Evening star., 1922-03-11
.IJE PUT HER IN a PUMPKIN
SHE'LL WHERE HE KEPT HER
VERY WELL"

~N Dlowy, blustery February
morning Merriam Lindsay.
wrapped in an old coat Of
Nan Blaisdell's. paced wear
ily back and forth on the long south
gallery of the Blaisdell's country
house Most of the house was board
ed up for the winter. the shrubbery
swathed in burlap and straw. but
caretaker and his wife were staying
in the south wing of the house. Nan
had brought Merriam and the faith
full Susan Sue down in the Blaisdell
car five days before. when Merriam
was still hysterical from really Sc
rious quarrel with her once-beloved
John.
The girl had insisted vehementlS
that she wanted to be left alone. that
she never wanted to see John again.
and Mrs Elaisdell had taken her at
her word.
Never in her sociable life had Mer-
ry been so completely shut of from
the world. Even Susan Sue seemed
to have deserted her. for she stayed
with the caretakers except when Mer-
Ram called her. She made very brie1
answers to Merrys questions.
Once a day Nan telephoned her
from town, cheerful and brisk, but
with never a hint of news or word
about the little group of persons
whom Merry thought ought to be muca
Interested in her disappearance. one
thing Nan did promise.
Don't keep asking If Leila has
heard from Richard. my darling. be-
cause it hurts you to ask and 1t hurts
me to have to say no. But the mo-
ment that his cable comes, 1n send
you word. And you must try not to
worry about your dad: because If he
really hasn't any memories. why.
then. he hasn't anything to be unhap-
py about"
"Or-to be happy about" Merry
sighed.
What Merriam could not under
stand was why John was making no
effort to see her. She was far too
proud to ask Nan about him. and II
never dawned upon her that Nan had
not told John where Merriam was.
The third day Nan told her that
Richard had cabled. briefly. Starting
north, eight-day journey" 1t seemed
to Merriam that she could never en-
dure eight days. the three days had
been SO awful. But, surprisingly
enough, the next two days were some
how not so bad. She was beginning
to be little hungry from her long
walks in that sunny porch: she was
sleeping like baby" Susan Sue re-
not herself at ALL" Susan Sue had
said to me. I don't suppose l shall
ever find my temper again. 1 lost so
much of it that night
But that morning on the porch was
particularly hard. 1t was her birthday,
ard nobody in the world had remem-
bered it. she thought. But toward noon
she saw some one coming-Thorne
Blaisdell, white-haired and ruddy,
climbing out of his car with a great box
of flowers under his arm and a young
man at his side. Merry's heart gave a
quick leap. but the next minute she
leaned weakly against the veranda pill
lar. for the young man was not John.
In the sunny morning room she OPEN
ed her flowers rather listlessly. burying
her face in the mass of fresias and pale
yellow rosebuds.
John, scampered at her heels, joyousiy
welcoming Mr. Blaisdell.
This is Mr. Anderson" Thorne pre-
sented the young man casually. but ne
ders HE is from a Rosedale real es-
tate firm. That delicatessen woman out
there-what's her name, Tessie wants
to buy yours and Johns equity in your
stucco housc and, OF course, you'll both
have to sign the deeds.'
Merriams hand flew to her throat
1t seemed 20 her that she could not
speak. She was not angry; she was
crushed.
Uncle Thorne, does John want to?"
MY dear child" Thorne seemed
very much surprised. "of course he
does. What in the world do either
of you want of it? You say you're
never going to see John again. and
certainly you don't want to live in it.
and most decidedly he doesn't want
to- 1 think you're lucky to find a
customer so quickly. You haven't a
very big equity anyhow; after the
commissions out you'll each have
let me see, about eight or nine
hundred anieca Id say John has