white-throated sparrow was
calling from the edge of the clearing. 1t
promised to be calm evening in Nauvoo.
Meanwhile, Helm walked on down the
muddy road, avoiding the puddles which
the sun turned into pools of liquid flame.
He heard the catbirds mewing in the alders;
he heard the evening carol of the robin
Il l.. IL