The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-02-24


 rose from her seat and went down l to the garden.
 Our talking it over does no good Jim," she said, as he followed her, | and stood looking at her and at Anna. Its all too fresh-it's been too terrible for me-getting adjusted. :. I stand firm here, I feel the ground under my feet I don't. want to go back to feeling all wrong all out of key, helpless to straiglrten matterst' But we were happy!" he said, a passionate regret in his voice. Think of our day in Chicago. Ju, and the day we took a hanson cab through Central park-and were afraid the driver wasn't soberI And do you re- member the blue hat that would catch on the electric light and the day the elevator stuck
 'I think of it all so often, Jim." Julia answered, with a smile as sad as tears could have been, and in the tender voice she might have used in speaking of the dead. ''Sometimes I fit whole days together, just thinking of those old times. Then whar did we do after that 1unch?' I think. or Where were we going that night that we were in such a hurry?' and then by degrees it all comes back" Julia drew a rose toward her on a tall bush, studied it's leaves critical ly. That was the happiest time, wasn't it, Jim? ?" she asked, with her April smile.
 Jim felt as if a weight of inevit- able sorrow were weighing him to the ground. Julia's quiet assurance. her regretfu1 firmness, seemed to be breaking his heart. She was in white today, and in the thin Septem- Der sunlight, among the b1ossoming roses, she somehow suggested the calm placidity of a nun who looks back at her days in the world with a tender. smiling pity. The child had left her play, and stood close to her mothers side, one of Julia's hands caught in both her own.
 Anna" Jim said desperately, wont you ask Mother to come to London with Dad?"
 Anna regarded him gravely. She did not understand the situation, but she answered, with a child's curious instinct for the obvious excuse:
 "But Grandmother needs her!"
 -'I never asked you to give her up, Julie" Jim said. as if trying to re- mind her that he had not been so merciless as she. Julia's eyes widen ed with a quick alarm. her breast rose but she answered composedly:
 That I would have fought"
 And you have always had as much money" Jim began again, trying to rally the arguments with which he had felt sure to overwhe1m her.
 "I spent that as much for your sake as for mine,'' Julia said sober1y. "She is a Studdiford. I wanted to be fair to Anna. But I could do without it now, Jim; there are thousand things
 "Yes. I krow!'' he said in quick shame.
 A silence fell. there seemed nothing else to be said. 4 great space wid- ened between them. Jim felt at the mercy of lonely and deso1alte winds; fe felt as if all colour had faded out of the world, leaving 1t gray ard cold With the sickness of utter defeat he dropped on one knee and kissed the wondering child, and then turned to go.
 "You won't-change your mind, Ju?" he asked huskily.
 Julia was conscious of a strange weakening and 1oosering of bonds throughout her entire system. Vague chil1s shook her, she felt that tears were near, she had a hideous misgiv- ing as to her power to keen from fainting.
 "I will let you know. Jim," she heard her own voice answer. very low.
 A moment later she and Anna were alone ir the garden.
 " nat IS hOIner1 tAHHd doh- ed curiously, a dozen times. Julia stood staring at the child blindly. One hand was about Anna's neck, the loose curls falling soft and warm upon 1t, the other Julia had pressed tight above her heart. She stood still as if listening.
 'What Is 1t, Mother?" asked the little girl again.
 "Nuthing!" Julia said then. in a .-I,o rHof f,cyt1$ breath.
 A second later she kissed the child hastily, and went quietly out of the green gate which had so lately clos ed upon Jim, She went as unques- uonably an eutomaton moved by some irresistible power; not only was all doubt gone from her mind but all responsibility seemed also shed.
 The street was almost deserted. but Julia saw JIm instantly. a full block away, and walking resolutely, if slow iy. She drifted silently after him. not knowing why she followed, nor what she would say when they met. but conscious that she must follow and that they would meet.
 Jim walked to Eighteenth street, turned north, and Julia. reaching the corner, was in time to see hiru cnter- ing the shabby old church where they had been married eight years ago. And instantly q binding vertigo. n suffocatfng rush of blood to her heart. made her feel weak and cold with the sudden revelation that the hour of change had come.
 She climbed the dreary, well-re- nembered stairs slowly. and slipped into one of the last pews, In the shadow of a gallery pillar.
 Jim was kneeling. far up toward the altar, his head in his hands. In all the big church. which was bleak and bare in the cold afternoon light, there was no one else. The red altar light flickered in It's hanging glass cup; a dozen lighted candles. in a great frame that held sockets for five times as many, guttered and flared at the rail.
 Minutes slipped by. and still the man Snelt there neotionless. and still the woman sat watching him, her eyes brilliant and tender. her heart ffeod- ed with a poignant happiness that