The Marietta journal. (Marietta, Ga.) 1918-1944, 1920-04-02
JUST PIE
BY ALICE PIERCE.

In these days when the average e6li.
ton OF a city daily contains in one col
umn such a startling item as the sue
cessful flight Of an airplane across the
ocean and in the next records the safe
uellvery Of q deceased aunt's remains
TO Mr.. Blank, Of Blanktown, via parcel
post, at the trifing cost of forty-three
cents, we are compelled to describe
Phoebe Hurlburt as an anachronism
Long ago, when the whalers set sail
from the little port, Pheebe's grand
mother made most wonderful pies.
Phoebe makes them just as delectable
and by the same recipe. Not the
most noted man of science can sug-
gest one improvement in the pies the
old New England housewives con-
cocted. Phoebe didn't try, and there.
In lay her success.
Phoebe Hurlburt occupied a place in
the sun not too close to forty at the
time her romance began. Cousin Jane
was close behind. Jane had all along
intended it to be her own romance ::
out, somehow, in the last act the cues
got twisted and John Bellayre walked
into the Hurlburt kitchen where
Phoebe, In an Immaculate calico house
oress, was In the act of removing from
the oven two crispy, fragrant apple
pies, instead of into the orchard where
Jane had staged herself in an act
worthy of Belasco himself. John stay
ed In the kitchen to have a sample.
served with clotted cream, and stayed
so long that finally Jane, all unassist-
ed, climbed down from the tree in
which she was precariously seated.
1t had been along about Christmas
time when Jane met John Bellayre.
He had been the guest of honor at a
so-called Sunday morning breakfast
party. AS a matter of fact both
morning" and breakfast" were mis-
nomers, for the guests assembled at
one o'clock, and what they had to eat
was rather elaborate luncheon. Jane
had written her country cousin all
about 1t and had kept her informed
of the progress of the friendship.
Jane liked to be called Clever" and
1t was with that adjective that the
other women present at the breakfast
described her manipulation of John
Bellayre. But to do Jane justice she
was an attractive woman, and Bel
layre didn't need much managing to
drift into a close friendship.
Phoebe usually listened in on the
conversations, now and then surprising
everybody by putting in a brightly in
telligent comment in exactly the right
place. She presided over the house
cool, competent, immaculate. But to
all invitations to visit in the city she
returned polite but final declination.
She didn't like cities.
1t was here in the charming old New
England village that Jane had planned
that the browning event of her life
dramatic critic for one of the city dali
lies. He knew many desirable people
and he was himself an extremely lik-
able man. Jane calculated that her
oft-repeated statement that she would
not give up her freedom before she
reached the age of thirty-five would
help, rather than hinder. Men pre-
ferred to have some obstacles to over
cOme-it tickled their masculine van
ity.
1t didn't suggest itself to Jane to
take into consideration the fine sense
of values which dramatic critic must
possess to take him high in his pro-
fession. It never occurred to her that
she looked as ar orchid would were 1t
used in the stage setting of the "Old
Homestead" She merely noted casu-
ally that John seemed to enjoy sitting
on the veranda where Phoebe was al
ways to be found in the afternoon with
her crOcheting. He would sit there
lazily by the hour, hardly speaking at
all. Jane usually spent those hours
in rest.
Y On the last evening Of her guests
stay some restless impulse, foreign to
her placid nature, drove Phoebe to the
kitchen. She explained to her mother
that it promised to be hot tomorrow,
and so she guessed she would do some
baking before she went to bed. She
had heard James words to John Bel
layre as her cousin went upstairs d.
rectly after the early supper II have
some notes to write, John will meet
you in the orchard at half-past seven"
Then, at seven, she had seen her
cousin steal out Of the side door ar
rayed in pale mauve gown, one
Phoebe had never seen before and
which struck her as almost indecent
in its daring simplicity.
John Bellayre caught Whit of the
fragrant odor Of steaming apple pie as
he started down the path toward the
orchard. Without in the least an
alyzing his own motives, he retraced
his steps, opened the kitchen door and
walked in.
If it is true that the way to a mans