The Lamar register., 1918-05-29

past. and as they marched the willow
rnickets and poplar groves grew yell
low and brown. and carpeted the floor
of the woods with fallen leaves. Shrub
and tree barred guunt limbs to every
autumn wind. Only the spruce and
pine stood forth In their year-rOund
habiliments Of green. The days short
ened steadily. The nights grew long,
and bitter with frost. Snow fell blank
citing softly the dead leaves. Old Win
ter cracked his whip masterfully over
all the North.
Day by day, between tasks, and
often while she worked, Hazels eyes
would linger ON the edges of the clear
Ing. Often ut night she would lift her
self on elbow ut some unexpected
sound. her heart leaping wild with ex-
pectation. And always she would lie
down again, and sometimes press her
cIenched hand to her lips to keep back
the despairing cry. Always She ad-
jured herself 10 be patient, to wait
doggedly as Bill would have waited, to
make due allowance for immensely of
distance, for the manifold delays which
might overtuke messenger fariug
across those silent miles or Il man hur-
rylng TO his home. Many things might
hold him back. But he would come.
1t was lncOncelyable that he might
not come.
Meantime, with only n dim con
seriousness of the fact, she underwent
marvellous schooling In adaptation,
self-restruint. She had work of sort.
tasks such us every housewife finds
self-imposed In her own home. She
was seldom lonely. She murveled ut
that. 1t was unique in her expert
ence. All her old dread Of the pro-
found silence, the painless forests
which infoldcd like prison wall, dis
tunces which seemed impossible of
spun, had vanished. In its place had
fallen over her an abiding sense of
peace, Of security. The lusty storm
winds whlstling about the cabin sang
rcstful lullaby. When the wolves
lifted their weird. melancholy plant
to the cold. star-jewelcd skies. she lis
tened without the old shudder. These
things, which We're wont to Cypress
her, to send her Imagination Keeling
along morbid ways, seemed but II ma
tural inspect of life, of which she her
self was part.
Often, sitting before her glowing
fireplace, watching n flame kindled
with her own hands with wood she
herself carried from the pile outside.
she pondered this. 1t defied her pow
ers of self-analysls. She could only
accept it rs fact, and be glad. Gran
Vile and all that Granville stood for
had withdrawn to u more or less re-
mote background. She could look over
the frost-spangled forests and feel
that she lacked nothing-nothing save
her mate. There was no impression of
transient abiding; no chatting TO be
elsewhere. to do otherwise. 1t was
home, she reflected; perhaps that was
why.
A simple routine served TO fiji her
days. She kept her house shining. she
cooked her food, carried in her fuel.
Except on days of fortnight storm
she put on her snowshoes. and with
IA little rifle In the crook Of her arm
prowled at random through the woods
partly because 1t gave her pleasure
to range sturdily afield, partly for the
physical brace Of exertion in the crisp
air. Otherwise she curled comfortably
before the fireplace and sewed, or read
something out Of Bill's catholic as
sortInent of books.
n was given her. also, TO learn the
true meaning Of ncighbOrliness. that
kindness OF spirit which Is stiiied by
stress In the crowded places, and slim
ulnted by Ike stress amid surround
lngs where life Is noncomplex. direct.
where cause and effect tread on each
others heels. Every day. If she failed
to drop Into their cabin, came one Of
her neighbors 10 see If all We're well
with her.
quite as a matter of course Jake
kept steadily replenished for her Il
great pile Of firewood. or they would
come, babies and all, bundled in furs
Of Jake's trapping, juggling up Of an
evening behind the frisky bays. And
while the bays munched hay in Roar
Ing BIZ Wagstan's stable, they would
cluster about the open hearth, popping
corn for the children. talking, always
with cheerful optimism.