Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1919-12-26

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of her room and looked out on a
dreary, drizzly day-Sunday, March
80. In one hand she held a letter,
which was somewhat crumpled, as
though she had started to convert 1t
into waste paper and had thought bet
ter of it.
Two robins were holding a converse
ton in the tree whose branches
brushed the window. The birds start
ed out as if they were quarreling, but
the excited chirping diminished into a
sound that was as neal cooling as can
be expected Of robins.
wouldn't 1t be fine to be a bird?"
Frances sighed. They're always
happy, 1t seems"
She looked at the letter and a wry
little smile adorned her face.
"He calls me sister," she unused.
"That's what they all say when they
want to leave you for someone else.
Little sister-that's what he says. 1t
sounds pretty, but he used to say
things that were prettier."
She stood up and made a motion as
though to throw the letter in the
w~astebasket, but changed her mind
again and placed it in a drawer of the
dresser. Then she stood before the
mirror and surveyed herself critically
for several moments.
The person who gazed back at
Frances from the glass vas not ex-
actly beautiful, but there was m
thing about her that would not permit
her to pass unnoticed in a crowd. The
eyes were just common eyes that is,
there were no special arches to the
brows, and the long, graceful lashes
that are considered so desirable were
not there. There wac a lot Of good,
wholesome blue in the eyes, which
could not be discounted in an inven-
tory of attractive points.
The nose was inclined to be pug"
which gave the face a kind of saucy
look, and the hair was nearly stringy,
being of a rusty hue; but there was
plenty of it, and it was done up at
tractively, if not up to the minute In
style. The teeth were the principal
attraction Of Frances Hayden's coun-
tenance. When she smiled even the
least bit they showed, dazzling white
and even, and the smile was about as
sweet as any girl could hope to offer.
But Frances was unhappy. She had
long suspected that Melville Clark had
ceased to care for her-in the way he
once had cared. But, she told herself,
it was hardly unexpected, despite the
pro~testations Melville had made, when
he left Glendale two years ago, that he
would never care for another girl and
that he was coming back some bright,
sunny day" to make her Mrs. Clark.
She remembered the apprehensions
she had entertained at that time, re-
CARELESS of his earnest words, that he
would come across someone else in the
big city. However, Melville had writ
ten steadily for a year, and in every
letter had reiterated his intentions.
During the next year, however, she
could not help noticing that his letters
alluded more and more to friendship
and less to love. Finally they dropped
off altogether, until for a period of
five months none came at all.
Frances went about her steno-
graphic duties in the real estate office
with the usual smile and the same ca
pacity for work that she had always
displayed, but when she got home at
night she often shut herself in her
room and thought hard, and sometimes
cried a little.
Frances had given her heart to Mel
vile when he went to the city to make
a name for himself and a few coins for
his pocket. 1t vas a hard and rocky
road, as his letters showed during that
first year, and then his communica-
tons began to take or a more hopeful
tone. "Things are coming, slowly but
surely" he would write.
Frances hoped in vain that Melville
would return home for a visit. He
he made good" but now, when he
was making good, there was no men,
ton of the visit. Then came this let
ter referring to her as "little sister,"
in which he told her that he had at
last attained the object he had sought.
He was q successful stock broker, with
an office of his own and a neat sum in
bank. But never a mention of coming
to Glendale did the letter contain.
Later in the day the sun chased the
clouds away and warmed the earth
again and Frances went for a walk.
maybe this is the bright, sunny day
he referred to-" she said, as she
threaded her way through the village;
and she laughed, with a tinge of visit
fitness, when she recalled the "little
sister" passages of the epistle from
Melville.
At the edge of Glendale was a wood
en- bridge which spanned a silent little
brook, vending it's way through the
valley with many twists and turns.
Foliage was beginning to adorn the nu-
merous trees on either side of the
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