Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1922-02-21

yiously amazed. at doesn't seem pos
sible that all this has happened in six
years" she exclaimed.
He did not answer He had her
hand now for farewells, and perhaps,
with the thought Of those shcrt six
years had come also the thought that
this slender figure in the hoasewifely
blue linen, this exquisite little heed,
so trim and demure despite all its
rebel tendrils of gold, this lovely face,
still the face of child, with child's
trusting, uplifted eyes, might have
been his. The old home might have
been their home, and perhapg-who
knows, there might have been a new
Cherry and a new Peter beginning to
look eagerly out at life through the
screen of the old rose vinel
Too late now. A single instant or
those lost years might have brought
him all this, but there was no going
back. He put his arm about her, and
kissed her forehead, and said: GOD
bless you, Cherry!" -
"God bless you, dear" she an
swered gravely. She watched the tall
figure, with Its little limp, and with
the dog leaping and clrcling about it
in ecstasy, until the redwoods closed
around him. Then she took up the
broom again, and slowly and thought
fully crossed the old porch, and shut
the dooH
Peter, walking with long strides,
and with furrowed brow and absent
eyes, crossed the village, and climbed
once more the old trail that led up to
the cabin.
1t was busted, orderly, complete; he
and Allx might have left it yesterday.
Kow had seen him coming, he thought,
and had had time to light the fire.
which was blazing freshly up to the
chimney's great threat. He sat down,
staring at the flames. -
Buck pushed open the swinging
door between the pantry and the sit
ting room, and came In, question in
his bright eyes, his great plumy tail
beating the floor as he lay down al
Peters side. Presently the dog laid
his nose on Peters knee and poured
forth faint sound that was not quite
a whine, not quite sigh, and rose
restlessly, and went to the closed door
Of AliX'S ROOM, and paved it, his eager
nose to the threshold.
Not here, old fellow" Peter said,
stroking the silky head under his
hand.
He had not been in this room since
the day Of her death. 1t struck him
as strangely changed, strangely and
heartrendngly familiar. The windows
were closed, as Alix had never had
them closed, winter or summer, rain
or sunshine. Her books stood in their
old order, her students Shakespeare,
and some of her girlhood's books,
Little Women" and "Uncle Max" In
the closet, which eXhaled q damp and
woody smell, were one or two of the
bOyish-looking hats he had so often
seen her crush carelessly on her dark
hair, and the big belted coat that was
as plain as his own, and the big boots
she wore when she tramped about the
poultry yard, still spattered with pale
dry mud. Her fathers worn little Bi-
bic lay on the table, and beside it an
other book, "Duck Raising for the
Market" with the marks of muddy
and mealy hands still lingering on its
cover.
Suddenly, evoked by these silent
witnesses to her busy and happy life,
the whole woman seemed to stand be-
side Peter, the tall, eager, vital woman
who lad been at home here, who had
ruled the cabin with q splendid and
vital personality. He seemed to feel
her near him again. 10 see the inter-
CStcd eyes, the high check-boncs
touched with scarlet, the wiSp of hair
that would fall across her face some
times when she was deep in baking,
or preserving, or pOultry-farming, and
that she would brush away with the
back of an impatient hand, only to
have 1t slip loose again.
One Of her kitchen aprons, caught in
the current Of air from the opened
door, blew about on its hook. He re-
membered her, on many wintry day,
buttOned into just such crisp apron,
radlantly busy and brisk in her kitch-
en-, stirring and chOpping, moving con-
stantly between stove and table. With
strong hands still showing traces Of
flour she would come TO sit beside him
at the piano. to play duet with her
characteristic dash and finish, only to
jump up in sudden compunctiOn, with
an exclamation: "Oh, my ducks-Pd
forgotten them! Oh, the poor little
wrGtCheSw
And she would be gone. leaving a
streak of wet, fresh air through the
warm house from the open door, and
he would perhaps glance from a win
dow 10 see her, roughly coated and
booted, ploughing about her duck yard,
delving into barrels Of grain. turning
on faucets, welding a stubby old
broom.
She loved her life, he mused, with
q bitter hnartache, rs he stood here
in her empty room. Sometimes he had