The Little River news., 1919-11-01
A STRANGE STORY
By MADGE WEST.

this June afternoon in writing you Of the strangest love story that am sure you ever heard-and the love story is my own. Are you not very much sur prised?
 Ii is true that I answered recently your questioning as to any posSlhle present love affair, assuring you that during my long time with Aunt Mill licent in CooperStown, no young, old or middle-aged man had paid me the slightest attention. And believe l further went on to say that few men find their way to this quaint isolated town. So. of course, you must have mentally resigned me to the fate or single hleSseduess. which l, myself, have long considered in a cheerful spirit.
 But all this is past. and l ann to be married tomorroW-a glorious tomor- row, Ruth. dear, with all the flowers of the garden sending forth perfume, like the emanating joy of my heart.
 Coming to Cooperstown with girls yearning for Il continuation o1 youthful pleasures, l looked about for young society. But from the first but one person claimed my interest. man whose ability in his profession could not be hidden even here, ana who remained in the old family home of the lonely town in order to care TOT crippled elderly sister. This sister had sacrificed much for him, raising the orphaned brother from delicate childhood 10 educated manhood. Thus, he now repaid her sacriticeS-and what if had cost him to renounce the wider field of opportunity in his chosen pro fession none knew, save I, as l first Saw him.
 ,sWho is that man?" I asked Aunt .Millicent, after his bow to her and his flashing glance in my direction.
 Aunt AIillicent closed her lips in firm WAY that I later learned to dread.
 "Ilis name." she responded, lis Philip Dare, and the less you know of him the hetter'
 "He loolis" I defended, Hike man to he admired-respected.'
 "EIe is," Aunt MlIiccnt answered dryly, respectfully the former. And many an atlmiring heart has he broken. I shall never marry Philip tells the foolish girls, my life must be devoted to my sister,"
 Aunt Alllicent turned upon me sharply: II saw the way he locked at you just now. Nan she said, "femem- Der. he s not to come near our house while you live with me-
 But arntS atlmoniton was unneteS- Sary: Philip Dare came not to her house. His greeting was always pleasant aS we met at some village gathering, or I world exchange a smile with him in passing as he wheeled his crippled sister about the quiet grounds of their old. stately home, and always Ruth, you may laugh if you will recalling my many girlish eonqueSts- always, I would return to Aunt Milli- cents, content with my glimpse of the man who had never from that first meeting, been absent from my thought.
 When they spoke of pretty, merry girls, who daringly spent their evenings upon the wide verandaS of Philip Dare'S home. or picked him up upon some errand to carry him home in their cal'S--I still smiled in confident satisfaction as l bent over my sewing. Philip. I knew, cared for not one of them.
 So perhaps a year passed, Iearnin" nothing of his companionsbip, knowing him. it would seem, but in fancy. Then one evening he came abruptly to stand before me where l sat beneath tree in the garden.
 T have to go out of town for a few days" he said gently, "to be in con sutation with other lawyers"
 Aunt came frowning toward us. 1 could not even offer d friendly hand.
 "Good-by." I said. For moment our eyes met, then he was gone. But it was as though we had talked, he and I, of the past that was gone, and had made promises to each other for the future to come.
 Tn his continued aloOfneSs and ap- parent indifference to myself aunt lost her fOrebodingS.
 "Now what" she unused, do you sup pose brought Philip Dare in here? A passing notion, likely" she immediate ly answered herself. He was always that way"
 When Philip returned from his trip he bowed, passing the house, and waved my hand in response. My heart had been with him throughout his jour ney, and l strangely felt that he knew.
 You remember, Ruth, dear, when visited you how disappointed you were in my lack of interest for those things I used to cnioy-my thoughts were with Philip bare; l Was wondering anXiously all the time if the sick sis tcr crew more eXacting; if that new wearincss still shadowed his dear pa tient eyes.
 The sister died one month ago. Last night as l sat in the garden alone, Philip Dare came to me. As ne sank down on the seat at my side, he clasped