, 1921-12-31

How often do thsy publish their
paper. Florence7' Mrs. Atuatcr In
CURED somewhat sbsenty, having re
sumed her sewing.
Every week; and they're gosn' to
have the nrst che q week from to-
day.
what DO they call ity-
The North End Daily oriole. ms
the ~siiliest name ! ever heard for a
Newspaper; and I told en- 20 1 told
'eu what I though. OK II I guessr-
WAS that the reasonY' Mrs- At
water asked.
WAS IL what reason. mamaT-
was It the resson they wouldn't
let you be q reporter with themf"
-Poohr Florence exclaimed s,riy.
Il didn't want anything to do with
their ole paper. But anyway I didn't
make fun o. their calm IL the North
End Daily orfole TN after they said
I couldn't be In It Then I did, you
beti-
FLORENCE, don't say
MANA, I got to say somep'mi Well,
I told 'em I wouldn't be In their ole
paper IL they begged me on their bent
ed knees: and I said II they bexEed
me q thousand years I wouldn't be
In any paper with such a crazy name;
and ! wouldn't tell 'em any news II
I knew the President OF the United
States had the scarlet feveri 1 just
politely Informed EN- they could say
what they liked IL they was dying; /
declIned 80 much as wipe the Oldest
shoes I got on 'em I"
"But why wouldn't they let you be
on the paper!" her mother insisted
Upon this Florence became anaiyti-
cal -Just SOS they could act SO i'm
p~ortantt" And she added, az q con-
sequence: They ought to be arrest
ed"
Mira Atwater murmured absentiy,
but forbore to press her inquiry; and
Florence wns silent, In a broodiny
mood The journalists upon the fence
had disappeared from view, during the
conversation with her mother; and
presently she sighed and quietly left
the She went to her own apart
ment, where. at a small and rather
battered little white desk. after q Pc
Rod Of earnest r~everie, she took up
a pen, wet the point in purple ink, and
without any great effort or any criti-
cal deiayinss. produced a poem.
1t was. In n sense, an original poem ;
though. like the greater number of all
literary offerings. It was SO strongly
i~nspiratfonal that the source Of its
inspiration might easily become mani
fest to a cold-blooded reader. Never
theless. to the poetess herself, as she
explained later In good faith, the words
just seemed to come to her-doubtless
with either genius or some form of
miracle involved; for sources Of In
spiration are seldom recognized by In
! spired writer's themselves. She had
not long g been party to a musical
Sunday afternoon at her grent-uncle
Joseph Atwater's house where Mr..
Cairdyce, that amiable and robust
baritone, sang some of his songs over
and over again. as long as the re-
quests for them held out. Florence's
poem may have begun to coagulate
within her then.
THE oRGANEsr
BY Florence Atwater
The orEanest was seated at hla organ
in a church,
In some beautiful woods of maple n
birch,
He was very weary while he played upon
the keys,
But he was a great orsanes n always
played with ease,
When the soul is weary,
And the win Is dreary.
I would like to be an orEanest seated all
day at tho organ.
Whether my name might be Faircbiid or
Morgan,
i would play music like . vast amen.
The way It sounds In q church OF men.
Florence read her poem over seven
or eight times. the deepening pleasure
of her expression being evidence that
repetition failed to denature this work,
but, on the contrary. enhanced an mp
preciative surprise at its singular mer-
1t. Finally she folded the sheet of
paper with a delicate carefulness un-
usual to her. aod placed It In her
skirt pocket Then she went down.
stairs and out into the back yard.
With thoughtful and determined eyes
she obliqued her gaze over the In
t~ervening ences to the repellent sky
Tine formed by the too-simple profile
Of her cousin Herbert's fathers sta
BILE. Her next action was straight,
forward and anything but prudish; she
climbed the high board fences. n af.
ter the other. until she came to q
pause at the top Of that whereon the
two journalists had lately made them
selves SO odiously impressive.
Before her. II she had but taken
note Of them. were a lesson In history
and the markings Of n profound transi.
ton in human evolution. Beside the
old frame stable was a little brick
garage. obviously put to the daily use
intended by its designer. Quite as OBJ
viously the stable was obsolete, any.
body would have known from It's out
side that there was no horse within
It. Here, visible. was the end Of the