The Washington times., 1920-02-25

stone as they gazed at the purple
and-silver panoply Of heaven spread
above them.
week slid past. and April barely
noticed its passing. No word came
from the outer world. 1t was not
the custom to read newspapers at
Ho-la-le-la, And all letters were
stuffed unopened into a drawer. in
case they might be bills. Close
friends were wise enough to COM
municate by telegram. or better
still. dump themselves in person
upon the doorstep. The only rea-
son that April had been expected.
and fetched, was that a home let
ter" had heralded the likely advent
of Lady Diana and given the date
and hotel at which she would be
staying. Home letters were never
stuffed away unopened.
Late one afternoon, however, there
was an unexpected announcement.
The boch- bird began to
cry in the orchard, and Give said 1t
was surer sign of visitors than
any that came from the telegraph
office.
Tomorrow is Sunday. Well
nave visitors as sure as a gum" she
prophesied.
April quailed. She could not bear
the peaceful drifting to end, and
wished for no reminder of that
outer world where Bellew. the mail
boat for England, and the dreary
task Of breaking an old mans heart
awaited her. Sometimes, in spite
or herself, she was obliged to con-
sider these things, and the consid-
ering threw shadows under her
eyes and followed her cheeks. Sarle
too, though he was a dream by day.
became very real at night. when she
should have been dreaming. She
knew now that she could never es-
cape from the memory of him, and
the thought that he was suffering
from her silence and detection tor
.ured her. What must he think Of
her sinking guilty away without
a Word OF explanation or farewell?
doubtless kenna would set him
right.
A Perfect Sunday.
Faithful are the wounds of a
friend" she thought bitterly.
Better far and drawer to have
done the explaining and setting
right herself, If only she could have
round some way of releasing her
SER from the compact Of silence
made with Diana and Bellew.
Sunday morning dawned vesy per-
fectly. They were all sleeping on
the stoop, their beds in line against
the wall, Give upon the oak chest,
which her austere self-discipline
commanded. At , o'clock, though
Few stars fingered, the sky was
already tinting itself with the love
nf nj nj
broke the. stiffness but the breath
ing of the sleepers and the soft,
perpetual drip Of acorns from the
branches overhead.
The beauty and peace Of it smote
April to the heart. She pressed
her fingers over her eyes, and
tears oozed through them, trickling
down her face. When, at last, sha
looked again, the stars were gone
and the sky was blue as a thrush's
egg. with a fluff of rose-red clouds
knitted together overhead and s.
few crimson says scudding across
the Qua-Quas.
A dove suddenly cried, "Choo- COO
-choo-coo" and others took up the
refrain. until. in the hills and
woods, hundreds Of dove were
greeting the morning with their
soft, thrilling cries. Fowls stray
ing from barn nearby started
scratching in the sand. The first
streak of sunshine shot across the
hills and struck a bush OF pomc-
granates blossoming scarlet by the
gate.
Presently the farm workers be-
gan to come from their huts and
file past the stoop toward the out
houses.
Olive, awake by now on her oak
chest, sprang with one leap into
her top boots. assing Aprirs bed.
she touched the girls cyelids ten
derby. and her finger tips cana
away wet.
To He Continued Tomorrow.