The Snowflake herald., 1920-08-13
APRIL SHOWERS
BY SUSANNA MAcKlN.


"Be sure that you take your UNI
brella, Myra." Mrs Bennett had come
softly into her daughters room. "It
looks like rain" she continued "Gnd
1t feels more like the middle of March
than it does like the middle cf April"
Myra Bennett stood before her mir
rOr, deftly adjusting her new spring
hat-a chic fame colored toque. Her
black dress of soft clinging stuff had
touch of flame yellow at the neck,
wrists and girdle; and from her
young, well-fOrmed shoulders it hung
in simple, girlish lines. A swift side
long glance at her reflection brought
lock Of approval to her troubled face
as she turned from the mirror and
slipped into her coat.
"Yes, I'll take an umbrella" she
assured her mother.
"And be sure you get something
good for your luncheon, Myra," her
mother cautioned, ''you-you haven't
eaten much breakfast-a cup of coffee
is nothing for a girl to work on.
You"
Don't you worry. mother" the girl
broke in as she fumbled in her beaded
bag. "I'll make up for breakfast-you
ought to see how much / eat at noon."
"pm glad you do, Myra l hope
you're not letting anything trouble
you"
Mrs. Bennett returned to the din
ing room and began to clear away the
breakfast dishes.
81 should worry !" Myra Bennett
whispered to herself.
Her eyes sought the eyes of a square
iawed young face in silver frame
upon her bureau.
81 should worry!" she repeated as
she took the photograph from the
frame. "I can stand it if you can, ;"
she informed the picture, flinging It
into the waste basket. Then she fed
from the house.
In the big millinery shop, where
Mvra designed fetching" hats for
Madam La Bonte's fashionable clien-
fele her fingers fluttered about among
the frail straw and gorgeous flowers; /;
and 'wOnderful creations" were fash
toned by her capable fingers but her
thoughts were leagues away.
Bv the magic of thought she had
taken herself back TO a night in June !;
20 a moonIit beach and John Martin.
the scent of the sea, the touch of
hands. Rv this same magic she
walked in the future. There was a
title white house and a garden of
roseS-real roses John Martin walked
hes'c7e her. and there a child's chubby
fingers were clinging to her skirts.
When she had come back from her
meanderings the same magical thought
told her that she had been dreaming,
romancing, and that she had lost
lost John Martin through her own
silly nonsense, her unreasonable jeal-
ousy.
Myra Bennett was glad when the
hour to quit work had come. She had.
of late, done her work in a dazed
way
Out in the canyon-like street the
rain was pelting against the sidewalk,
and. occasionally. gust of wind
slapped the rain into the faces of the
passersby.
Myra, her Scant skirts clinging to
her, made her way to nearby sub
way but just as she had reached the
entrance a strong gale struck her and
sent her umbrella and her fiame-col-
ored hat chasing each other across the
street.
Out from a drug store doorway a
man darted after them. then another
man Joined in the chase, and Myra
her brown hair wet and disheveled,
watched them Again and again the
man that was chasing the hat had had
his hands almost upon it when, like a
flash. the freakish wind carried it off
again. She had lost sight of the other
man and the umbrella.
at was a perfectly good silk um-
brella," Myra solloquized; perhaps
the man needed it himself-well, let
him keep it, and the hat? The hat
must be a wreck"
Myra suddenly became aware that a
tall man was holding an umbrella
over her. She looked up into a pair
of laughing eyes The man holding
her umbrella was hatless, and mois-
ture was streaming down his young,
square iawed face.
"JOhn Martin! Where"
"This only proves. Myra," John Mar
tin interrupted. that you need me
around-especially in a storm"