The Holly chieftain., 1922-02-02

the dry orchards, beside the dry road,
dropped circles Of hot shadow on the
clodded, rough earth. Farms dozed
under shimmering lines Of dazzling air
and in the village, from ten o'clock
until the afternoon began to wane,
there was no stir. Flies buzzed and
settled on screen doors, the creek
shrunk away between crumbllng rocky
banks. the butcher closed his shop and
milk soured in the bottles.
The Turner's and some other fami-
lies always camped together In the
mountains during this season, and they
were off when school closed, In an
enviable state of ecstasy and anticipa-
ton. Cherry had planned to join them,
but an experimental weekend was
enough. The camp was in the cool
woods, truly, but 1t was disorderly,
swarming with children, the tents were
small and hot. the whole settlement
laughed and rioted and surged to and
fro in manenr utterly foreign to her.
She returned, to tell Martin that 1t
was horribly common" and weather
the rest Of the summer In Red Creek.
Martin sympathized. He had never
cared particularly for the Turner's; |;
was perfectly willing to keep the
friendship within bounds.
He sympathized as little with an
other friendship she made, some
months later. with the wife Of young
engineer who had recently come to the
mine. Pauline Runyon was a few
years older than her husband, hand
some,, thin, intense woman, who did
everything In an entirely individual
way. She took one Of the new little
bungalows that were being erected in
Red Creek park" and furnished it
richly and inappropriately, and estab-
lished a tea table and samovar be-
side the open fireplace. Cherry began
to like better than anything else in the
world the hours spent with Pauline.
Pauline read Browning, Francis
Thompson and Pater, and introduced
Cherry to new worlds of thought. She
talked to Cherry Of New York, which
she loved, and of the men and women
she had met there. She sometimes
sighed and pushed the bright hair back
from Cherry's young and innocent and
discontented little face, and said ten
derly: "on the stage, my dear-any-
where, anywhere, you would be a
furore!"
And thinking, In the quiet evenings
for Martins work kept him later
and later at the mine-Cherry came
to see that her marriage had been a
great mistake. She had not been ready
for marriage. She would sit on the
back steps, as the evenings grew cool
err. and watch the exquisite twilight
fade, and the sorrow and beauty of
life would wiring her heart.
A dream of ease and alteration and
beauty came to her. She did not visu-
alize any special place, any special
gown or hour or person. But she saw
her beauty fittingly environed; she saw
cool rooms, darkened against this blaz-
Ing midsummer glare; heard Ice clink-
ing against glass; the footsteps Of at
tentive maids; the sound Of cultivated
voices. of music and laughter. She
had had these dreams before, but they
were becoming habitual now. She was
SO tired-so sick-so bored with her
real life; 1t was becoming increasingly
harder and harder for her to live with
Martin. She was always in sup
pressed state Of wanting to break out,
to shout at him brazenly: II don't
care II your coffee is weak! I like 1t
weak! don't care If you don't like
my hat-I do! Stop talking about
yourself"
Various little mannerisms of his be-
gan seriously to annoy her; rather
grave symptom, had Cherry but known
it. He danced his big fingers on the
handle of the sugar spoon at break
fast, sitting the sugar over his cereal !;
she had to turn her eyes resolutely
away from the sight. He blew his
nose, folded his handkerchief, and then
brushed his nose with 1t firmly left and
right; she hated the little performance
that was never altered. He had
certain mental slowness; would blink
at her politely and patiently when she
flashed plans or hopes at him: 81
don't follow you, my dear" This
made her frantic.
She was twenty, undisciplined and
exacting. She had no reserves within
herself to which she could turn. Bad
things were hopelessly bad with Cher
ry; her despairs were the dark and
fearful despairs Of girlhood, prema-
turely transferred to graver matters.
Martin was quite right In some of
his contentious; girl-like, she was
spasmodic and unsystematic in her
housekeeping; she had times Of being
discontented and selfish. She hated
economy and the need for careful man.
aging.
In October Alix CHANGED to write
her a long and unusually gossipy let
ter. Alix had new gown Of black
grenadine, and she had sung at an