The Pulaskian., 1919-07-11
SHOWED IN
By NELLIE A. FAIRBANKS.

 snowtiakes whirl around. then land in little piles outside the window.
 How I hate this old. lonely farm house with its rickety old roof, and Jean shiyered as the low moan of the wind broke the stiffness.
 Just because Toms father left him this old rattle-trap is no reason why 1 should spend my life here."
 Living in the old, lonely farmhouse had been the bone of contention be- tween Jean and Tom ever since he had brought her there a bride one year be- fore and while Tom could see nothing but beauty in the place that had al- ways been home to him, Jeans heart ached for cozy little apartment in the city
 The sound of heavy footsteps told Jean her big, good-natured husband was approaching, and she realized 1t was supper time. Leaving the win dow, Jean started for the kitchen to be greeted by her husband with the words: Well. grille, I guess we are in for big snowstorm." Jean did not reply, but prepared the supper in gloomy silence.
 After the supper dishes were washed and put away Tom put some logs in the fireplace and drawing an armchair close to the fire he gently pushed Jean into 1t, and seating him- self on the arm they watched the burning logs in silence Suddenly Jean spoke: Il think l will run up to the city tomorrow, Tom, and see mother for a few weeks. It doesn't seem as though I could stand this place any longer" "AlI right, Jeanie; perhaps the change will do you good" Tom said good-naturedly. But as the light from the cracking logs fell upon his face Jean could not help but sec the pained expression. Nevertheless she had made up her mind to go and nothing could stop her. She just longed for the noise and excitement of the city; and the next morning, al- though It showed hard, found her on her way.
 The train was four hours late, and
 
 cozy four-room apartment she was tired and cross. Somehow her thoughts kept turning back to Tom as she saw him last, standing by the win- dow smiling and waving until she was out of sight
 The evening hours dragged slowly by, and as the steam pipes sizzfed Jean found herself comparing the hissing noise to the soft cracking of the logs at home.
 At ten o'clock she went to her old room and after she had prepared to retire. turned off her light, and raising the curtain she gazed, as she had the night before, at the white flakes pill ing up on the roofs beyond. and as she watched she pictured Tom, sitting by the log fire. The wind blew the wet flakes against her window and jean hated the sound. She looked at the clock on the tower across the way. It was now II 80. Just ten hours be- fore the next train home Home. how strangely sweet the word sounded Then an awful fear seized Jean. What if the snow continued and the trains would be unable to run? Her fears were realized, for when she awoke the next morning the snow was still com ing steadily down. Mother and father pleaded with her to stay, but nine o'clock found her on her way to the station.
 The train was stalled for hours at different places. and it was not unfil nine o'clock that night that Jean reached the little country station, and as no carryall put in its appearance she started afoot to the farmhouse.
 The big drifts in places were nearly to her waist, and if it were not for the bright light In the low farmhouse window ahead Jean would have lost her courage.
 At last, cold and wet, she crept soft ly up the steps, then quietly opened the door. Tip-toeing softly. she made her way to the sitting room and up to the old armchair, and by the light of the dying fire she could see that Tom had fallen asleep. Pushing back his ruffled hair from his forehead she pressed her cold cheek against his warm one.
 With start Tom awoke. exclaim- ing, happily: Why. grille, what does this mean?" Then Jean explained how unhappy she had been the night before. "If I had been obliged to walk all the way from mothers. Tom, a as the wind moaned again through the chimney, Jean nestled closer and whispered: That's music. dear. com pared with the hissing of steam pipes" and the dying light from the logs fell upon a contented couple.
 Copyright, 1919. by the Mcclure News
 paper Syndicate.)