Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1922-04-20

| L IEouSnt, maGan, we had made no
mistake. / was sure you would deem
1t privilege. And as for us, your
keen appreciatiye sense of the fitness
of things will-er-will make it a
favor to us if you comply with our
request" said he, floundering in help
less confusion for moment.
But Mrs. Livingstone did not notice.
She went through the rest of that in
terview in a dazed, ecstatic wonder.
She only knew at it's conclusion that
she was to go up to Vermont to care
for His house, to live in the rooms
that He had lived in, to rest where
He had rested, to walk where He had
walked, to see what He had seen.
And she was to receive pay-money
for this blissful privilege. Incredible!
1t did not take Mrs. Livingstone
long to make all necessary arrange
ments.
AS they stepped from the train to
the platform at the little country sta
ton, Mrs. Livingstone looked about
her with awed interest. He had been
here! The jouncing yellow stage
coach became a hallowed golden char
lot, and the ride to the house'a sacred
pilgrimage.
only think, Mabel, He walked here,
and sat here" said the woman ador-
ingly, suiting the action to the word
and sinking into great Morris chair.
Mabel shifted her disdain.
81 presume so; but | should like to
know where he ate---maybe he left
something!"
Mrs. Livingstone rose in despairing
resignation.
The next few days were a dream of
bliss to Mrs. Livingstone. The house
was a handsome mansion set well
back from the street, and surrounded
by beautiful grounds which were kept
in order by man who came two or
three times a week to- attend to them.
Mrs. Livingstone had but herself and
Mabel to care for, and she performed
the work of the house as high
priestess might have attended upon
the affairs of her gods. 1t was on the
fifth day that a growing wonder in the
mind Of Mrs. Livingstone found voice.
"Mabel there isn't one Of His works
in the houSe-nOt one. I've been
everywhere " said the woman plant
lively.
well, mother" laughed the girl
saucily, that's the most sensible thing
| ever knew of the man. | don't Won
der he didn't want them rOund-I
shouldn't"
"NTabelw
"WeIl, I shouldn'tw And Mabel
laughed wickedly while her mother
sighed at the outspoken heresy. 1t
was plain that Mabel had no soul.
Mrs. Livingstone was furthermore
surprised at her IDOLS taste in art;
some of the pictures on the wall were
a distinct shock to her
The house was to be sold completely
furnished, with the exception of the
books and pictures. The price was
high, and there were but few prOspec-
tive purchasers Occasionally people
came to see the property; such Mrs.
Livingstone conducted about the house
with reverent impressiveness,
at is something to buy a house
owned by 50 famous a man." she insin-
uated gently one day, after vainly
trying to awaken a proper enthusiasm
in a prim little woman who was talk
ing of purchasing.
"Indeedw replied the other, frigidly.
do you think so? l must confess it
is somewhat of a drawback to me-"
And from that time Mrs. Livingstone
wore an injured air-the young moth
ers baby had been snubbed-griev-
ously snubbed.
Toward the last of the summer a
wild plan entered Mrs. Livingstone's
brain; and after some days of trem-
bling consideration, she determined to
carry it out. The morning mail bore
letter from her to the Inimitable One
through his publishers. She had
learned that he was to be in Boston,
and she had written to beg him to
come up to his old home and see if 1t
was being cared for to his satisfac-
ton. The moments dragged as though
weighted with lead until the answer
came. When at last it was in her
hands, she twisted a hairpin under
the flap Of the envelope and tore out
the letter with shaking fingers.
1t was from the Inimitable Ones
private secretary. The Inimitable One
did not understand her letter-he was
the owner of no house in Vermont;
there was doubtless some mistake.
That was ell. The communication
was wholly enigmatic.
The letter tluttered to the floor, and
Mrs. Livingstones dazed eyes rested
on the gardeners in the lawn below.
In a moment she was at his side.
"Peter, isn't this house owned by
very famous manY
"Indade it is, ma'am."
"Who is hep she demanded shortly,
holding her breath until that familiar
name borne by the lnimitable one
passed the others lips.
"Well, Peter, isn't he the writer?