The Monmouth inquirer. [volume] (Freehold, N.J.) 1865-1933, 1925-12-24
Like the Fallen
Leaves
-
BY VIVA S. ELDRIDGE
lcopyrIght.l

ONCIy LuCu uIOppSu II 1uLV TIE IRE.
Weary and unsatisied, Martha went
to the window to rest her tired eyes
on the row of trees bordering the
river. Their vivid leaves futtered
beekoningly in the autumn wind, and
Martha went to wander under their
branches.
She found the ground covered with
dry brown leaves; leaves that blew
hither and yon, stirred by every va
grant breeze, but lifeless, dull. Like
the words in her story, Martha thought.
Flutterng down from the branches of
the maple overhead came a brilliant
red leaf Martha caught and held it,
1t was glowing now, and filed with
the sap of life. A few short days
would find it lifeless. dull, because its
contact with that which gave it life
was gone. Martha wondered if this
were not the matter with her stories:
her contact with life-the life of the
multitude-was too remote; she could
not give her stories reality.
Farther on she came to a smeared-
looking, paint-lacking, three-decker.
/ 1t was the usual kind; she had seen it
many times before But today it
seemed to take on a new quality. 1t
sheltered three families. From the
open door came the delightful smell :
of picking and preserving. AT this
moment a woman came out of the side
door to hang up dish towels
Seeing Martha standing there the
woman called:
"You want something's"
"No-o," Martha found it was not
easy to break through a lifetime Of
reserve and interest herself in
strangers. But, seeing the woman about
to enter the house, she remembered
her intention and called:
please, will you tell me what kind
of pickles Won are making?"
"You come and see lady" the wom-
an was eagerly hospitable.
Half reluctant. Martha followed her
| into the house.
MY name is Mrs. Stacy Martha
ventured, at loss how to begin this
acquaintance.
The woman nodded. Then, My hus-
bands name, it sTezasakari7a, rolling
he no can say. he call him Yak"
"Then / shall call you Mrs Yak,
shall II What is 1t that you are cook
ing, Mrs. Yak? 1t smells delicious"
''Oh, that?" stirring the contents Of
the big blue kettle. Tomato, pepper
caulifower, onion You try?" reaching
for another big spoon.
Then. watching Martha sample it.
you like?"
Every much, Mrs. Yak. viii you
give me the recipe?"
'Recipe -reci-pe-oh, you mean so
much this-so much thatg'
YES" smiled Martha.
Mrs Yak produced a set of strange
bowls. This much tomato" indicat-
ing the largest bowl. This much cauIi-
| ho,'" pointing to the next in size; and
thus the recipe was given.
Delightful" thought Martha. ''if in
accurate"
Aloud she said, "These bowls, Mrs.
Yak, where can I get them?"
The woman shook her head. "No
can get here. My grandmother, In
Greece, she make all her-all her
recipe by them" smiling proudly at
the new word she had learned "Next
week give them to my daughter; she
be married then"
"How old is your daughter, Mrs.
zak?" inquired Martha.
"Oh. she old; she seventeen Mrs.
Yak answered.
But Mrs. Zak," expostulated Mar
tina, that is much too young to get
married. Is she much in love with the
MANI"
"Oh, sure" Mrs. Kak expanded with
complacency "You know Tony on
Main street. He has big store. She
marry to him."
"Why, Mrs Yak, Tony must be fifty
years old"
Fifty year yes" Mrs. Yak agreed
wonderingly.
''Your daughter cannot possibly love
man so much older than herself, Mrs
Yak. Don't you want her to be happy?''
Martha was very earnest. Doesn't
she like some young fellow?
EYES," the woman agreed somewhat
sadly. "She like young Christopher,
but her father tell her to keep away.
He just go to school. Tony got money"
where does you daughter work.
Mrs ZakY'
"She work by Tony's fruit store.
think by what you say, Mess Stacy.
But her father-I don't know" Mrs.
Yak followed Martha to the door, ur-
gently requesting her to come again.
Martha hurried along, her mind busy
on this problem. She was amazed at
the amount of feeling this incident had
aroused in her.
She went to see Christopher, as well
as the girl. Also, she looked up Tony's
activities and eventually interested
him in a widow of his own age.
| Through Martha's helm everything