The Press., 1920-09-16
The Anniversary
By ELVA LORENCE
(Copyright.)

She was true, lovin' woman, who had dreamed, as most of us do, of the fumblin' little hands, the snugglin' lit tie face, of our very own, and the crown of womanhood had been denied her. In the minute I stood there si- lent I understood, and my heart ached for her. Disappointment had changed the world, and the days and weeks of lonely breeding, while he was away, had changed her, too.
 Droppin' down by the couch, I got my arms about her and did my best to comfort her.
 T know, missus," whispered, when she had grown quiet. "But it's wrong to grieve. There's many worse trou- bles than yours. You have your hus- band"
 My husband cares nothing for me y she cried. T am shut out of his life y
 "You shut yourself out, dearie," I said gently. T am sure of it. I'm only 'Omely Liz. No man will ever call me his wife now, but think l can understand why you two have gone apart, and I'd like to see you happy together again. Little children come to bind affection closer. true enough, and where the blessing is de- nied the greater the call for lovin' kindness. That's where you've failed, dearie. Forgive me if hurt you by my plain speakin', but 1t seems to me that you've lived with disappointment so long it's made you bitter. Why not meet him tonight with a smilin' face, an say you're sorry? l know he would smile, too, and that his arms would hold you. You are together for better or worse for maybe many years. Why not always for better?"
 "He has ceased to carep' she said bitterly. "He would turn from we with a laugh!'
 q think not, dearie," said quietly. II have seen the look in his eyes when you have left the room, and l know he, too, is wretched. Make it up to- day."
 "Today!" she cried. 'Today is the anniversary of our wedding day. For the first four years he marked it with a gift; he has forgotten 1t alto gether now"
 "Oh, not" I said, smiling confident ly. Meet him when he comes home tonight as l want you to, and see if he has forgotten. It seems such a pity you should be bad friends. Lis ten to me, dearie!"
 An1 u,,{o [ fold hor ahn1f my last place.
 She heard me through, and at the end lay back. with glistening tears in her eyes.
 "Thank you, Lizzie!" she said.
 That was all. but jumped up. smilin', because l knew l had won her round.
 "Now listen, ma'am." l said. i've got plan. He'll be home, as usual at seven for dinner. We'll have a special spread in honor of the day, and you shall be waitin' for him in your wedding dress!'
 My wedding dress!" she cried. "Oh, no, Liz it's hopelessly old-fashioned ; I should look like a fright!"
 "We1l see you don't" said. "He Is going to come into the room, and find his old sweetheart, and, just as sure, you will find him again."
 "You think so, Liz?" she cried, trem- bling.
 "Sure of ftp :
 Come and dig out the dress" she said.
 And laughin' at our pleasant thoughts, we tripped upstairs.
 The rest of the day. until the usual hour of his homecoming, passed like a dream. The difference in the missus you'd hardly credit. She seemed an- other woman altogether. Now that her mind was given up to it, nothing could go amiss. His favorite dishes must be cooked; there must be flow CTS on the table, his slippers must be in the fender; everything must be just as he liked 1t.
 At six o'clock she went upstairs to dress. AS I put on my best apron I heard her quietly singin'. When she called me to see how she looked stood and smiled, because, for some reason I couldn't say word.
 The white silk dress fitted her per fectly; her eyes were shinin', the smilin' lips had given new express sion to her face.
 She looked like a happy, blusldn' bride.
 Shall I do, LizzieY' she said, with il playful curtSy.
 , "Oh, ma'am, you look beautiful!" exclaimed.
 You think he'll know mel" she said.
 You'll see," I answered, laughin'.
 From behind my back held out the spray of flowers I had got from the shop with the others downstairs.
 'I want you to wear this, ma'am," I said. "Let, me fasten 1t in your gown '"
 "A bunch of rosemary" she cried.
 "For remembrance, ma'am."
 ''Thank you, Lizzie," she said qui- etly, pressin' my hand; an smiling happily, we went down the stairs.
 "When you want dinner served you'll please ring, ma 'am," said, as I turned TUT Illc hIlCACu IL ucdlly SCtcu. In ten minutes he'll be herev'
 As the clock struck stood with the kitchen door open, watchin' for the sound of his key in the lock. In the dining room knew she, too, was listenin'. For five. ten, fifteen min utes we sat there, quietly waitin'. He did not come.
 l stole along the hall, and. softly openin' the vestibule door, looked out along the road. There was no sign of him. Backward and forward from kitchen to door went a dozen times, until the clock struck eight. And then l went slowly back, and sittin' by the Kitchen table, sobbed like kid. The dinner was spoiled. All our little planning was wasted. He was not coming.