Connecticut western news., 1922-11-16

zf1GM14AMEc f~TEHS~ "Luke, Is 1t the Mlwaka-the MIwaka
 LukeI"
 A feeTIng of "hOme" bed, come to him, which he had not had on coming to Chi cago. There were Indian names and French up there about the meetings of the great waters. The sense that he was of these lakes, that surge of feeling which he had felt first in con- versation with Constance Sherrill was strengthened an hundredfold.
 He gazed down at the lists of names which Benjamin Corvet had kept so carefully and so secretly; these were his fathers people, too; these ragged shores and the islands studding the channels were the lands where his fa- ther had spent the most active part of his life. There, then-these lists now made 1t certain-that events had happened by which that life had been blighted. North, there by the meeting of the waters, was the region of the wrong which was done.
 'That's where I must gor" he said aloud. That's where I must gol"
 
 Constance Sherrill, on the following afternoon, received a telephone call from her father; he was coming home earlier than usual, he said; if she had planned to go out, would she wait un- til after he got there? The afternoons mail was upon stand In the hall. She turned 1t over, looking through it-in- vitations, social notes. She picked from among them an envelope ad- dressed to herself in a firm, clear hand, which, unfamiliar to her, still queerly startled her, and tore it open. "Dear Miss Sherrill," she read,
 "I am closing, for the time being, the house which, for default of other ownership, must call mine. The pos would cause you and your father anxi- ety about me in case I went away without telling you of my intention is the reason for this note. But 1t Is not the only reason. I could not go away without telling you how deeply I ap- preciate the generosity and delicacy you and your father have shown me in spite of my position here and of the fact that I had no claim at all upon you. I shall not forget those, even though what happened here last night makes 1t impossible for me to try to see you again or even to write to you.
 ALLAN CONRAD"
 Cho hoord bar fo +bo~,e ,,,o+o~ o1Aor the drive and ran to him with the let ter in her hand.
 He's written to you, then2' he said, at sight of 1t.
 "Yes."
 "I had a note from him this after noon at the office, asking me to hold in abeyance for the time being the trust that Ben had left me and return ing the key of the house to me for safekeeping."
 Has he already gone?"
 'T suppose so; don't know"
 'We must find out" She caught up her wraps and began to put them on. Sherrtll hesitated, then assented; and they went round the block together to
 
 instants' hesitation, took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door and went in. The rooms, they saw, were all in perfect order; summer covers had been put upon the furniture; pro- tecting cloths had been spread over the beds upstairs. After their inspec- ton, they came out again at the front door, and her father closed 1t with a snapping of the spring lock.
 Constance, as they walked away, turned and looked back at the old house, gloomy and dark among it's newer, fresher-looking neighbors, and she choked, and her eyes grew wet. That feeling was not for Uncle Benny; the drain of days past had exhausted such a surge of feeling for him. That which she could not wink away was for the boy who had come to that house a few weeks ago and for the man who just now had gone.
 Continued Next Week.